Smelling Hawaii

Whatever happened to the ‘Smell of Hawaii.’ There may be a better way to put that, but let me stick with the obvious. Hawaii has a certain smell, a distinguishable fragrance, a humid bouquet with hints of pikake and ginger, though it varies, like our local Pidgin dialects, from island to island.  At least, it did.

It’s not there anymore. At least, it’s not there all the time. Maybe I’m getting older, and my once trusty olfactory nerves are feeling the ravages of time. That can’t explain the indescribable lack of pleasant fragrances emanating from the Honolulu Zoo, wafting over Walls and into the surf and out to sea? If I can smell what’s bad, I should be able to smell what’s good, right?

Maybe proximity to the abundance of my wife’s more natural urges and functions have reduced my ability to distinguish ginger from pikake from The Bus from the Ala Wai Canal. Whatever it is, I miss what I can remember but can’t smell any longer.

There are glimmers of hope, though I’m not sure they’re simply embedded in my memory or actual smells of the moment. Manoa still smells moldy. Homeless people still smell, well, homeless. I can tell what my wife had for lunch. Or dinner.  And whether it was alive or dead before consumption.

Hawaii Kai smells dusty. Nuuanu Pali smells windy. I’m not sure that windy is a smell, like lau lau, but if you’ve been there you know it smells windy. Kalihi smells like food. So does Chinatown. But Kalihi has a more robust chicken flavor. Chinatown smells more like something canine or feline. Or urine.

The neighbor islands have unique fragrances, too. Kona smells toasty, especially in summer. Hilo smells a bit like Manoa Valley but with a more pronounced bouquet of humidity, and an expectation of fluidity.

Kauai smells like what a farm should smell like if it only had chickens and pigs. Maui still smells like a blend of sugar cane and pineapple.

What’s your favorite Hawaii smell?