'The best thing we've ever done in Hawaii': What it means to travel responsibly in the Aloha State

Lilia had already detailed the intricate work of reforesting the state, and how nurturing thousands of seeds to become trees had improved soil health, animal habitat, and (hopefully) captured some of the excess carbon hovering over the Aloha State. “How many trees do you want to plant again?” she asked.

“To actually offset the emissions for the two of us to fly from California to Oahu,” I explained, “and all our transportation we must plant eight.”

Each tree was $90. This hefty price tag completely negated the “deal” I scored on airfare and my Turo car rental and, truth be told, it was more than I’m paid to write this story. But I knew I couldn’t keep expecting the Earth, and island communities I adore like Hawaii, to absorb my footprint, not if I want my kids to have a chance at a habitable future. 

Something had to change. Like yesterday. And if I want to continue traveling, I need to figure out how to change my ways first.

Malama Hawaii

To offset the damaging effects of travel to Hawaii, the Hawaii Tourism Authority (HTA) created the Malama Hawaii program. Many hotels statewide, including the locally-owned Waikiki Shore, offer deals for participating in the program. Visitors can plant trees like we did, or volunteer for beach clean ups, restoration, or conservation activities.

To make this a regenerative trip, we had to do more than plant eight trees, so we signed up for a volunteer project to help rebuild one of Pearl Harbor’s ancient fishponds, Loko ia Pa’aiau. About 500 years ago, this bay housed 22 active fishponds, which were the ancient way of going to the fishmonger. Today, only three are still active in the area, and this one is missing an entire wall.

For the past six years, a jolly woman who everyone calls Auntie Kehau has stewarded this space. Dozens of people, young and old, have flocked here to help her vision come to life. Her eyes lit up as we entered the chain-linked enclosure. She threw back her long salt and pepper hair, hugged us close, thanked us for showing up, and then invited the young college student/conservationist, Robert, to offer a chant. “We always ask permission to enter the space,” she explained as Robert spread his broad shoulders and lifted his deep voice toward the kiawe tree above. Sun sparkled over the pond. An egret stalked the mudflats. The bay smiled in the distance.

“There’s a lot of work to do,” Robert said, pointing to lava rocks. “Today we’re going to remove the invasive pickleweed.” A weed that Robert’s mom said sells at Whole Foods for eight bucks a pound.

As Robert demonstrated how to properly yank the root, I was concerned that Nikko wouldn’t want to do the work. But he put on his gloves and was the first to jump into the mud, screaming, “Look at this,” whenever he extracted an intact root. Once the wheelbarrow was full of pickleweed, he volunteered to cart it to the compost pile. His excitement was infectious and soon, volunteers began chatting easily. We “talked story” about other conservation projects we were involved in and learned how to score doughnuts from Leonard’s Bakery without the epic line. Time passed quickly under the hot sun, and soon, Auntie Kehau invited us for lunch.

Getting fed poi, katsu, fresh mango, and taro bread sandwiches surely was a perk, but Nikko expressed it well when he said, “This was the best thing we’ve ever done in Hawaii, as good as snorkeling.” When I asked why, he said that he liked working as a team, and seeing an immediate result. “And the food was good,” he added, taking a bite out of the pineapple.  

Hyper-local cuisine

True regenerative experiences required me to also think about the environmental impact of my presence — from water to waste to food systems, and beyond. Since what we eat when we’re visiting can affect the local community in positive (or negative) ways, I searched for hyper-local eateries to support, places that didn’t just source their food from the island’s bounty, but also produced less waste and were owned and operated by Hawaiians.

Folks dialed into Oahu’s food scene call Ed Kenney the senator of locally sourced eats. And one tapas dinner at Mud Hen Water, a breezy joint in Kaimuki, made me want to vote for his pohale shoots, ulu, and chicken salad. If Kenney’s the politician of this movement, then wife/husband duo Michele Karr-Ueoka and Wade Ueoka are the royalty. MW Restaurant’s new digs make use of island-sourced cuisine fit for ali’i (kings). Their fanciful take on lobster rolls, ahi poke nachos and the most incredible mango shave ice I’ve ever had.

Supporting businesses doing good, and having fun too

Above all, conscious travel forces us to consider the positive impact of all our choices. Exploring the impossibly blue coral-filled waters of Kane’ohe Bay with Kama’aina Kayak allowed me to feel good about more than just spotting a giant honu (turtle) and loads of reef critters. All the funds from kayak/snorkel rentals support youth activities for North Shore kids, while also stewarding He’eia State Park.

Over in Waimea Valley, while the admission to North Shore’s Waimea Falls might feel steep ($20), the money goes to conservation and reforestation of the island. Every dollar paid to swim in that gushing waterfall helps stock their seed vault, plant more trees in upland forest and educate people about this ancient valley that kings once roamed.

When it came to choosing a hotel, I opted for one of the only Hawaiian owned and operated hotels on the beach in Waikiki, Kaimana Beach Hotel. Though their environmental policies are still evolving with new ownership — much attention has been placed on their cool renovation by the Henderson Design Group — their restaurant, Hau Tree, helmed by Oahu chef Chris Kajioka, was recently crowned an ocean-friendly destination by Surfrider.

Since we only hired a car for the first couple days on the island, Nikko and I spent the end of our journey playing at Waikiki Beach. When he asked why the sand here felt so weird, I explained that it’s drudged up offshore and carted in for human comfort. 
“Oahu’s people have spent a ton of time and money trying to make us comfortable,” I said.

He looked up from his mochi donut and said, “Next time, we should volunteer at the fishpond twice.”

Aloha means to show love. And in all relationships, you must first give something to then receive. Walking into this space with my kid, offering our bodies to do necessary work this community needs to sustain itself, not simply waltzing in here and telling them what to do, or how to do it, allowed us to experience aloha in an entirely new way.

To create your own regenerative Hawaii itinerary, visit Malama Hawaii or view this handy resource about how to measure how to make your journeys more regenerative. 

Michele Bigley is a freelance writer who’s currently writing a book about her family’s global journey to find climate solutions. Follow their adventures: michelebigley.substack.com