Charlie Chan, unflappable Honolulu detective, would never have erred as did the Canadian officer mentioned in my previous post. In the 1920s and 30s, the Chinese-Hawaiian became famous ...
... first in a series of books ...
... then films. Although played by an actor clearly not Chinese, his character was - for the time - remarkably positive. Chinese - Chinamen in the era's parlance - were often portrayed as opium smoking white slavers, but Charlie Chan was a respected, much sought-after investigator.
So, I head to the old Honolulu Police Station since the character was based on an actual Chinese-Hawaiian detective. During Charlie's fictional career the real police department moved into this handsome Spanish colonial and art deco building.
In a city now dominated by mediocre high rises, nearby buildings faintly suggest what it was like in Charlie's day.
A few steps to Chinatown, scene of some of the novels' key incidents. I find River Street, where occurred a dramatic fight and chase in a ‘mystic maze of mean alleys’.
Sadly the location, 927 River Street, ‘establishment of Liu Yin’, exists no more, although the apartment building that replaced it abuts structures here in Charlie's time.
A combination tailor, jewellery repair and Vietnamese DVD store is where Mr. Liu sold roots, herbs and ducks. Mr. Liu was also not above renting a backroom to highly suspect types, types Charlie invariably exposed.
In the absence of 927 River Street, I happily chance on a Honolulu police car, successors to the immortal Chan still plying their trade in Chinatown. Although, I suspect, hardly with Charlie’s Oriental élan.
Next day, the island of Hawaii and one of Maasdam's tenders tries (successfully) to avoid swimmers veering off course in the World Ironman Championships.
You can't move for hordes of disgustingly (and depressingly) fit athletes. I get the uneasy sense - perhaps my imagination - that through their irritatingly stylish sunglasses they're all looking at me and thinking 'you unhealthy slob'.
I am, however, grudgingly impressed to learn that Canadian Sylviane Puntous was a champion in 1983 and '84.
To escape the competition, I find my way to a secondhand bookstore. Pre-voyage research had suggested - surprisingly for an island largely devoted to beaches, t-shirt shops and Kona coffee - this would be a real find. Their website did not lie. Vast and well organized. My only complaint is there are only so many volumes you can carry onto a plane. However, I come away with a English-language book on Moscow published in Soviet times and ...
... a bumper sticker. Not that I have a car to put it on.
This is also a concern of my new, in thoroughly good taste, hula doll. She says she would dance better if I had a dashboard to stand her on. For now, she sways with the movement of the ship.
I depart Hawaii with thoughts on the islands from one of the Charlie Chan novels. ‘It’s been ruined,’ says a character, ‘Too much aping of the mainland. Too much of your damned mechanical civilization - automobiles, phonographs, radios - bah!’
(The House Without a Key Earl Derr Biggers 1925)
That was written nearly a century ago. What would he say now?
