Hooked on Polynesia

We have been on Oahu, Hawaii for almost a week. I've lost about five pounds. I'm the only one I know of who can do that. It's because of John. He is the stick and I am the wheel, like that old game kids played when they didn't have toys. An old bicycle wheel can be made to roll with a kid running along side it working the spokes with a stick. No sitting on the beach for John... we keep moving.

I don't eat much breakfast. I like coffee and cereal. John likes a big breakfast. Around noon, I start to feel a few pangs, and he says, "Not time to eat yet. I'm still full from breakfast." At 3:00, I inquire again... "It's only been eight hours... we can make it until 5:00." 5:00 comes and goes. If I'm quick, I can snag a granola bar from a convenience store... the right restaurant does not have a table until 7:00.
The Polynesian Cultural Center is on the North Shore at Laie. It's about all there is in Laie unless you count the Mormon Temple and Brigham Young University, which most of us would not visit. The PCC was established by the Mormons to preserve the culture of the Polynesian converts who seek a college education. They can attend Brigham Young University, and they can pay their way through by laboring at the PCC. Some sing, some dance, some run snack and souvenir stands.
There are Marriott Vacation Club, a timeshare company, representatives at every turn in the paths.
The costumes and performances have changed little since the 1960s. Mormons are a conservative lot. They have maintained the Metro-Goldwyn-Meyer presentations uninterrupted. None of the nearly nude, lascivious gyrations described by Mark Twain during his visit to Oahu back in 1866. This is colorful polystyrene-grass skirts with fabric nearly up to the neck on the women, although the men are allowed to be bare-chested. The song and dance is quite good, the Zigfield lines a bit hard to take in. The big show at the end of the day keeps thirty or more performers on the stage at any given time, and whatever story they are telling is a bit hard to follow.
In line for the IMAX presentation on Polynesian coral reefs, I noticed a group of four middle-aged adults sheparding a very ill old man in a wheelchair. He had the pallor of a long hospitalization and looked pretty unhappy. Of very shallow breath, he was grunting and waving his arms. No one was listening to him (you couldn't understand him, anyway). Finally, he took what was to him a deep breath and bellowed, "PEE!" All heads turned at once, and he was shuttled away post-haste to the nearest thatched-roof facility for such emergencies.
It's a one-hour bus ride from Waikiki to PCC and an hour's ride back. Even John got hungry. We looked at the choices. Expensive Luau is at 5:00, and that's when they shut down the snack stands. There is a pricey buffet, and I can't stand the thought of other people digging through my dinner. Through a gap in the fence, we beheld a McDonalds, so we snuck out and got refueled for $13. What a lucky break!
Back in time for the big show. "No Flash Photography, " was one of the themes. Ushers walked up and down the aisle with the glow-in-the-dark signs to remind everyone, and when anyone crossed that line, they were quick to shine a flash light in the offender's eyes with emphatic waving of the reminder.
Samoa won the most applause, followed by Tonga. I happen to know those islands have the most students attending, so there is more cream to skim.
We were briefly reminded by the lead dancer from Tonga how benevolent is the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter Day Saints, and that we might take a tour of the temple sometime.
I noticed that the few comers went for the timeshare presentation with free snorkeling coupons.

We opted for a quick return to the bus.