Each spring in Hawaii, the Merrie Monarch Festival brings communities together through the island’s national dance. Female First’s travel and culture writer Dorimalia Waiau reveals how we can all take something from the spirit of hula.
Hula reflects the role of movement and chant in Hawaiian storytelling and shared cultural life, writes Dorimalia Waiau. Credit: Luke H. Gordon / Wikimedia Commons (CC BY 2.0)
Each April on Hilo, the largest city on Hawaii Island, thousands of people gather together for the Merrie Monarch Festival, a week-long celebration of hula.
Hula is often described as dance, but in Hawaii it is understood as moolelo (storytelling — the passing on of history, place and meaning through movement and chant). Every gesture has a purpose. A hand movement might describe a landscape or a natural force, while the accompanying oli (chant) carries the words that guide the story. The two are inseparable.
The festival, which takes place during the week following Easter Sunday, centres on competition, and the standard is high. Hālau hula — schools led by a kumu hula (teacher) — travel from across the islands, and in some cases from the mainland United States, to take part. Dancers train for months, often years, learning not just the movements but the meaning behind them. Timing, expression and how closely a group moves together all matter.
Performances are judged in detail. Small differences — the angle of a hand, the clarity of a gesture, the way a chant is delivered — can decide the outcome. And competition is fierce, as while there’s no large cash prize, winning at Merrie Monarch carries real prestige, both within and beyond the hula community.
The festival itself dates back to 1963, when it was established in Hilo to honour King David Kalākaua, known as the “Merrie Monarch”. He is remembered for supporting the revival of Hawaiian cultural practices, including hula, at a time when they had been discouraged. What began as a local event has grown into one of the most important cultural gatherings in Hawaii.
Over the course of the week, the festival spreads across Hilo rather than staying in one place. One of the most visible parts is the Merrie Monarch parade, where hālau, local schools, community groups and even horseback riders move through the town centre.
There’s also an Invitational Hawaiian Arts Fair, which runs throughout the week. This is a curated event featuring local artisans working in traditional forms — lei-making, kapa (bark cloth), wood carving and featherwork.
Smaller hula performances and demonstrations take place in parks, hotels and public spaces, and visitors to the festival will see groups rehearsing in preparation for the competitions.
Most of the main competitions take place indoors at the Edith Kanakaʻole Stadium. It’s a large, functional space rather than a theatrical one, with a clear stage, rows of seating and judges positioned directly in front. The atmosphere is formal but not tense. People settle in early, greeting one another, finding their seats and preparing to watch closely.
Backstage, the mood is focused and practical. Costumes are laid out carefully. Garlands known as lei — often made from leaves, flowers and ferns — are prepared and adjusted. One of these is palapalai, a soft, green fern commonly used in hula. As it’s handled, it gives off a clean, slightly earthy scent that lingers in the room.
There’s conversation, but it stays low. People are concentrating on what needs to be done.
When a group steps onto the stage, the room settles quickly. The first sound is the oli, steady and controlled. Then the movement begins.
The rhythm comes through clearly. You hear the feet marking time against the stage, a soft but consistent beat that runs underneath the chant. The gestures follow the words closely. A hand lifts, turns, holds. The movement is precise and measured. Nothing is exaggerated.
The pacing is what stands out. Dancers don’t rush from one sequence to the next. Rather, they hold positions, then move together in a controlled way. Watching hula, you soon realise that pauses matter as much as the movement.
There’s also a sense of mana (spiritual presence or energy) in the space. It’s not something that’s announced or explained but comes through in the way people hold their attention — both on stage and in the audience.
What stands out at Merrie Monarch is the effect of staying with one thing at a time.
In the UK, April can feel unsettled. The weather shifts, routines pick up again after winter, and there’s a tendency to move quickly from one thing to the next.
Giving a single moment your full attention — whether that’s a conversation, a meal or a walk — changes how it feels. It becomes more complete.
Noticing physical details helps as well. The scent of palapalai is part of what grounds hula. At home, it might be something simpler — herbs while cooking, fresh air through an open window, or the smell after rain.
And doing something alongside someone else can create a similar sense of rhythm to that found in the festival. Everyday activities like cooking, walking or even tidying can have that same effect when done without rushing.
What carries most through hula isn’t spectacle, but attention, rhythm and presence. Make space for those, and everyday moments will begin to feel more settled and complete.
Dorimalia Waiau is a Native Hawaiian author and cultural educator who writes about travel, island life and Hawaiian traditions. She has spent more than twenty years teaching and sharing the stories of her community, and her award-winning children’s books draw on real experiences of resilience, confidence and belonging. As a Travel & Culture correspondent, she offers warm, accessible insight into Hawaii’s landscapes, heritage and everyday life, bringing readers closer to the people and places that shaped her. The Secret Club and the Lost Legend, book three in Dorimalia’s Be Manaful series, is out now.