✉️ A Note on the Voyage Journal
The Voyage Journal is a collection of personal reflections written throughout my travels—capturing raw moments, transitions, and experiences as they happened. These entries are less about guides and more about the human side of the journey.
Back in August 2020, Hawai‘i was deep into its second wave of COVID.
At the time, everything felt uncertain. Cases were rising, restrictions were tightening again, and the emotional weight across the islands was heavy. People were losing jobs, waiting on unemployment, trying to stay healthy, and figuring out how to live day by day.
This isn’t a post about ignoring that reality.
But living through that time, there were moments—quiet ones—that revealed something different about Hawai‘i. Things you don’t always see when everything is moving at full speed.
This is more a reflection of what I witnessed, being there.
When Hawai‘i Went Quiet
If you’ve ever been on Oʻahu, you know traffic is part of life.
But during lockdown, it disappeared.
Not just less traffic—almost none.
Driving felt different. The air even felt different. Fewer cars, fewer buses, no rental fleets moving in waves. No constant flow of tourism traffic.
Honolulu, which usually carries a steady hum, became quiet in a way I hadn’t experienced before. Even the skies felt still without the regular pattern of incoming flights.
You started noticing small things:
- birds you hadn’t seen before
- sounds that were usually drowned out
- space where there normally wasn’t any
It felt closer to what I imagine the outer islands experience more regularly.
A Different Relationship with the ʻĀina
I’m not Kanaka Maoli, and I won’t pretend to speak from that perspective.
But from the outside looking in, something shifted.
With tourism paused, there was space.
Beaches weren’t packed. No buses unloading groups. No rush for parking. No crowds chasing the same photo.
It was just people… being there.
Surfing, fishing, walking, spending time with family.
There was a sense—whether spoken or not—that the islands had a moment to breathe. Not just environmentally, but socially.
Tourism is the backbone of Hawai‘i’s economy, and its absence came with real consequences. But at the same time, it revealed what these places feel like without constant pressure.
Less performance. More presence.
When the Ocean Had Space Again
Places like Hanauma Bay are known for heavy daily traffic. But during closures, the difference became obvious.
Reefs had a break, Wildlife moved differently, and beaches that usually followed a predictable rhythm of visitors suddenly felt… natural again.
Across Hawai‘i, you started hearing more about:
- Hawaiian monk seals resting undisturbed
- sea turtles moving freely along shorelines
- less pressure on reefs and coastal areas
Even heavily impacted areas like Waikīkī felt different without the constant flow of visitors.
It wasn’t permanent, but it did show what’s possible when pressure is reduced.
None of this came without cost, and it’s important to sit with that.
People were struggling in very real ways. Businesses were shutting down, hours were being cut, and there was a constant sense of uncertainty that followed everyone day to day. For many, it wasn’t a time of reflection—it was a time of survival.
Even now, looking back, I don’t think it’s right to romanticize that period too much. Because while there were moments of stillness and clarity, they existed alongside one of the most difficult stretches people here have had to endure.
At the same time, though, it exposed something deeper about Hawai‘i—something that’s easy to overlook when everything is operating at full speed. It revealed just how dependent the islands are on tourism, how fragile that system can be when it’s disrupted, and how much exists beneath the surface when that layer is stripped away.
Looking Back Now
At the time, everything felt like it was happening in survival mode, where the focus was simply getting through each day and adjusting to whatever came next.
Now, with some distance from it, it feels more like a moment that revealed something important.
Not that the pandemic was a “benefit,” but that it slowed everything down just enough to see things more clearly than we usually do.
It brought attention back to the land, the ocean, and the people in a way that felt more grounded and less rushed. It also highlighted the balance that Hawai‘i constantly tries to maintain—between preservation and pressure, between community and industry.
And when I think back on that time, that clarity is what stands out more than anything else.
Looking back, the pandemic wasn’t just a pause—it was the push that led me to dive deeper into Native Hawaiian culture, which ultimately gave birth to Living Like a Hawaiian.
