'Aloha is more than a word we say': What locals wish visitors knew about Hawaii

From the true significance of a lūʻau to what "aloha" actually asks of you, a native Hawaiian tells you what locals wish every visitor understood before arriving.

It's a Saturday morning on O'ahu's North Shore, and as soon as I step onto the beach I see that a crowd has formed around a honu (green sea turtle) basking on the sand. Phones are out. Someone reaches down and touches its shell. A father sets his baby on its back for a photo.

"Hey Uncle, no touch da honu!" The words are out of my mouth before I've even finished walking over. The crowd startles – not because they meant any harm, but because I was loud, and none of them had any idea they'd just broken federal law.

Millions of travellers visit Hawaii each year for its paradisiacal beaches, postcard views and chill vibes, but few look beyond its touristy surface to understand how we Native Hawaiians actually live. Hawaiian culture is deeply rooted in aloha – treating people with care and respect – and aloha ʻāina, our love and responsibility for the land that sustains us. That meaning shapes how locals greet each other, and how we live with the land. Bring that awareness with you, and you'll get it back in full.

From respecting our natural landscapes to the right way to eat poke, here are things Hawaiians wish visitors knew about Hawaii before coming.

Hawaiian green sea turtles and Hawaiian monk seals rest directly on Hawaii public beaches in plain sight. Getting close to one feels like a rare, magical moment, which is why so many visitors react excitedly when they see one. But the best thing you can do for them is to stay back.

Photograph from a distance and treat a resting turtle or seal the way you'd treat a sleeping stranger on a park bench: worth noticing, not worth approaching. Both species are protected under federal and state law, so respecting their space isn't just polite – it's how you actually get to keep admiring them.

A commercial lūʻau in Waikīkī is a popular way for visitors to learn about Hawaiian celebratory traditions. But the lūʻau many of us grow up with don't come with an audience. They are family celebrations, where extended families come together to eat, dance and enjoy music.

The name comes from a dish made with young taro leaves that was traditionally served at these gatherings. Today, a lūʻau might mark a birthday, graduation, wedding or other milestone. Preparation can take days, with family coming together to cook and set up for a full day of celebrating. It often feels like a family reunion, with multiple generations around the same table "talking story": a Hawaii Pidgin expression for sitting together, catching up, and sharing stories, usually with pupus (snacks).

The honoree is often covered in lei and gifts. If you're invited to a local lūʻau, it's something special, the difference between seeing something and being welcomed inside. Don't expect a schedule or a show – just join in.

"Aloha" is one of the most recognised Hawaiian words, but "hello" and "goodbye" are just a fragment of its meaning. The way locals use it, aloha is about truly acknowledging others and treating people and places with care.

Aloha is also a two-way street: you can be welcomed warmly and still be expected to understand when something isn't yours to enter, take, photograph or experience. Visitors sometimes roam beaches or rural areas assuming the land is open, picking coconuts, fruit or flowers without realising they've entered someone's property.

Some of Hawaii's most photographed places, including Mauna Kea and Kīlauea Volcano are also wahi pana (sacred places). Take photos respectfully, stay on marked paths, don't enter restricted areas, and never take or move natural or cultural objects. Learning a place's significance before visiting helps you understand its boundaries. 

Aloha is more than a word we say – it's our way of life.

Elsewhere, this question can feel like filler. In Hawaii, it's often one of the first things you're asked. Some visitors find it intrusive, but it isn't meant that way. It's how we get our bearings with someone new: Where are you from? Who's your family? Do we know anyone in common? We ask everyone, not just visitors, even people who have lived here for years. And once the conversation opens up, it usually keeps going. Respond with more than just your city, and real doors can start opening. One conversation can turn into an invitation to a lūʻau. It's part of how we get to know you and decide how far to bring you in.

That sense of connection also shows up in how we address one another. You'll hear "auntie" and "uncle" everywhere in Hawaii, even between people who aren't related. They're familiar terms of respect, especially for someone older than you, but they also reflect something deeper: in Hawaii, you don't always have to be family to be treated like family.

In Hawaii, the shaka – a loose fist with both thumb and pinky pointing out – is its own language. We use it to greet someone across a parking lot or to show aloha or respect, all without saying a word.

Its origin is thought to trace to Hamana Kalili of La'ie, O'ahu, who lost three fingers in a sugar mill accident. Ever since, his wave became a symbol of goodwill across the islands.

On the road, we let each other merge in and out of traffic all the time, and the expected "thank you" is a wave or a shaka out the window. Honking is frowned upon and is only for real emergencies, not impatience. Practice the shaka before you arrive so it feels natural when you need it.

Ask most visitors what "Hawaiian food" is, and they'll describe what they ate on their trip. But much of what they're describing is actually "local" food – dishes from the many cultures and communities that now live in Hawaii. "Hawaiian" food refers specifically to the traditional cuisine eaten by the Indigenous people of the islands.

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Today's local cuisine reflects Japanese, Filipino, Portuguese and Chinese influences from the plantation days – think plate lunch, malasadas and Spam musubi. Traditional Hawaiian foods like poi, kālua pig (whole pig roasted in an underground oven) and laulau (meat and salted fish steamed in taro leaves) have deep Indigenous roots, but Hawaiian restaurants are few, so many visitors may never taste them unless they know where to look.

Poke is a clear example of how the Hawaiian way of eating fish has evolved into something very different. The original includes fresh local fish, sea salt and limukohu (a native seaweed). No rice, no bowl, no sauces. The "poke bowl" came later, inspired by Japanese chirashi (sashimi over sushi rice). Poke simply means "to cut crosswise into pieces" in Hawaiian. Today's poke bowls, loaded with sauces and toppings, are far from poke as locals know it.

A poke bowl isn't meant to be piled high with mix-ins – the fish is the point, so less is more. For poke the way locals eat it, head to a neighbourhood grocery store, where it's sold by the pound at the seafood counter.

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