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Hawaii is also � duh � expensive. According to AAA�s 2007 Annual Vacation Costs Survey, a family of four could expect to spend $650 a day there on food and lodging, making it the least affordable state in the country � and that doesn�t even take into account Hawaii�s gas prices, consistently among the nation�s highest.
But while daunting fuel costs and overpriced villas surprise no one, Hawaii can be ruthlessly surreptitious when it comes to extracting every last dollar from tourists.
Take Kona coffee, the famed beans grown on the Big Island. On the first morning of a weeklong trip that my wife, Jean, and I made in early September, I was eager to taste this local brew, supposedly the only coffee produced in the United States. We were driving around Kailua, on the island�s west side, searching for a nontouristy breakfast place when I spotted Green Flash Coffee, a tiny storefront named for the fabled burst of emerald light that often accompanies sunsets on the Kona coast.
Inside, we scanned the menu of breakfast sandwiches and smoothies until my eyes alighted on the Kona coffee: it was $2.95 for a 12-ounce cup, versus $1.85 for a non-Kona version. Granted, that�s not a huge amount in itself, but a cup or two a day could really add up � a no-no for this frugal traveler. I opted for the cheaper brew.
Over the next few days, as we combed the island for luxurious meals on a less-than-luxurious budget, I noticed that no matter where we ate, prices were two or three or four dollars higher than I was accustomed to. At Ba-Le, a relatively affordable Vietnamese restaurant, a banh mi sandwich that would have been $3 in New York City was $6. At Big Jake�s Island B-B-Q, a pulled-pork sandwich plate was $8.95, perhaps twice what you�d pay in North Carolina.
Again, these weren�t egregious pricing schemes � and both places were, incidentally, fantastic � but they brought home the fact that while Hawaii�s natural wonders may clear your mind of cares, its restaurants, hotels and attractions can, almost without your noticing, clear out your wallet.
Yet Jean and I were determined to sacrifice neither comfort nor our savings. At first, we got lucky � or rather, Lucky: the very first result in a Google search for �affordable Hawaii Kona� was Pomaikai �Lucky� Farm B %26amp; B, an eco-resort whose breakfasts featured Kona coffee grown on the premises. (My verdict: good, but not $2.95-per-cup good.)
We�d requested the romantic renovated Coffee Barn room, but because of a booking error wound up in one of the two Greenhouse rooms. It was simple and comfortable, with screens for windows, a big bed, an ensuite bathroom and a lime tree just off the porch. And just $80 a night.
The room may have been basic, but it came with beach towels, snorkeling gear, body boards and a seemingly endless supply of fruit dangling from the trees: papayas, bananas, passion fruit (usually known by their Hawaiian name, lilikoi) and juicy, fragrant strawberry guavas. Lucky Farm even raised red bulbs of awapuhi kuahiwi, whose juice is a traditional hair conditioner � and a much-touted ingredient in costly Paul Mitchell products.
Our base established, Jean and I began to explore the Kona coast. Unlike the northwestern areas of the Big Island, where you find large resorts like the Four Seasons and touristy chains like Outback Steakhouse, the southwestern coastline � from Captain Cook to Naalehu � is far less commercial. Tropical trees crowd the winding highway, briefly vanishing to allow for the lone gas stations or coffee shops that mark a settlement, then swarming up again to envelop you in fecund jungle.
It was about 10 miles south of Captain Cook, not far from Lucky Farm, that we found Puuhonua o Honaunau, a �Place of Refuge� that once functioned as the oceanside home of Hawaii�s royal chiefs and as a safe haven for women, children and noncombatants during times of war, and for lawbreakers hoping to evade a death sentence.
Today, the site (which is operated by the National Park Service) contains a big heiau, or temple, surrounded by carved wooden figures, separated by a hefty rock wall from a plain of black volcanic stone that reaches into the sea. Well-written pamphlets explain the significance of every spot, and admission is $5 a vehicle � but only till 4 p.m., when anyone can visit (until 
free.
For us, Puuhonua o Honaunau was a refuge from the island�s exorbitant demands. The first afternoon, we wandered the plain and walked down a lava-rock trail, forged in 1871, that led to an abandoned village. (Alas, the sun set before we reached the end.)
The next morning, we were back, for snorkeling at Two-Step Beach next to the park. No sooner had I strapped on my mask and flippers and slipped off the double rock ledge that gives the beach its name than I came face to face � literally � with a 30-inch green sea turtle, swimming lazily next to me.
After my initial shock, I explored the healthy coral reef with Jean, spotting schools of yellow tang and, on a stretch of sandy bottom, �Aloha� spelled out in concrete blocks. Just before we left, I saw a pair of dolphins surface in the near distance; only federal law, which prohibits the feeding and harassing of dolphins, kept me from diving back in to greet them.
One afternoon, we returned to Puuhonua o Honaunau to make use of another budget-friendly feature: free beachside barbecue grills. Equipped with charcoal and utensils from Lucky Farm, and a cooler full of ingredients from local markets, we cooked up a feast of tombo tuna, mahi-mahi and corn on the cob (which we soaked in a tidal pool to dampen the husks).
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