Time Travel

We were waiting for new tires on the white car when we inadvertently stepped into a world I’d almost forgotten.

To call the Dole Cannery complex in Iwilei a mall is to be unnecessarily generous. Yes, it was definitely intended to be a mall. The structure is there. The theatre still operates. But the signatures of a mall – people, teenagers (if you must make the distinction), and open shops – they are simply not there.

Like the sad little shopping complex across the street from Temple Square in Salt Lake City, it is no longer a mall. It is a ghost mall.

But it is also across the street from Costco, one of O`ahu’s busiest businesses. While our car got new shoes we were on foot and hungry. So we entered the empty corridors of the Cannery Ghost Mall in search of food and an hour to kill.

Fitting, then, that we lost track of time.

After our disappointingly successful attempt at food, we stopped into an unmarked Asian imports store near the Cannery’s exit. The front room was what you’d expect. Some Chinese wedding chests converted to entertainment armoires, tea sets, fabrics, lotus pots, and more Chinese tchochkes than you could shake a stick at. The proprietor was behind a desk, and she greeted us wanly.

Head Chef made it into the back room, and dug in. Here were the gems. Beautiful decorative planters in rare glazes at ridiculously low prices. Gear for the discerning Bonsai gardener. Chinese teas, and more classic Chinese furniture than appeared in the first space. I spotted an unpriced pot the right size for our night-blooming cereus, and mentioned it to Head Chef.

At that moment, the proprietor peeked into the room. She was a Chinese woman in her fifties or sixties with salt and pepper hair, perfect posture, and a beguiling grace. In her mild Chinese accent, she asked, “Do you bonsai?” Our bond was established.

Head Chef negotiated a wonderful price for the pot I had found, and I unearthed it from beneath the stock of other items that had been stacked upon it. And all the while, we talked of gardens. Of common shared fondness for China. And as I pushed our new find to the register in the next room, they talked of teas.

When I returned to find out where the conversation had lead to, I was ushered to a chair at a little table in the back room. “Shoshi shoshi ba,” she said, and warmed hot water for our tea. And there we sat, chatting and drinking the best oolong tea I had ever had. We talked of palaces, gardens, walls, and the exceptional individuals from Old China who touched us.

She spoke fondly of family, friends, and places she longed to return to, and spun our memories into new imaginations of the places we had not yet seen. Of another Star Pupil who would make an impression we would never ever forget. Time passed only when the bell on the shop door marked the entrance of a potential customer who then left without a word. Our proprietor never stood and only barely glanced their direction.

Finally, after a third cup, we had to go. We bought some teas to take home with us, exchanged phone numbers, and then returned to our newly shoed car in the bustling parking lot.

The contrast was jarring.