We also noted that the trash cans in fast food restaurants say “mahalo” on the doors. We figured it had to be some linguistic cross between “garbage” and “f*** off”.

Mele Kalikimaka! (Hope I spelled that correctly, it’s been a while now since I lived there).

If you manage to get this, there’s a fantastic stitchery store just north of Lihue (on the main road, just as it drops down hill and before it turns right (heading north)), called the Kapaa’a Stichery or some such… and they’ve got like 300+ fabrics there and they’ll make you a Hawaiian shirt out of any of them. I highly recommend it — the shirts aren’t cheap (probably $45-50 or so) but I’ve had my three for a couple of years and wear them all the time.

Sometimes, you only find “aloha” when you are well and truly screwed. When my girlfriend caught a DCS hit off Maui and was medevac’d to Oahu, “aloha” got me out of the hotel without normal checkout, took care of the car I abandoned in the airport parking lot, and found me an available seat on a full interisland flight.

“Aloha” found volunteers at the hyperbaric chamber who would come to the hospital in the middle of the night to ride the chamber — at some personal risk — in case further emergencies developed. I found “aloha” in the hotel staff, who provided a ziggurat of pillows without complaint, and in a restaurant manager who helped when my GF started collapsing during a meal, and in countless others who helped along the way.

The state of Hawaii provided a big “aloha” by having the finest hyperbaric facility on the planet available for anyone who really needed it. My girlfriend and I have been impressed by the generosity of the people of Hawaii beyond any means of expression.

We still have doubts about “mahalo” though…

You can’t imagine how funny this is to me. Or maybe you can. I just had to ask a group of malihini (visitors) to get the hell out of my yard where they were setting up camp to try their luck at fishing. “There’s a public beach next door. Feel free to fish from there,” I told them. Then I pointed to the Private Property signs plastered all over the trees lining my property. “Have a nice day. Mahalo.”

Yep. I meant asshole, too.