A Hawaiian Island Where Everybody Knows Your Name

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By Lynn Zinser

"When you come to Molokai, don't try to change Molokai. Molokai will change you."

As Waipa Purdy uttered those words, a lovely scene of unhurried life was playing out around him. On a sun-dappled lanai, a group of local musicians sang, strummed ukuleles and filled the air not only with music but also with joy. It was one of their regular gatherings, and by the time they were in full voice, nearly 200 people had turned up to soak it all in.

Mr. Purdy played his ukulele at one end of the long table, his customary spot as the head of the group. It was a happy accident that my husband and I happened by the performance, although in our short, 72-hour visit to this 260-square-mile island it seemed as if we had already met everyone.

Molokai, with its 7,000 residents, calls itself "the real Hawaii," and it doesn't take long to understand why. Only a tiny sliver of ocean separates it from overdeveloped Oahu, but it might as well belong to another world, one lovingly maintained by its people.

"Everyone is like family," Mr. Purdy said. "You know everybody. You wave to everybody. It's the friendly island. Kindness doesn't cost anything."

Mr. Purdy would know. He worked in customer service for Hawaiian Airlines for 39 years. "I have traveled around the world twice," he said, "but I didn't see any place like here."

From Honolulu, Molokai is a ridiculously short 15-minute flight (on which you can use your portable electronic devices for all of eight minutes), but the island is Hawaii's outlier. It is a geographic and geologic oddity, its forbidding landscape bearing no resemblance to its lush and mountainous sisters. It has no resorts, only a single hotel, one stoplight and no building taller than a fully grown palm tree. It is the least visited of the major Hawaiian islands. It lacks tourist-magnet beaches and Michelin-starred restaurants.

In that blink of a flight, the airplane seems like a time machine that deposits you in a Hawaii that time forgot.

Most tourists who do come are drawn by Kalaupapa, the former leper colony on a peninsula on the north side of the island. It is so remote that reaching it requires a long mule ride or extended hike, both of which take almost an entire day. The trip is breathtaking, leading visitors down twisting, steep slopes that helped isolate the colony after it was established in the mid-19th century. There are charter flights as well, including from Maui or Oahu bypassing the rest of Molokai altogether, but you’d have to be a fan of small planes.

Kalaupapa is a national historical park now — antibiotics could cure leprosy by the 1940s — and a living memorial, with a few survivors choosing to still live there, surrounded by monuments and many of the colony's buildings. You can see it from a more accessible overlook along the north shore that requires but a five-minute hike, which also offers a view of sea cliffs nearly 2,000 feet tall.

We saw Kalaupapa from that windy, foggy overlook, deciding not to spend a lengthy stretch of our visit on the back of a mule, opting instead to spend it with the people.

We had met the first of Molokai's de facto ambassadors only minutes into our visit. When we arrived at Molokai's tiny airport, our rental car was waiting (unlocked, key under the mat, Molokai style) and a short drive on one of the three major roads took us to the main town, Kaunakakai.

We opted for lunch at Molokai Burger, a 1970s fast-food throwback that has managed to be ranked by TripAdvisor as the island's No. 1 restaurant. The burgers were delicious and the milkshakes heavenly. We were polishing off one of those milkshakes when another diner, Kimo Orlando, introduced himself and asked where we were from.

He filled us in on his family story, which is the story of many others on Molokai. Mr. Orlando and his wife, Kehau, whom he quickly brought over to meet us, were born on Molokai but had met while both were living on Oahu. After they married and had three children, they decided to move back home to raise them as they had grown up — with few worries, surrounded by that big, extended island family.

"You don't have to worry about looking everywhere, worrying about your kids," he said. "There is no traffic. The life is all about the fishing and the mountains.

"The people here are very strong. They want it to stay this way."

After lunch, we set out to discover the island's not-so-obvious charms, driving from one end to the other, marveling at a landscape so different from the rest of its sister islands. The west end is full of scrubby vegetation and low hills, the east and north marked by craggy mountains. The trip to the Kalaupapa lookout brought us through a forest of long-needle pines frequently draped in low clouds, which made us feel as though we had somehow wandered into coastal Oregon.

The island doesn't always conform to the stereotypical vision of a tropical paradise. But if you stop looking for that, it's easier to pick out its subtle pleasures. Molokai's dangerous surf means swimming is out of the question in most places for most of the year, but there is a beach on the west end that is wide, lovely and pristine for three straight miles. (Four people were on it when we visited.) The lack of buildings and bright lights means that the night sky is an ocean of stars that puts any planetarium to shame.

The sunsets are so spectacular, you will find yourself racing to a proper beachside spot to witness them. Our first night, we scrambled to watch a huge orange sun drop into the horizon as if someone had lowered a hot-air balloon into the ocean.

There is great food, found in humble surroundings. The delightful Kualapu’u Cookhouse closes at 8 p.m. and doesn't accept credit cards, but it serves a mean surf and turf, easily the best meal we had on Molokai. And Kanemitsu's Bakery is a must-stop, though not necessarily during business hours — in the evenings, it opens a back door into an alley to sell hot bread straight from the oven.

The musical gatherings led by Mr. Purdy, though, are the events not to be missed. The group performs regularly: Friday nights at Hotel Molokai, Wednesday nights at Paddlers’ Inn restaurant. On Tuesday mornings, they take over the lanai at Coffees of Hawaii, the island's coffee plantation.

That's where we stumbled upon them after a decidedly unrestful night, our rental condo on the outskirts of Kaunakakai having been stalked by an unfortunately nocturnal neighborhood rooster, who had apparently missed the memo about being quiet until dawn.

Coffees of Hawaii's impressively strong espresso drinks offered salvation the next morning, and as we sipped, around two dozen musicians began filing in. They were mostly older men and women, who hugged, smiled and chatted before taking their spots around a long table. They strummed ukuleles (pronounced OO-ka-lay-lays by Hawaiians) and sang a range of songs, from traditional Hawaiian ballads to Eric Clapton's "San Francisco Bay Blues," which in this setting became "Hilo Bay Blues."

"It used to be just a couple of us sitting around a table here, playing," said Ray Horner, who was the morning's master of ceremonies and also played a mean ukulele. "Now, it's gone crazy."

As the music continued, the lanai eventually filled up. Several small tour buses even stopped to disgorge their passengers, who listened for awhile.

A local high school teacher took the microphone between songs and announced that five of his students had won spots in a national science competition in Pittsburgh — a remarkable feat for such a tiny high school. He asked the crowd for donations to fund the trip, and ended up raising more than $1,400. Later, the five girls — Momi Afelin, Sarah and Lily Jenkins, Keaa Davis and Alexandria Simon — came by on their lunch break. They thanked everyone with hugs, strangers and friends alike.

As the gathering finally broke up, Mr. Horner stayed to see everyone off. He owns the plantation's coffee and gift shops, as well as the Kalaupapa mule ride, and is a licensed Medicare agent.

Talking to Mr. Horner, we felt mildly guilty for not having taken the mule ride, but he didn't argue with our choice to get to know Molokai's residents. "You are right," he said. "The treasure of the island is the people."

As we headed back to Oahu at the end of our trip, we marveled again at the small open-air airport, where we were advised to head through security immediately because if everyone was checked in, the plane might leave early. (It did, by 40 minutes.)

We once again ran into Waipa Purdy, who was smiling from ear to ear. He waved us over and introduced us to George Kanemitsu — the bakery owner — whom he had come to pick up.

"Come back and visit again," Mr. Purdy said. "I know you will remember us."

There is only one hotel on Molokai, unmysteriously called the Hotel Molokai (hotelmolokai.com), which is along the main road just east of Kaunakakai. Many of its bungalows have ocean views and are $185 to $285 a night.

The other lodging options are privately rented condos, including many on the more secluded west end of the island.

Arguably the best food on the island can be found at the Kualapu’u Cookhouse (808-567-9655), as long as you eat before 8 and are paying in cash. If you splurge for the surf and turf, dinner for two will set you back $60 or so, but most of the other seafood or sandwich options will be less expensive.

Molokai Burger (molokaiburger.com) has a 1970s throwback vibe and milkshakes to die for.

The coffee bar at Coffees of Hawaii(coffeesofhawaii.com/molokai) dishes out the island's best coffee drinks, with breakfast and lunch options you can eat on a lovely lanai outside the island's coffee plantation.

Visit Kanemitsu's Bakery (kanemitsubakerycofeeshop.com) via its front door during normal business hours (every day but Tuesday) if you’d like, but the real attraction is buying hot bread out of its back door in an alley after 10 every night but Monday.

The island's top attraction is Kalaupapa, the forbidding peninsula that used to be a leper colony, ministered by Father Damien until he, too, succumbed to leprosy. The site is now a national historical park and a memorial to Father Damien and all who cared for the patients. It is accessible only by a long mule ride down the steep, rocky hillside, or a long hike.

With few swimmable beaches, the ones on the island's west end — including Papohaku and Kepuhi — are good for long strolls to marvel at the surf and some fearless surfers or for watching for humpback whales (during their migration between December and April).

Purdy's Macadamia Nut Farm (molokai-aloha.com/macnuts) gives you an inside look at the farming of Hawaii's signature nut. You can also take a few swings at cracking one yourself.

For a truly homegrown experience, gather with the island's musicians as they play at Coffees of Hawaii on Tuesdays, theHotel Molokai on Friday evenings or Paddlers’ Inn on Wednesdays.

An article on Dec. 3 about Molokai, Hawaii, misstated the travel options to Kalaupapa, a former leper colony on the island. It is accessible by charter flights, not just by mule rides or hikes.

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