Mark Twain visited the Hawaiian islands back in 1866 and took copious notes of what he encountered. He had a particular fondness for trees, as one of his despatches to the Sacramention Union noted:
There are many species of beautiful trees in Kona – noble forests of them – and we had numberless opportunities of contrasting the orange with them. The verdict rested with the orange. Among the varied and handsome foliage of the Kou, Koa, Kukui, breadfruit, mango, guava, peach, citron, ohia and other fine trees, its dark, rich green cone was sure to arrest the eye and compel constant exclamations of admiration. So dark a green is its foliage, that at a distance of a quarter of a mile the orange tree looks almost black.
It was while he was travelling on the big island of Hawaii, going to see the volcano that he supposedly stopped in Waiohinu and planted a monkeypod tree. The tree blew down in 1957, but a shoot was replanted and is still clearly marked today as Mark Twain’s tree – albeit the second generation.
Writing from Waiohinu, Twain had this to say: Speaking of trees reminds me that a species of large-bodied tree grows along the road below Waiohinu whose crotch is said to contain tanks of fresh water at all times; the natives suck it out through a hollow weed, which always grows near. As no other water exists in that wild neighbourhood, within a space of some miles in circumference, it is considered to be a special invention of Providence for the behoof of the natives. I would rather accept the story than the deduction, because the latter is so manifestly but hastily conceived and erroneous. If the happiness of the natives had been the object, the tanks would have been filled with whisky.
Probably one of the most amazing things about travelling this island is the abundance of fruit. You can literally help yourself to oranges, lemons, mangos, breadfruit, guava, and avocados that are bigger than your foot. The rule is, is that if there is no sign saying not to, then you can pick what you like from the side of the road. When I think of what I pay for an avo in Budapest, I cringe. I’ve eaten so many now, that at night, I take on a peculiar Hulkish glow. The roads are lined with fruit stands, many of which are set up on an honour system – you leave the money in a box or bag and miracles of miracles, no one runs away with it. This level of honesty takes getting used to and the ample supply of free fruit puts subsistence living at a whole new level.
My only faux pas so far was mixing up my cherries!
