From the floor of Edith Kanakaole Stadium: 5 o’clock Thursday and it’s starting. The warm-up music is playing, the Japanese visitors have kapu’d most of the best seats, the photographers are taping their electrical connections to the floor (we file photos and copy wirelessly, but need to plug in to protect our precious batteries).
Panic attack No. 1 has been averted: My wireless phone connection does work in the stadium!
Panic attack No. 2 will come about 11 tonight when I have to chase down the Miss Aloha Hula winner in the chaotic moments after the winner announcement and make an appointment with her for the crack of dawn so we can do an interview and record some video to give you Saturday. Look for the story in print and online then.
Meanwhile, I’ve had time to chat with some early arrivers.
Teani Freitas of Kahului, Maui, was one of these. She has been saving to come to Merrie Monarch for five years, she said. She studied hula as a child and always watches the telecast. “It’s one of those things you always mean to do and you just don’t do. I’m turning 40 this year so I said, ‘Okay, that’s my 40th birthday present to myself. I made the plan and I stuck to it. My friend always gets tickets and she promised I could use of hers. I had to leave my husband and children home but I’m here!”
Robert and Stacy Pu’u of Honolulu had brought their young son, Jayden, 5, who is already studying hula. “He’ll be asleep before it’s over,” his mother said, “but I want him to see this, even if it’s wahine hula, because I think you are influenced by the things from small-kid time even if you don’t completely remember them. I think it imprints on you and I’d like to think we have a little Mr. Keiki Hula here,” she said, proudly.
Frank and Marcia Stewart of Los Angeles, who scored tickets from a friend who couldn’t use them, were waiting with anticipation to experience their first Merrie Monarch. The couple who own a condo in Kona and come over several weeks every year, have never even watched it on TV, but read about in a magazine list of “The 100 Best Festivals” and decided they couldn’t not take advantage of this opportunity. “We are just learning about Hawaiian culure but everyone tells us this is one of the best places for experiencing the real, authentic hula. So far, it’s fun just to see all the people all dressed up and all the flowers. It smells like a florist in here,” said Marcia Stewart.
One of the best things about Merrie Monarch is seeing people you haven’t seen in a while. I look forward to the tutus with the entire orchid gardens in their hair and to doing “fashion police”on the outfits, which range from positively stunning to oh-honey-what-were-you-thinking?
My friend Marylene Chun of Kailua, who looks foward to the festival with great anticipation each year, arrived a short while ago with a gardenia for my hair — so sweet (both her and the flower).
With the exception of executive director Auntie Dottie Thompson, who isn’t well enough to attend, all the usual suspects are about: Father George DeCosta, who always leads us in the welcoming chant, “E Ho Mai,” requesting a deeper understanding of the hidden knowledge of the songs; the gorgeous color-coordinated woman (whose name I’ve never known) who always volunteers to protect the VIP seats up front behind the judges’ chairs, former Miss Aloha Hula Tehani Ganzado shooting some color commentary for KITV.
And me, nervous about making deadline and doing justice to this significant event, but privileged to be here.
Enjoy the show and watch for the complete winner list, which I’ll be posting as soon as the event is over, as well as more blogging tomorrow.

One thing I haven’t had a chance to do as much as I’d like this year is watch rehearsals on the Merrie Monarch stage at Edith Kanaka’ole Stadium, but I was able to catch a few halau this morning.
Saw Manu Boyd’s Halau o ke ‘A’ali’i Ku Makani; chicken-skin when Boyd’s kumu Robert Cazimero joined Boyd and friends to perform their ‘auana number, “Maunaloa.” Cazimero, like a proud papa, could be seen taking pictures with his cell phone as Boyd rehearsed his Miss Aloha Hula candidate, Bianca Ua’imaikalani Meheula.
My favorite moment during Halau Mohala ‘Ilima’s rehearsal was watching kumu hula Mapuana de Silva’s glowing smile and encouraging eye flashes and hand movements as she coached her Miss Aloha Hula candidate Erica Kau’ionalani Awana, who is performing to the late Auntie Kaui Zuttermeister’s classic “Na Pua Lei ‘Ilima.” De Silva was emoting like crazy, attempting to connect with and draw out the same emotions in her dancer.
It reminded me of something that Merrie Monarch volunteer Penny Vredenburg said yesterday. I was telling her that, for me, the feet and the arms are, of course, important in hula, but vital to a superior performance is the facial expression that tells you the dancer is confident and occupying the song.
“Yes,” she said, “the song climbs inside of you.” Pololei (right!).
Known for their graceful, nahenahe style, Halau Mohala ‘Ilima is doing a little something different this year with their group kahiko; the dance is performed with the use of two lesser-seen wooden implements: the papa heke, or foot rocker, and the kala’au, sticks. The choreography moves from a tight group to a partial hula noho (seated hula), with the the group arranged to work the whole stage, those at the rear standing and those in front kneeling, chanting with the steady and pleasing hollow sounds of the implements. Impressive and not the usual tight-formation kaholo (three-step vamp).
The men of Halau I Ka Wekiu came in next and rehearsed their kahiko selection for a solid hour. This is one to watch. It’s a bit of a departure for them, too. People tend to expect pyrotechnics from men’s halau; the crowd loves all that stamping and vigorous chanting and those provocative hip thrusts. But this ‘oli, about Lohi’au, the beloved of Pele, is, if not solemn, certainly dignified. The men’s faces are stern as they tell of the feats of this Kaua’i athlete and hula dancer.
The dance builds from motionless chanting, through a swaying kaholo, to a still relatively staid but immensely powerful ending that involves deep, crouching ‘amis (hip revolutions) and hula noho (seated hula). Watch for the climbing move toward the end. Ai ya! I could watch these guys all day.
Wekiu’s costuming is also of interest; they’re wearing skirts made of tough hala leaves instead of the usual ti, which clash audibly as they move. When the kumu are chanting the opening, and the men come walking in from both sides of the stadium, listen for the sound (KITV director John Wray told me they’re determined the capture the sound because it’s so striking). It reminded me of the famous metaphorical rain of Hilo, ka ua kani lehua, which can be translated as “the rain that plays on the lehua blossoms”; the meaning of plays here being as in a musical instrument, the rain pouring down so hard it makes a sound. But I’ve been told it also can means that the rain the lehua blossoms drink, or the rain that is drawing forth the lehua, just as the skirts seem to draw forth the dance.
While they were performing, the men were being chased around the stage by a CBS camera crew, with the shooter often just inches away from the dancers, who continued in a disciplined fashion, as though they weren’t in danger of a collision.
Phil Keoghan (the “Amazing Race” guy) will the host the upcoming “CBS Early Show” story; he arrived and watched intently, taking notes. A native New Zealander, he said the ‘oli reminded him of Maori haka. The segment on men’s halau will be part of a project he’s doing, reviving a series he formerly did called “Keoghan’s Heroes” (his name is pronounced like “Hogan”), about people who have dedicated themselves passionately to some pursuit. He, producer Jack Renaud and cameraman Scott Shelley are shadowing Wekiu for three days; they’re up at Halama’u crater as I write this.
“We’re profiling people who are driven by a passion and who have a real lust for life. That’s what brought us to this story,” said Keoghan, who has recently published a book, “No Opportunity Wasted” (Rodale, 2007), suggesting that you identify your passion and make a list of things you commit to doing before you die. His motto is “living each day as if it were your last,” for which sentiment he uses the acronym NOW. “These people have that NOW spirit,” he said of Wekiu and the other Merrie Monarch competitors.
One last thought as I sign off to iron my dress for Merrie Monarch tonight (eh! first things first, brah), I’ve been collecting halau mottos or themes, which you see on their T-shirts or sometimes their pa’u skirts. Shirts worn by Mark Keali’i Ho’omalu’s Academy of Hawaiian Arts say, “Ke kukui nana i luna.” “The light looked up to.”
Many of the members of Halau Mohala ‘Ilima were wearing shirts from a couple of years ago bearing a line from a chant they performed then, “Alekoki.” The saying is “A’o ia pouli nui mea ole i ku’u mana’o.” Kahikina de Silva, daughter of kumu hula Mapuana de Silva, explained that it’s a metaphoric saying that means that even the darkest times can be endured and will pass.
But the halau’s shirts for this year are especially cool: Kihei de Silva, Mapuana’s husband, designed them to look like a page from the Hawaiian language newspaper Ke Aloha ‘Aina. Under the masthead, he printed all the words of the songs the are performing.
I am surrounded by hula. There’s a halau practicing in the hallway and some Japanese dancers are getting a hula lesson on the lawn outside my window.
Hilo, Hilo, Hanakahi....

Some things can be counted on as faithfully as rain in Hilo (it’s falling softly outside my balcony window now): On ho’ike night at Merrie Monarch, Halau O Kekuhi will possess the stage at Edith Kanaka’ole Stadium as though they owned it. Which, in a sense, they do, since the stadium is named for the hula school’s late kumu hula, Edith Kanaka’ole, and her daughters, granddaughter and great-grandchildren all dance in the troupe.
The halau, whose kumu hula are Nalani Kanahele and Pua Kanaka’ole, always open the show, then give way to invited guests — usually one Japanese school, one from somewhere in the South Pacific and one local. This year, Sonny Chang’s Halau Na Mamo O Pu’uanahulu was the Hawai’i representative — and I have a confession: Tired from a long day of reporting, and knowing I am about to enter a hula marathon, I left after Halau O Kekuhi. Kala mai, Sonny — I know you were fabulous.
But back to Halau O Kekuhi. The dancers entered chanting — all of them swathed in brightly colored pellum-fabric pa’u (skirts), even the men, though the men’s draperies were enticingly split up both sides. In the course of a performance that involved both the adult and keiki halau in four different segments, they explored the familiar sibling rivalry of the goddesses Pele and Hi’iaka, stamping, gesturing sharply, executing well-oiled amis (hip sways) and deep ‘uehe (a particularly provocative open-knee’d step) in their characteristic aiha’a style. The audience, as usual, reacted deliriously, screaming encouragement.
Ten chanter-drummers kept up a furious pace and the challenging choreography had the dancers glistening with sweat. When these people chant, it’s a full-body experience, their voices hurled outward almost in an assault. The keiki segment was particularly impressive, mixing solo with group work in an expressive dance, pushing the young performers to their limits. In contrast to what we’ll see throughout the competition which begins Thursday, Halau O Kekuhi isn’t about precision; it’s about energy.
Unfortunately, unless you can speak Hawaiian well enough to follow a lighting-speed chant in a building notorious for its poor acoustics, there was no way to know exactly what story we were being told. There is no program on ho’ike night and no emcee to tell the audience what is being danced. I know it was the Pele-Hi’iaka story, but no more than that.
There’ll be more of Pele and Hi’iaka, a favorite of hula practitioners and a rich story with many versions, twists and turns. When I interviewed kumu hula Tiare Noelani Chang of Halau Na Mamo O Ka’ala, she said her women’s kahiko ‘oli, “Ia Loa’a Ka Hala, Ka Lili, Kaua, Paio,” sheds light on a much lesser-known part of the story.
Remember that Pele had fallen in love with a handsome chief, Lohi’au, and sent her sister, Hi’iaka, to find him and bring him to her. It takes Hi’iaka a while to complete her mission, and she must make visits to several different locations. Meanwhile, Pele, in a temper, does a fair amount of damage, including destroying someone for whom Hi’iaka cares deeply. This is where Chang’s kahiko selection comes in: The two meet in the area of Hilo and Hi’iaka is furious. Instead of the usual depiction of Hi’iaka as the loving appeaser, she is seen here as one who realizes that she has powers of her own and one who is, in Chang’s words, is “at the boiling point.” The two sisters face off, but, Hi’iaka, counseled by gods who suggest that she think things through before she acts (something Pele doesn’t always do), realizes that Pele is needed by the people and the land, and she realizes, too, that just because she has the power to oppose Pele, it doesn’t mean she has to do it. In the end, the two are reconciled. Pele removes to the volcano to build up her strength again. I will be very interested to see how this story is danced on Friday night.
Kumu hula Carlson Kamaka Kukona III of Halau O Ka Hanu Lehua, new at the Merrie Monarch this year, chose a chant, “A Ko’olau Au,” from the Pele-Hi’iaka story in which Hi’iaka is on O’ahu and encounters torrential rains and other obstacles as she attempt to get to Kaua’i to contact Lohi’au. “I use it as a metaphor for my own life and the lives of my dancers. Life is always a struggle, there’s always something to get over. If we try hard enough, we can reach the calm and we can carry on,” he said.
Another aspect of the Pele-Hi’iaka story will be touched on by the award-winning halau kane Halau I Ka Wekiu. It is a story of Pele’s desired one, Lohi’au. Kumu hula Veto Baker told me he began to think about doing this dance two years ago and, at that point, he asked his men if they were willing to commit to something he felt was important to the story: They would all have to grow their hair long. He thinks it might be the first time on a Merrie Monarch competition stage that all the men in a troupe will wear shoulder-length or longer hair.
“Lohi’au was known to be this beautiful specimen of a man, a great hula dancer as well as a master of sport. In my vision, I’ve always seen him with long hair,” said Baker. Hula handicappers among my acquaintance think Wekiu has an excellent chance of winning the men’s overall; they are so strong, skilled and precise and great crowd-pleasers without being rebels. Can’t wait to see this one.
For now, aloha ahiahi, I’m off to rest before the exertions of the new few days.

It’s mid-afternoon Wednesday and the difference between mid-afternoon yesterday in Hilo, and mid-afternon today, is palpable. Parking has disappeared. The hotel lobby is a chaos of luggage and chattering groups in halau T-shirts.Outside my hotel door, the hallway rings with people's voices as halau and spectators check in.
We are definitely in the eye of the hula hurricane now, with the Merrie Monarch Festival hula competition opening tonight with the free ho’ike (exhibition) hosted by Halau O Kekuhi. This year, the contestants include Sonny Ching’s Halau Na Mamo O Pu’uanahulu: He took last year off from competition to serve as a judge and this year has been spending so much time in Japan and elsewhere that he’s taking another competition break. It must feel like a vacation to his students to be performing just for the joy of it instead of worrying about keeping up their halau’s high-scoring record.
Early this morning, photographer Rebecca Breyer and I headed out in search of a halau rehearsing: We had no idea who we’d find, but you can’t walk 10 minutes in this hotel without tripping over a halau and many of them make use of any open space they can find to practice, since their rehearsal time at the Edith Kanaka’ole Stadium is strictly scheduled and scarce (most get just three or four opportunities to work on the actual stage).
We found kumu hula Keali’i Ceballos of Halau Keali’i O Nalani and the 21 women and seven men he brought with him from Los Angeles, rehearsing in an open area between meeting rooms on the first floor of the hotel, with Hilo Bay spread out before them. While they danced, a group of woman walked up and were greeted with smiles and kisses; they were hula sisters who had flown in from Thousands Oaks, Calif., to cheer the group on. They will serve as kokua (helpers) who will fetch and carry and do whatever the dancers need as competition nears.
After the wahine had run through their ‘auana (modern) song, “He Inoa No Pauahi,” in honor of Bernice Pauahi Bishop, Ceballos gathered them all on the floor around him to offer gentle guidance. “Try to get into the story. Remember, we honor Pauahi. Try to make sure the emotions are coming out,” he said. He demonstrated movements that needed improvement. He called for halau members to offer their suggestions, or ask their questions. And in the end, he praised them: “That was maika’i.”
Ceballos’ troupe is one of the Mainland halau that makes the complicated and expensive journey to Merrie Monarch every year, despite the fact that no Mainland halau has ever won the overall prize and few even place. It’s not for the competition, he said. It’s for the opportunity for his students — not all of whom have Hawai’i connections, and few of whom were born here — to experience hula on Hawaiian soil. “Being so far away, we don’t have the luxury of having the culture just coming at us out of the water, out of the land and the sky, we have to work harder to find and understand the culture,” he said.
At Merrie Monarch, as with NASCAR, your competition position is based on past success and a sort of internal handicapping on the part of competition officials. The previous year’s winning halau, if they are competing, always go last, for example. So Mainland halau tend to be on early in the competition and Ceballos likes that: “We get a chance to just sit in the stands and cheer everyone on, and the students get a chance to see world-class hula,” he said.
“Being from the Mainland, I know we’re pushed a little more, we’re going to be scrutinized. . . We try to do our best,” he said.
After shooting video of Keali’i (you can see it online on Thursday), Rebecca and I joined videographer/editor Scott Morifuji at the Hawai’i Naniloa Volcanoes Resort for one of the two- or three-time daily free hula performances that are a feature of Merrie Monarch. Hilo kumu hula Ray Fonseca, who has been absent from Merrie Monarch competition for a few years, brought some members of his Halau Hula O Kahikilaulani to perform along with the group Aukahi (and if you’ve never heard the voice of their young lead singer, Kaneala Masoe, you have some chicken-skin moments ahead of you).
Fonseca was in fine form, as were his dancers, but perhaps the high point was a very carport-hula moment when the women of an elder health program in Pahoa, Ke Ola Pono Na Kupuna, got up to dance. It was a welcome break in the pursuit of perfection that characterizes Merrie Monarch — just a group of women of a certain age, each in their own comfortable holoku, hands and feet not always in unison but eyes flashing in kolohe (rascally) fashion and each positively glowing with the pure love of the dance. We screamed our hearts out for them.
I was sitting next to Merrie Monarch volunteer Penny Vredenburg, who organizes and emcees all the free shows, and has been doing so for 14 years. She is a hoot! At one point, she rose to praise the singing of the young and strikingly handsome Kaneala and quipped, “I’m having a hot flash!” It brought the house down. Another time, she told the crowd. “If you like me, my name is Penny. If not, I am Kimo Kahoano” — a joke lost on the tourist half of the crowd but greatly appreciated by the locals who recognized the name of Merrie Monarch’s TV co-host.
Uncle George Na’ope was there, as he usually is at the free performances, holding court like the hula ali’i that he is. If you had a nickel for every Japanese tourist who had their picture taken with George Na’ope, you could afford to buy as many rings as he wears! He graciously sat still for us to shoot a short video, which will be online later.
A tender moment was when Fonseca, who was a student of Na’ope, brought out a young soloist to perform the old-time favorite “Ho’onaunau Paka,” about the City of Refuge on Kona side. “He taught me this song about 400 years ago and I have not changed one step or one hand motion since,” he said, paying tribute to his kumu.
Na’ope, who turned 80 earlier this year, is moving very, very slowly, but still dressed in all the colors of the amazing technicolor dreamcoat, and still shuffling off into a corner between photo sessions to enjoy the odd cigarette.
Vredenburg said Merrie Monarch’s longtime executive director and co-founder with Naope, Auntie Dottie Thompson, is, for the first time, not expected to appear at Merrie Monarch at all this year. She is in failing health and very frail, but Vredenburg said she visits Thompson daily during the week of the festival to report to her on everything that’s happening.
This news just reaffirmed the impression I got in my early reporting on this 44th annual festival, that, for those of who have been following the festival through, if you will, its baby boomer years, it is a time of change and passing of the torches.

`I’ve never talked to a kumu hula about this, and I wouldn’t presume, but I wonder if their feelings about the Merrie Monarch hula competition are anything like mine.
Very mixed.
Every year, I try to get out of this assignment. Every year, I dread the pressure of living up to a story this complicated and — at least to those who care about hula and Hawaiian culture — important.
Every year, my friends listen to me whine and obsess in the weeks leading up to the event. They say, “Oh, you are so lucky! You must be looking forward to it so much.” And every year I growl, “Are you nuts? Do you have any idea how much work it is? I’d LOVE to go to Merrie Monarch one year and just watch it and not worry that the Miss Aloha Hula winner will be staying in Kona so I have to get up at 4 a.m. on Friday to go and interview her. I’d LOVE to go to Merrie Monarch and not feel guilty if I miss one single SECOND of performance. I’d LOVE to go to Merrie Monarch and not have to stay up until 1 a.m. typing in the winner list on Saturday night when I’m blind with fatigue.” And my friends, who know me well, just nod.
Because they know that, when I’m on the airplane and I see the sweeping curve of Hilo Bay and the drink in the green, green landscape and feel the first touch of the inevitable ‘ua blessing, I am going to be all ABOUT Merrie Monarch and so grateful that my editors wouldn’t let me talk them out of this assignment.
Tuesday morning, as the plane touched down, I actually teared up, and I shook photographer Rebecca Breyer awake from a much-needed cat nap and said, “We’re here! We’re here!” Rebecca has been coming by my desk for two weeks saying, “Are you ready?” And I’ve been saying, “NO! Leave me alone!” Now I’m the one who is more than ready to hear the first beat of the pahu or ipu.
Our first stop was at the Edith Kanaka’ole Stadium where Merrie Monarch Assistant Director Luana Kawelu, daughter of longtime director Auntie Dottie Thompson, greeted us beween the constant phone calls that go along with organizing an event of this magnitude. I asked about the festival’s move from its longtime suite in the Naniloa Volcanoes Resort and she said the move, forced by hotel renovations and the new onwer’s decision to charge rent for what has always been free space, has given the festival budget quite a jolt. They’re renting in a Hilo office complex now but are hoping that the county will help out the not-for-profit, all-volunteer organization with some space in a building just across the parking lot from the Edith Kanaka’ole Tennis Stadium. After an inconclusive vote in the county council, the effort is “in limbo” right now, she said, but if some inexpensive or free space is not found for festival operations, it could materially effect the organization’s ability to function.
Next we picked up our press credentials (the colors for credentials, T-shirts, programs, etc. this year are a warm yellow and cinnamon and the lei that traditionally graces the program and the T-shirts is Ni’ihau shels). Then we spent the morning making a video with Sig Zane of Sig Zane Designs, who is practically the official designer of the Merrie Monarch Festival (his wife is a judge, his sister in law is a color commentator for KITV, the stadium is named for his mother-in-law and half he crowd wears his clothes — the other half wear Manuheali’i). Zane renovated his shop earlier this year and it’s twice the size and beautifully laid out with ‘ohia wood floors large, welcoming ‘ohia wood door.
Crawling across the window in looping script is written: “He mai! He mai e ku’u pua lehua o ka wao i pohai ‘ia e na manu o uka, ku’u lehua i mohala i, ka ua o ua kani lehua, ua o ka hale nei ua hi mai la ‘oe. Mai! Mai! Eia no makou nei.”
Sig explained to me that it’s a hea hea, a traditional call-out to a person who is approaching your dwelling. “You’re inviting them in. ‘Come! Come! You, the lehua flower of the uplands, you, the lehua that the birds are attracted to. You light up my house with your presence. Come! Come and enjoy!’”
People certainly responded to this invitation. My friends who came over to Hilo for the opening blessing last month said it was SRO with folks queued up outside the door.