Spirit of Aloha | Features | July/August 2007

Waikıkı’s Other Beach
By Stuart H. Coleman


It’s a jewel and a gathering place

There are certain places that possess such beauty and personal meaning that they take hold of our hearts and never let go. These places have many forms and faces and often mark different periods in our lives: the park where we played as children; the ocean where we learned to swim; the beach where we first fell in love. And all of these places exist on two planes: the physical location we visit and the internal image we carry with us when we leave.

When I first moved to Hawai‘i, a friend took me to a local beach called Kaimana, and it soon became my second home. Located at the eastern end of Waikīkī, it is nestled between the New Otani Hotel and the War Memorial Na­ta­torium at its ends and Kapi‘olani Park and the Pacific Ocean on its sides. This white strip of sandy beach is watched over by the sphinxlike gaze of Diamond Head, which is often the last thing I see when flying out of Honolulu.

Kaimana means “diamond” in Ha­wai­ian, and the beach is certainly one of the jewels of Waikīkī. The area has a rich history; Hawaiian chiefs and royalty used to have homes near the shore. The land was once covered with swamps and taro fields, and the beach was a favorite area for fishing, swimming and surfing. After more Westerners began sail­ing to the Islands, an entrepreneur bought several acres of land and began building a family resort there in 1884. A Greek businessman named George Ly­cur­gus took over the hotel and called his new resort Sans Souci, French for “without a care,” named after Frederick the Great’s palace in Potsdam. The fa­mous author of Treasure Island, Robert Louis Steven­son, stayed there with his family and visited with his friend King Kalākaua, who had a home nearby.

During his stay at the hotel, Stevenson wrote in the guest ledger, “If anyone desires such old-fashioned things as lovely scenery, quiet, pure air, clean sea water, good food, and heavenly sunsets, I recommend him cordially to the Sans Souci.”

That sense of peace and quiet was shattered in 1895 when Sans Souci became the site of a brief rebellion. Two years earlier, Kaläkaua’s sister Queen Lili­‘uo­kalani had been overthrown by a group of Honolulu businessmen and plantation owners who wanted the United States to annex Ha­wai‘i and make it into a territory. In reaction, a group of Ha­waiian roy­alists began meeting at the hotel to plot their re­bellion. A flamboyant man who was loyal to the queen, Lycurgus let the royalists use the resort to discuss how to reinstall Lili‘uo­kalani to her throne. In January 1895, a brief skirmish broke out between the annexationists and the royalists, and four days later, Lycurgus and a hundred other conspirators were imprisoned and charged with treason. The resort was sold and turned into a family residence; it re­mained in private hands until the Kaimana Beach Hotel was built in 1964.

Kaimana Beach became the site of the first trans-Pacific cable connecting Hawai‘i and the Mainland after the steam­ship Silvertown laid down 2,300 miles of cable between San Francisco and Honolulu. After encountering 12 days of heavy seas, the steamship finally made it to Hawai‘i, and on Dec. 28, 1902, the guideline for the submarine cable was carried to shore at Kaimana Beach by a crew of Hawaiians in an out­rig- ger canoe, steered by Duke Kaha­na­moku’s uncle. Remnants of the old cable still lie in the Kapua Channel and can be seen today by the hundreds of swimmers who visit the beach.

The channel has always been a popular place to swim, and Duke Kahana­moku, Hawai‘i’s greatest waterman, used to train in its waters. After breaking the world record for the 100-meter free­style in the 1912 Olympics, Duke was poised to win again in 1916, but the events were cancelled due to the on­slaught of World War I. On Armistice Day, 1920, the people of Hawai‘i decided to build a war memorial at Kai­mana Beach. That same year, Duke brought home the gold again from the Paris Olym­pics. Plans for the memorial were then amended to include an Olympic-sized, salt-water swim­ming pool called a Natatorium. This is where Duke and other Olym­­pic champions like Johnny “Tar­zan” Weis­muller and Bus­ter “Flash Gor­don” Crabbe would later compete and break more world records. Unfor­tunately, the Waikīkī Nata­torium was not well constructed and was allowed to deteriorate. The war memorial’s arches have since been restored, but the Nata­torium has been closed for decades.

If I had my way, the decaying walls would be torn down for health and safety reasons and the pool transformed into a natural beach.

After the bombing of Pearl Harbor in 1941, Kaimana and most of Waikīkī’s beaches were closed and covered with barbed wire for fear of a Japanese invasion. During the war, thousands of soldiers passed through Hawai‘i on their way to the Pacific theater and fell in love with the Islands. Like Gen. Doug­las MacArthur, they vowed to return one day.

When Hawai‘i became the 50th state in 1959 and the first jetliners began arriving, the number of visitors took off. Within two decades of statehood, tourism became Hawai‘i’s largest industry, and Honolulu’s population exploded. Shortly after my arrival in 1993, my friend David Mc­Cul­lough took me to Kaimana Beach and explained the lay of the land. We were both single teachers, and he showed me the different segments of the beach and, most important, where the single women were. The part in front of the hotel was known as Sans Souci, where many of the older guests stayed; the area around the lifeguard tower was called Dig Me Beach, because that’s where the young people hung out, including bodybuilders and shapely women. He referred to the side of the beach near the Natatorium as Kai­mana, saying this was where all the young families played with their children.

David also showed me where to swim in the Kapua Chan­nel and pointed out an orange windsock in the distance. He said swimming there and back was a little over a quarter of a mile, and my first swim out there was both ex­hilarating and exhausting. I saw the gray remnants of the original trans-Pa­cific cable and all kinds of exotic fish. Since that first lap, I’ve probably covered hundreds of miles swimming out to the wind­sock and back. During that time, I have seen all kinds of amazing creatures: gentle turtles, menacing eels, dull-eyed sharks, luminescent jellyfish and stealthy stingrays.

But the most exotic and beautiful creature I ever saw at Kaimana Beach was a woman named Michaela. I had seen her sitting on the low wall that runs along the beach, and I fell hard for her. She was a lovely mix of German and Asian ancestry, with shoulder-length hair, deep brown eyes and a sweet smile. After working up the nerve, I finally walked up and asked her out for a cup of coffee. Coffee turned into dinner, dinner into an amazing conversation, and that conversation turned into a two-year relationship. Michaela had grown up in the Islands, but had lived all over Europe, working at odd jobs while pursuing her passion as a painter. During our time together, we traveled to Germany to visit her family and then to Spain for my friends’ wedding. Al­though the relationship finally came to an end and Michaela moved to California, we remained close and still keep in touch. From then on, Kaimana Beach was haunted by her memory.

Before leaving, Michaela introduced me to a young Greek woman named Daphne, who in turn introduced me to a British guy named Nick. They were both teachers, and the three of us be­came close friends. Kaimana is not a tourist beach, but the locals come from all over the world. Our ever-expanding circle includes an international contingent of peo­ple: Liberty from the Philip­pines, Carlos from Spain, Mar­got from South Africa and many other friends from Italy, France, China and Japan, to name just a few. On weekends, there is usually a group of Brazilians at the beach, singing, dancing and performing capoeira, the martial art form that combines all three.

During my time at Kaimana, I have come to know the rhythm of the tides and the ocean’s underlying currents while swimming and surfing. Diving, I have felt the cool, underwater springs that give Waikīkī its name of “spouting waters.” I have learned that nine or 10 days after a full moon, the box jellyfish will arrive; and that a day or two after a heavy rain, the waters will be clouded with run-off. I have witnessed many a green flash with friends as the red sun sank into the blue sea.

Because Kaimana is such a valuable jewel in Waikīkī, I have fought side by side with Rick Bernstein, its unofficial mayor, and many other locals to save this beach from commercial development and environmental destruction. I have seen many gatherings that celebrated the cycle of life there, including baptisms, birthday parties, weddings and memorial services. I have taken part in countless going-away parties and welcome-back picnics. And one day, I will be the one leaving. But I will always take a part of this beach with me, whether it’s the sand in my knapsack, shells from the shoreline or the memories of old friends. Even with the coming and going of generations, this beach will remain a timeless diamond in my mind.

As well as being a regular at Kaimana Beach, STUART H. COLEMAN is the award-winning author of Eddie Would Go. He is currently working on a new book titled Mākaha Means Fierce: The Story of Hawai‘i’s Wild Westside.

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