One hundred and fifty years ago in March, Mark Twain laid eyes on Hawai‘i for the first time. I’ve written before of his first words on sighting the Islands: “O‘ahu loomed high, rugged, useless, barren, black and dreary, out of the sea….”
I went for a walk in Waikiki last evening. As I stood at an intersection, awaiting a green light to cross the road, I picked up a scent. At first, I didn’t pay any attention to it. Then, I chuckled and turned in search of its source.
Mark Twain irritates me. He’s like the grain of sand in your sock that won’t come out no matter how many times you stop hiking, unlace your shoes, peel off your sweaty sock and shake it like a fist at the sky. Bastard.