Finding hula classes is far from an easy task, quite surprising to me. I was not interested in taking a 30-minute lesson at a hotel in Waikiki. Learning hula on my list of must-do's for my time in Hawaii, so I wanted to attend a "real" hula class. I turned to Google, my all-seeing eye, and finally found a few halau hula (hula school) to contact about a beginner class. Of the three I contacted, only two got back with me. Of those two, only one was able to welcome me. Funny enough, the site is names Real Hula.
I was very eager to head out to Kailua to the halau hula, which turned out to be the Kumu's (source of knowledge) home, for my 90-minute class. Of course it's a large room off of her kitchen that takes you back a few decades in style and not a studio in a strip mall or free standing structure, small sign hand-painted above the door. Why was I surprised? It was basically a 12' x 12' living room with a wall devoted to hula artifacts and old pictures, piles of gourds and reeds here and there, 3 floor-to-ceiling ballet mirrors, shelves full of at least 300 CDs, and a pretty new Apple computer. Regardless of first impressions, I'd read enough to know that this lady knew her stuff, and I was thrilled to be there.
After hugs and cheek kisses, a common greeting in Hawaii when a woman is involved, Kumu shared with the five of us students that her two 11-year old granddaughters were visiting. She had been busy with them for the past week while preparing her halau for upcoming performances this weekend, making instruments, and sewing costumes. I quickly realized that we would dance and the Kumu would teach and she would also break into story about subjects that had nothing to do with Hawaiian culture.
While three of us began warming up while Kumu to the beat made by striking the Ipu, another student with a recovering ankle injury was asked to go stir the beef stew on the stove. I felt that I was visiting a friend's grandmother who decided on the spur of the moment to teach us hula, while regular life continued. While the injured Keolani (Hawaiian name bestowed upon her by Kumu) was stirring the stew, we continued to practice the basic step, weight transfer, hip pop, etc, which is quite complicated when done correctly. Kumu abruptly stopped to holler to Keolani that she should go ahead and add some canned tomatoes to the stew while she was in the kitchen. And, oh, turn the burner down as well.
We practice the Kalakaua, which is a four beat step that angles from right to left. Kumu stops when Keolani reenters the room with 3 cans of tomato paste. Kumu said tomatoes, not paste. Kumu sends Keolani back to the pantry with instructions to locate the can that also contained jalapenos. Poor Keolani was so accommodating, grabbed her glasses and went back for round two.
I should mention that Keolani and another lady were given Hawaiian names by Kumu. I remember that the other lady, who is "an old Southern Belle" had a name that began with L and meant warm greeting or something. I can't remember the name, though. These two ladies were at or near retirement age. Two other hula students were quite a bit younger, one preparing to head off to college in a couple of weeks, the other the best dancer in the group, Yuri. Apparently the college student was in a crash course to hula, since it's kind of expected that people from Hawaii learn hula before attending college. The dance we focused on today was somehow related to this young lady; I know this because she apologized at the end of class for being the source of the difficult dance. I didn't know any better.
Back to the Kalakaua movement and Keolani searching for canned tomatoes with jalapenos...
After 5 more minutes or so of practicing the Kalakaua and adding a double, Kumu stopped striking the Ipu and headed toward the kitchen. She returned a minute or two later, saying that there was no such can, she'd made a mistake, and Keolani was a big help. She then asked Keolani to call for the two granddaughters because she'd forgotten.
Two blonde girls bounce into the room with tie-on skirts. All the students are wearing proper skirts except me. I found out that the Aloha Stadium Swap Meet is the place to go to get one, so it's on the list for the weekend. I had worn a skirt, just in case, but it's not proper. We find out that the girls will be performing in the Keiki (kid) show this weekend, so they stay and warm up with us. Proud grandma comes out and is followed by strict Kumu.
Kumu gets up a few times to demonstrate proper foot placement and calls out instruction, kind words, and reminders the whole time. She is particular, which I love. Finally, after we are all glowing from sweat, she choose the song on her iTunes account, KaNohona Pili Kai, by Keali'i Riechel and everyone does a run-thru. I kind of stumble and watch, trying to avoid getting in the way. The class learned 3 verses of the song last week, but not everyone remembered well, so there's some lecturing about practicing at home, ya da, ya da.
I continue to follow along as best I can and am a relatively quick learner, but still just mimic what I can. One of the ladies tells me it took her 6 months just to get the two basic steps right, and I'm already a novice. Phew.
There are a few more instances where Kumu stops to tell a story about a kitten rescued the weekend before but for the most part, she explains the song, the story of the words, and the movements that express them. By the end of class, my ankles are actually tired (kind of a weird feeling), hips and thighs are fatigued, and I'm hungry after smelling the wonderful stew for so long. It was just fabulous.
I will definitely practice with the sheets she provided and have already downloaded the song from iTunes. Looking forward to next week's class already, along with skirt shopping this weekend.
