If you find yourself on the Big Island, and this is less than an invitation, and more context in case that coincidence happens—you visiting and me living—in the same spot, which is the Kohala region, then pull up a chair at the café table we call Pomaka’i. This is sitting space. (Possible to find more writing on the blog here for this eating locale, if you wish to search.) In the meantime, I visit this café often, so more words are being offered. Have a seat, please.

Myself, I appreciate the table for two where I have three views of café traffic. I guess four if you count the view behind me, more sensed than seen as the eyes in the back of my head are intuitive. On my left is the kitchen café exit where the glorious god, called a food delivery person, will emerge. He or she is quiet and nimble. A scrumptious food plate is placed right before you and me without any fanfare or ceremony—sometimes not even idle pleasantries if the server senses you wish to go there. This is Hawai’i. The ethos for less is more, even on side chatter, accommodates the slowing down Hawaiian culture.

Staring directly ahead, the vision line from this café chair for eating and gandering and sitting is the alley way where miscellaneous folks stumble in. Maybe a Holy Bakery worker needs coffee to pair well with a slice of pie, which this business bakes on scrumptious levels. Or the Realtor, whose office is behind us, decided to take a walk, circling around the Nanbu building and then makes the approach into the café for the breakfast she skipped. And, of course, you and I, meaning island visitors alike (even though I live here yet historically speaking, a visitor) who discover alley spaces behind the café, leaving us unsure where we are or what is before and still the courage summons to park the auto—mobile and walk in, self-propelled.

A writer must people watch--and even more important, people listen, so I do that often. And this writing snippet challenges anyone to chasm the unexpected this way. We humans sound funny, so the sitting place matters, helps me open into the day, my preconceptions pummeled by visual expectation.

This is why I invite you to pull up a chair at Pomaka’i Café in Kapaau on Big Island. Mind you, the food is amazing, but really? Just from the West Coast we have nearly 3,000 miles logged into the travel journal. Add another 3,000 if adventuring from America’s East Coast—and so on. Hawai’i is in the middle of the ocean and quite far away from most everything, else. Toto, I don’t think we are in Kansas any moh. Another time, then. This is why I try to prepare you. If the journey has been successful enough to see you driving by in your rental car, most likely a Jeep (remember, we left Kansas?), then I wish for you to sit down. If those of us living on island continue to welcome thousands of tourists to explore tropical geography, then consider how you visit as more important than where you do.

Why not take a look around? On your right at this café table, some 50 yards away we have the pristine restrooms and when you travel, a prized commode commodity they are. E komo mai (welcome). Further to your right are the eating tables where fascinating people from Minnesota, Japan, Belgium and Kapaau (two of those are countries) will often sit to devour their ono food. While dining on the Curry Quinoa Vegetarian salad (even so, I am an omnivore), as I did today, plenty ample warm tropical wind and space—to listen. Doing so is free and is the reason to travel to Big Island Hawai’i.

The place enervates on different energy (mana) and that happens most often through sound. Yes, I am very aware that I wrote the fearful words energy and enervates as if I were a 60’s hippy yet these words are the tenor of Hawai’i life. Meaning that words are simply spoken, attempted description for sensory experience that kinda defies describing. Still with me? The sitting part helps soak up the sounds is all I am trying to say, finally.

So, if you must visit Big Island, please check out the menu at Pomaka’i Cafe; so far, I have ordered the Furikake Salmon Salad, the Wagyu Cheeseburger, made from scratch cinnamon rolls, Mango smoothie, and more. All have been the three f letters: fresh, flavorful, and fantastic. Given that you drove all this way up the Kohala coastline and traveled all those thousands of miles just go to Pololu, why don’t you? The place is way overcrowded with tourist cars yet the quality of listening at this place is out of this world.

On a full Pomaka’i fed stomach, the mountainous hike shouldn’t break you down too much. Don’t be that goofy tourist, though, and pretend the descent and ascent are your ordinary walk in the park. Keep repeating. I am not in Kansas. I am not in Kansas. (And for readers from Tokyo, by chance, just try to find Kansas on the map. Point made.) And then the hike will unfold smoothly. Maybe a light backpack for carrying water bottles is wise. And perhaps an energy bar of some sort even though you just ate. Hawai’i climes are nothing to underestimate. Wide brimmed hats often save the day. Direct Hawai’i sun on skin, especially facial skin, for those not used to the heat can pose health snags.

When your hike succeeds, as in you reach the Pololu valley below, consider pulling up a chair. To sit. The chair might be one lava boulder, or a sand pile, or stack of lauhala leaves, or tree limb already on the sandy ground—any chair can be helpful, and you have earned your seat, for shoh. Reason being is that the hike here takes time and is steep. On small, medium, and large rocks you have stepped while climbing down a mountain side where a tumble on any of the steep cliffs would bring injury, no doubt. At the same time, the path is clear and smooth and possible—more so when in an open mindset. Climbing back up is an art project in pacing yourself. If the day’s schedule is lucky, and we wish that for our visitors, then no rush. Take your time.

At the bottom of your hike are the Hawaiian cacophony of sound nests (lighter volume sounds inside other decibels) that take work, at least for my ears, to e komo mai (welcome) and appreciate. Centuries ago, native Hawaiians grew kalo in this valley and that low hum of prior advanced civilizations can be heard in the wind’s humming. Looking into the freshwater ponds, easy to imagine agrarian efforts, Hawaiians working in concert to grow food for their people, perhaps a low chant or whistle while in laulima (many hands making work light). Or, turn around, and look at the ocean shoreline and the vast stretch of water beyond to picture canoes arriving over the centuries, possibly hear the joyful shouted greetings that Native Hawaiians had for each other, celebrating a safe return voyage. These are a few ways to lend your ears to the Pololu hike.

Another is to sit where you decided to pull up a chair and hear varying rushes of wind, ocean waves crashing or receding, myriad birds communicating for purpose, large palm fronds falling to make room for the new growth, ripples in pond water traveling around the valley corner, and mountains creaking in a thousand adventurous volumes to talk story.

Can be that the airplane, the rental car, the tourist guidebook, and the resort room are methods to begin the conversation on spending time in Hawai’i (that is talk story’s direction—to begin one way and then, surprisingly, more conversations are included and valued). Then again perhaps this listening moment is what you take home with you most. Sit and listen as long as you like.