I met an old surf instructor named Fred near the end of summer tourist season. His wrinkled, sun-weathered hands have seen change, but not recently. Between waves, he told me about the change that came to Lahaina, a little surf and harbor town on the Northwest side of Maui. It’s the kind of change that he’d rather not have lived to see.
Visitors to Maui know about Lahaina—for its weddings, luaus and sunset sails, but mostly they know the string of resorts that wrap along the North, on Kaanapali Beach. Despite Airbnb’s best efforts to break the block against new rentals in town, the resorts remain the major accommodation on the West side. All efforts have been made to keep the tourists happy right there and yet, as Fred tells me, some people are bored with shopping and board walking, so they come to Lahaina’s Front Street looking for something else.
If you’ve ever watched a sitcom vacation-special in Maui, then you’ve seen Kaanapali. The resort community was started in the 1960s and reached build-out in 2003. It has a shopping complex with high-end stores, restaurants and barefoot walk-up bars. All of it fronts the amazing beach where young people were able to strut and gape all day. Now, the path is eroding away and the only strutting is done by grandparents behind strollers filled with sand toys. The young people, if you haven’t guessed, have moved on to bar hopping and store-front art galleries in Lahaina.
Finding a place to enjoy a drink in Lahaina shouldn’t have been as difficult as it was. Waiting with crowds in the street for twenty minutes on a stool is fine in New York, but it doesn’t vibe with aloha. The gallery assistants were overbearing, but the art was spectacular. During my stay I was lucky to get two seats, last minute, at Lahaina Grill—my compliments to the chef for maintaining high standards and the waitstaff for their impeccable taste, but it was so damn loud and crowded, its intimate appeal for me was lost. To be clear, Lahaina was meant to be a support town for modest docks, sunset cruises and novice wave riders, not a night scene for thousands of resort-goers.
I, for one, didn’t mind wearing shoes and waiting in line for a good drink. The sweet-maui onion sauce at the Grill was worth every bumped elbow, and I’d surf with Fred again, waves packed as they were, but he’s leaving for South Carolina at the end of the year. I wonder if this year’s Atlantic-hurricane season changed his mind. Someday the resorts will be trendy again and the art galleries will not. Change is inevitable, it’s good for those who choose it—not so much when it’s chosen for us.
