Molokai (“Moe-low-ka-ee”) is often described in terms of what it lacks than what it has. Molokai has no high-rise hotels, no fancy dining, no nightlife, no traffic, and no crowds. For many that would make it a boring and uninteresting place. When I was first looking to visit Molokai, travel agents and experienced Hawaiian travelers alike repeated the refrain: “Why would you ever want to go to Molokai? There’s nothing to do there!”

That isn’t really true, of course. If you’re looking for a relaxing escape from a stressful job or hectic urban routine, Molokai is a great place to go. It’s also a great place to do nothing— or to explore some great scenery without the traffic jams that are, unfortunately, increasingly common on the other islands. Molokai is reputedly what Oahu and Maui were like before their volcanic soil sprouted hotels, condos, and asphalt. It also has the greatest proportion of native Hawaiians of all the islands (other than the privately-owned, inaccessible Niihau). Thus the new slogan referring to Molokai as “the most Hawaiian island.”

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Papohaku Beach (“Pa-po-ha-koo,” meaning stone fence) is on the west coast of Molokai, where most of the island’s condos and hotels are located. This 4-kilometer stretch of sand is said to be the longest beach in Hawaii. Before environmentalists put a stop to it, developers on Oahu regularly mined and barged sand from this beach to Oahu for construction, and to keep Waikiki supplied with nice white sand.

Papohaku may also have the distinction of being the most isolated beach in Hawaii. It’s quite possible to spend hours walking on it and not encounter another soul.

The west coast of Molokai also has secluded “pocket beaches,” as well as desert trees and scrub vegetation. Contrary to the popular image of Hawaii as verdant and tropical, West Molokai is a desert.

Further inland, the sand and scrub gives way to volcanic red dirt soil. Fields of pineapple and sugar cane once thrived there, until the companies that grew these stereotypically Hawaiian crops moved their production to the Philippines and Thailand where labor is much cheaper. That left Molokai with many hectares of fertile but empty land, and thousands of unemployed farm workers. Coffee and macadamia nut plantations are now beginning to fill the void.

Like Maui, Molokai was once two separate islands that were eventually joined by continued volcanic eruptions. In contrast to the west side of the island, the east side is wet and tropical. It’s often rainy and more often overcast. Near the eastern end of what passes for a highway on Molokai at Halawa (“Ha-la-wa,” meaning curve) is a ruined church in the process of reclamation by the elements.

The best-known part of Molokai is the Kalaupapa Peninsula (“ka-l’ow-pa-pa,” meaning flat plain). It’s completely isolated from the rest of Molokai (and from the rest of the world), surrounded by ocean and sheer cliffs. First Hawaiian and then American officials decided that Kalaupapa made a perfect place to exile people infected with leprosy.

With leprosy no longer a threat, tourists can now visit Kalaupapa either by mule, by airplane (from Molokai airport or directly from Honolulu), or by a strenuous hike down the cliff. Regardless of how you get there, the only way to explore the peninsula is on a guided tour. Elderly former lepers, who were born or brought up there, still live in Kalaupapa and deserve privacy and respect. The tours are conducted by residents who explain the history of outright mistreatment of lepers at the hands of not always well-meaning bureaucrats.

The guide for my tour group was also the peninsula’s sheriff. He gave us a taste of the accumulated bitterness of generations of lepers, from the indignities of the past to present-day bureaucratic whitewashing of their history. The state health department, for example, insists that we must never say “leprosy,” but refer to the affliction as “Hansen’s Disease.” That completely disregards the feeling of former lepers that this euphemism merely denigrates them and their past. He also described the plans of the National Park Service to turn the peninsula into a sanitized Disney-style theme park. Even now they regularly bulldoze the actual homes of deceased residents, to make room for something the Park Service officials deem more appropriate and “realistic.”

One highlight of the tour is a visit to the church built by Father Damien, a Belgian priest who, after building churches all over Hawaii, dedicated himself to ministering to the lepers on Kalaupapa (he eventually died of leprosy). The tour also includes a visit to Kalawao Bay (“ka-la-wah-oh,” meaning announce mountain), the site of the original leper settlement. The site offers a striking view of the sheer cliffs, but its beauty is tempered by tragedy. The crews of the boats hired to ferry the lepers to Kalaupapa often dumped their human cargo into this bay rather than taking the time to land. Those who were strong enough swam to shore, while others were left to drown.

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The fine print: All pictures and text are copyright © 1998 and 2006 by Ted R. Marcus and may not be reproduced without permission. For information about licensing any of these images for Web, print, stock, or other uses, contact me.