I'm looking at my Merrie Monarch program in which I circled the numbers of the halau that I thought were serious contenders. Of the top spots (women's overall, men's overall and overall winner), I called two. But I never thought a men's halau would amass more points than a women's to take the top trophy, even though Halau I Ka Wekiu was so awesome I hardly have words for their performances. They found the coming-together place of technical excellence (which is vital to the judges) and interpretation (understanding and communicating the story in a creative way, which is vital to the audience) and they nailed it.

By my count (and it's 2 o'clock in the morning so don't call to tell me I'm wrong), a dozen halau received awards last night. Of these, I'd circled the numbers of eight. I didn't anticipate the award for Snowbird Bento's group: I think they're great but the judges have passed them over before so I hesitated despite their impressive performances. If you'd told me Mark Keali'i Ho'omalu would get an award, I would have laughed in your face; he's so out there and the judges are generally so conservative. I love listening to him chant even though it's so different than anyone else's work, but I didn't think he'd ever crack the points barrier.

I called four of the five award winners in Miss Aloha Hula Thursday. Pretty good. Maybe it's time for me to retire from Merrie Monarch while I'm ahead.

In any case, my first impression of this year's Merrie Monarch remains: It is a passing of the torch time and, although veterans such as Mapuana de Silva were rewarded, it was heartening to see Snowbird Bento, Carlson Kukona, Kaleo Trinidad, Napua Greig and Kahulu Maluo-Huber, all of the newer generation, collecting their ipu heke. Hula is passing into good hands.

It is, indeed, "the heartbeat of the Hawaiian people," as King David Kalakua said. And I can't say better than that.

And that's it from Hula Central. Until next year.

At 5:45 a.m., I was sitting on the balcony of my room at the Hilo Hawaiian, watching a Matson cargo barge hook up with its pilot ship in Hilo Bay and reflecting on the history of the Merrie Monarch Festival, on this, the last day of the 2007 event.
The festival originally was cooked up as a way to attract visitors to Hilo, when the city was in the midst of a bad business slump. Judging by the no-vacancy hotels, the traffic, the packed restaurants and the amount of brand-new alohawear seen at the event, it appears to have worked.
But the key to that was the hula competition. The first few years of the festival, which was founded in 1964 by the County of Hawai'i, were dismal failures with its royal court, beard-growing contest (to resemble Kalakaua, get it?), street dances and so on.
It wasn't until Dottie Thompson volunteered to chair the event, and enlisted the right cast of characters to create a competitive hula event (the first of which was in 1971) that Merrie Monarch began to grow. Though the festival continues to comprise a group of events (craft fairs, free hula performances, a parade, a couple of ho'olaule'a-style celebrations that bracket the week-long celebration), the hula competition is by far its best-known, best-attended, best-loved feature.
Last night, KITV coverage co-host Kimo Kahoano twice broke away from the business of kahiko group competition to exhort the crowd to thank Thompson with applause in this, the first year since 1971, that she has not been seen at the hula event, due to illness. As the crowd clapped and screamed, her daughter, assistant director Luana Kawelu, ducked her head with the humility and aversion to the spotlight that is typical of her family.
Also thanked was Uncle George Naope, who was on the original team that proposed the idea of a Merrie Monarch festival, and later helped Thompson found the hula competition.
Visiting Merrie Monarch during the hula competition is an experience that should be on the "do-this-before-you-die" list of every hula lover.
But two things were on my mind as I sat and watched glass-calm Hilo Bay reflecting the misty clouds over Hilo early this morning:
• that I can't wait to come again when it isn't Merrie Monarch time, to experience the "real" Hilo, so much more peaceful. (And also, I'd have some time!)
• and how much I miss watching the hula competition on TV with my friends, which was an annual, no-can-cancel appointment until I began covering Merrie Monarch.
Last night, I left the Edith Kanaka'ole Tennis Stadium at intermission and came back to my room to watch the competition on television to observe the differences in the experience. (And, no, I did not miss one minute of competition, since the Hilo Hawaiian is so close to the stadium.)
And the thing is, there are advantages to both.
On television, frankly, the view is better unless you're a judge (because they're on a raised dais and right up front). In the stadium, you have two choices; sit close on the floor and you can't see the feet (and what is hula without the feet, which root the dance to the 'aina?). Sit farther away and you're constantly asking your friends, "What is that flower they're wearing? Do you think that fabric is really silk? Who is that in the back singing?" Or you may be able only to see certain angles.
(By the way, if you noticed that TV didn't have the overhead views that have been a feature of previous years' broadcasts, it's because, as director John Wray explained to me, KITV's "spider-cam caught a virus." They'll be restoring it next year. They call the machine the spider-cam because, when they installed it some years ago, using a boom to lift it to the rafters, they found that spiders had colonized the area. One year, they could actually see a spider crawling across the lens during competition. "It was hilarious; we had to laugh and laugh," Wray said. Wray said he worked hard this year to try to give a more 360-degree view because the dance is really in the round, especially as halau advance their choreography and begin to use the stage in more innovative ways.
On the other hand, on TV, you can't smell the flowers, spend the intermission people-watching (and it's GOOOOD people-watching) and evesdropping on people's conversations (Ho! I heard some interesting comments about bad-boy Mark Keali'i Ho'omalu's performance!), hear the roars at full volume or really feel the mana.
But when you watch on TV, you don't have to worry about parking (if you get here past 4:30, you're in the cow pasture, where, as likely as not, some guy will block your car and then stay late).
But when you're in the stadium, you can have a program and really 'ono local-kine grinds.
But when you watch it on TV, you can invite all your friends over, eat and drink all you want and wala'au through the whole show and not upset anyone else. (And no waiting in line for the lua, either.)
Also, if you're watching it in the stadium, you don't hear any of the information on the dances that you get on TV; you generally have only the vaguest idea what's going on in the mo'olelo. And, especially, you don't hear Pua Kanahele's expert commentary; bringing her on board is one of the smartest things KITV ever did. She's always giving me information I didn't have — the names of steps and flowers and so on.
You see what I mean? If you are interested in this, you ought to try to come at least once in your life. But if you're watching it on TV, don't feel you're missing out. You're just experiencing it differently.
As I file this, I'm getting ready to rest up for tonight's marathon. I went out early and bought my Big Island Candies omiyagi for the office (because if I didn't, they wouldn't let me back in the door!) and my adornments for this evening (tiny orchids, roselani for my home Island of Maui, baby's breath and a little greenery in a lei po'o, in case anybody cares). I'll blog late tonight...hard to believe, my final report from Merrie Monarch 2007.
A hui hou. Malama pono.

It’s just after 11 p.m. and the kahiko group competition has ended. Whew! Twenty-seven performances!
Things I noticed:
• The warm colors of earth, sun and fire, every possible shade of orange, a lot of yellow and a fair amount of red. Unbelievable how this happens year after year, as though some invisible color virus had spread among the kumu hula, infecting them all with an attracton to certain shades.
• Wooden implements, including the rare foot treadle called the papa hehe but also kala’au sticks.
• In those halau employing mele from the monarchy period, interesting patterned fabrics: checks, stripes, calico and such. One of the sharpest was that of kumu hula Ed Collier’s Halau O Na Pua Kukui: For their dance honoring Queen Emma, they wore gorgeous silk-looking plaid full skirts in contrasting colors, one line wearing a green pattern and the other red, each with a bow at the side, worn with a fitted white eyelet blouse. Absolutely charming and very fresh.
• Split skirts and layered skirts, both in Miss Aloha Hula and group kahiko. One of the most unusual was that of kumu hula Kaleo Trinidad’s Ka Leo O Laka I Ka Hikina O Ka Lä, which were not just full but actually tiered in a mottled maroon, with a light-colored underskirt. Many halau also wore bloomers under skirts and one or two underskirts of contrasting colors. One Miss Aloha Hula candidate wore what I think was a crinoline under her full skirt, something I haven’t seen since childhood. (A crinoline, for the younger readers of this blog, was a wide, tiered, stiff slip meant to hold your skirts out around you.)
• In contrast to the women, who were often covered in layers of ruffles, long sleeves and huge ballooning skirts, most of the men were more than half naked, with bare chests and in more than a few cases bare buttocks, too.
• Thematic elements, too, seem to run in packs. Kumu hula have explored many, many aspects of the Hi'iaka story in this Merrie Monarch, and not all of them the predictable ones. Lohi’au, the alluring character who stands at the center of the Pele-Hi’iaka rivalry was fleshed out in several stories. Queen Emma and Queen Kapi’olani received a lot of attention this evening, as well.
• An implement that got used more than I’ve ever seen it was the hands: Several halau punctuated their songs not with the conventional ipu heke (gourd) or pahu drum but with simple clapping. Very effective.
One last little side note: Those wonderful hala pa'u that Halau I Ka Wekiu wore: Well, the other night, they put their freshly made skirts in the refrigerator to keep them green and somehow the refrigerator cord got pulled and the skirts turned mottled brown. They must have somehow managed to get hold of a truckload of fresh green hala because their skirts for performance appeared to be fresh and green. What a lot of work! And boy! Did those things sway!
And now it’s 11:30 and all good hula lovers should be in bed. Because if you think tonight went on for a long time, wait until tomorrow nights’ ‘auana competition and awards ceremony!
ZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZ.

Spent the morning with Maelia Loebenstein Carter’s Ka Pa Hula O Kauanoe O Wa’ahila, interviewing Miss Aloha Hula 2007 and watching rehearsal.
In my observation here at Merrie Monarch, different kumu hula take different approaches to rehearsal. Some are stern, all business, focused only on fine-tuning the dance. Others are gentle, like a kindly parent or aunt; no less focused on achieving their goals, but spending more time on encouragement than on admonition.
Loebenstein Carter took the latter approach on this morning of the kahiko group competition. The group, which is staying in a vacation rental house out in Keaukaha, a quiet neighborhood southwest of Hilo, had planned to rehearse on the beach this morning, but the Hilo ‘ua was falling, so they moved the furniture about in the living room of the house and the 20 dancers worked in close formation on their kahiko number.
As the dancers gathered — some are staying in another house down the road — Loebenstein Carter asked each how she had slept and inquired of particular students who are suffering ailments such as sore muscles and one girl who has a cold.
Rehearsal began with a sort of meditation and breathing exercise, with the dancers seated, cross-legged, on the floor in a large circle, eyes closed. “Ha!,” Loebenstein Carter ordered, and all breathed in. “Now let our your breath nice and slow.” And the sound of the dancers’ simultaneous exhalation was like the hissing of a volcano steam vent. Quietly, she planted the ideas in their minds that she wants to be most forward on this stressful day: “I am strong and I am powerful. I am kind and I am patient and I am loving. I am gifted, I am talented and I am humble. I am peaceful and I am calm and I am happy.” Between each, an expelled breath.
Then they rose in the many-windowed room in sight of the ocean breaking on the lava-strewn beach and began a short stretching session. “Noho ilalo!” They bent their knees in deep bends. “Hold and breathe!”
When it was time to dance, Loebenstein Carter gave them one last instruction: “Be confident in yourself and be happy and own your six minutes and 55 seconds.” There were a few giggles around the room.
As the kumu chants and slapped the ipu heke they negotiated the room seemingly without effort, despite the presence of an unmovable chest in the middle of the group, a dining room table pushed up against a wall and various chairs about the perimeter. At one point in mid-'oli, in the same rhythm and tone as the chant, Loebenstein Carter inserted a warning in English, “Watch the furniture!”
Some kumu hula stop their halau frequently during rehearsal, to the point where you think they’ll never get to the end of the dance. Some call out instructions, or point out errors. Much depends on where they are in the rehearsal process; once the dancers really know the dance (which they certainly should by this point in the process), it’s time to focus on the fine points, generally placement of hands and feet, or pronunciation errors. Others tend to watch the dance all through, making mental notes, then gathering the group the discuss issues before doing another run-through. It’s all personal to the kumu and to the halau and their needs. During these talks, some call for observations or suggestions from dancers — often the men watch the women and vice-versa, serving as the kumu’s extra pair of eyes. Some kumu, however, ask only for questions, and don’t encourage dancers to comment.
As we left, Loebenstein Carter was gathering her troupe around her, as, no doubt, the other 21 kumu were doing this morning and afternoon. Tonight, we’ll see arguably the most challenging part of the competition — not that çauana (modern) is easy, but there is so very, very much to learn in presenting kahiko (traditional). It takes the dancers so deeply into the culture.
I’ll be watching with interest. May not blog again tonight, as there are no results to report but will add to this if anything interest happens.
A hui hou!

Photographer Rebecca Breyer and I will be heading out early to interview the new Miss Aloha Hula, Keonilei Ku’uwehiokala Kaniaupio Fairbanks, but I got a chance to talk briefly with her after her win, so, for those who just can’t wait for the scoops, a few quick facts before I tuck in for the night:
She’s 24, a graduate student in Hawaiian Language at the University of Hawaiçi. She teaches high school math in Hawaiian at ‘Anuenue Charter School. She began studying with Maelia Loebenstein Carter when she was 14 and is the kumu’s first Miss Aloha winner for Ka Pa Hula O Kauanoe O Wa’ahila. And despite her long Hawaiian name, she’s known to one and all as “Ti.”
Loebenstein Carter, a former Miss Aloha Hula herself, said of Fairbanks: “She has a light. She’s got a spirit that everybody wants to see. Part of it is she has such a strong faith in God and in her family and in herself as a Hawaiian woman.” In the halau, Loebenstein Carter said, Fairbanks is “everybody’s sister.”
Fairbanks, who was extremely popular with the crowd, greeted by enthusiastic shouts when she neared the stage on both occasions. Her kahiko number, “Lamalama O Mamala,” is the story of a sporting demi-goddess of O’ahu who enjoyed surfing, playing Hawaiian checkers and drinking ‘awa. Fairbanks performed it with verve, her chanting strong and clear and her face and body so expressive that she kept the viewer’s attention throughout. Her ‘auana number was a love song, “O Ko’u Aloha Ia ‘Oe,” by the late Johnny K. Almeida, written for his first wife, and Fairbanks sunk herself into the lovely mood of the song without overacting.
Fairbanks won the Hawaiian Language Award as well as the overall prize, and that was to be expected; her mother is a Hawaiian language teacher and she grew up steeped in that aspect of the culture.
You’ll have to wait until tomorrow for more; we’ll be interviewing, photographing and shooting a short video, too.
A final thought or two: I always watch for trends at Merrie Monarch and I noticed several this year, though it’s early to tell if they’ll be carried through to the group competition, which starts tomorrow night with kahiko:
• Lei that don’t match the dress but are set off by it (there was orange akulekule with a blue dress, for example, and it looked smashing).
• Orange was another trend, seen in every shade from peach to flame.
• Birds, for some reason, were featured in quite a few of the mele. I think it’s a challenge for a hula dancer to move like a bird; if you’re not particularly graceful, you end up looking like a windmill. Everyone tonight was so graceful they pulled it off beautifully, though some choreography was more creative and challenging than others.
• The dresses for ‘auana seemed a bit more interesting this year, less obviously hula dresses. Two were distinctly period costumes and several looked as though they might have gone as readily to prom or out to dinner as to the stage at Merrie Monarch.
Here’s the Miss Aloha Hula winner list, in case you missed it. Kala mai for not being able to use all the diacriticals due to the format of this blog software:
1. Keonilei Ku’uwehiokala Kaniaupio Fairbanks, Ka Pa Hula O Kauanoe O Waçahila, 1609 points.
2. Aureana Kamali’io’iwalani Tseu, Hula Halau O Kamuela, 1527 points.
3. Erica Kauçionalani Awana, Halau Mohala ‘Ilima, 1512 points.
4. Malia Ann Marks, Hälau Hula Olana, 1501 points.
5. Lewalani Duarte; Keolalaulani Halau ‘Olapa O Laka, 1496 points.
Hawaiian Language Award: Keonilei Kuçuwehiokala Kaniaupio Fairbanks, Ka Pa Hula O Kauanoe O Wa’ahila, 49 points.