An excursion to the Dole Pineapple Plantation is kind of an odd choice for us since we all seem to react unpleasantly to delicious pineapple. My throat burns and my stomach gurgles uncomfortably for hours. Isaac’s tongue hurts. Eloise wolfs down pineapple like it’s going out of style, then cries and tries to wipe out her mouth with napkins. But it is so tasty.
My current suffering notwithstanding, the pineapple plantation was a totally pleasant tourist trap: a smooth train ride on the Pineapple Express along mountainside banana and pineapple fields, a sunny mosey through tropical gardens, and the world’s largest maze (?). I hate mazes, so Chris and Isaac mastered that and Eloise and I met them back in the massive gift shop, which totally reminded me of the giant gift shops we encountered in Japan. Especially the one in Okinawa’s Pineapple Park, if you’re ever island hopping that way and feel like riding in a pineapple golf cart or buying pineapple wine. But here in Hawaii, we had lunch at the Dole Plantation Pineapple Grill, complete with Pineapple Whips (plastic pineapples filled ice cream and pineapple juice).
It’s my understanding that Mr. Dole or businessmen like him had a lot to do with Hawaii becoming part of the USA, but I haven’t gotten around to reading a comprehensive history of Hawaii yet. Maybe I will read “The Last Aloha” and eat the pineapple currently sitting on the hotel countertop, after which I will be filled with knowledge and regret.