When I was a little kid, my dad came back from a business trip to Hawaii with a plastic packet of white Waikiki sand and a fake-grass hula skirt for me.

I loved my tacky souvenirs. I twirled around in the skirt, pretending to be a hula dancer, until the shiny green plastic strands fell off. I carried around the little bag of sand until it split open and spilled onto the living-room carpet.

My souvenirs broke, but the fantasy of Hawaii, far from the cold Canadian city where I grew up, was fixed in my mind.

I finally traveled to the islands when I was an adult. By then, it was a long way from the old-fashioned 1950s Hawaii my dad knew when the Royal Hawaiian, a venerable coral-pink hotel on Waikiki beach, was the place to stay.

Now Waikiki has morphed into wall-to-wall high-rises, dwarfing the Royal Hawaiian. Maui's Kaanapali hotel strip has traffic jams to rival Seattle's. And all around Hawaii, they've paved paradise and put up big-box stores — one of the world's biggest Wal-Marts opened in Honolulu in October.

Throughout the islands, battles over development simmer. Native Hawaiians fight for land and cultural rights. Honolulans debate the cost and impacts of proposed light-rail transit to serve burgeoning suburbs. Environmentalists worry about fast-ferry service, due to start in 2007, bringing too many vehicles and people to the smaller islands.

Sounds a lot like home, doesn't it? Except even in the most crowded, touristy areas of Hawaii, you can still walk onto the beach, turn your back on the hotels and highways, and soak up the sunshine, warm waves and endless ocean views.

On a half-dozen visits to Hawaii, I've had the usual tourist woes of overpriced hotels and scary drives when impatient locals tailgate scenery-gawking tourists like me. Yet on every island I've visited, I've found wondrous spots. Among them ...

I spent an idyllic afternoon at Ke'e Beach on Kauai's lush north shore, dozing under a palm tree and swimming with local families — and sea turtles — in the bathtub-warm lagoon. For a taste of the past on Kauai, there was Grove Farm Homestead museum, a lovingly preserved 19th-century sugar-plantation house and grounds.

Maui can be jammed with tourists, but I found splendidly scenic solitude on the back road (Route 31) to Hana, a narrow, partly unpaved route that winds along lava fields and rocky beaches. Off the much busier Hana Highway on the other side of Maui, I felt like a glossy Hawaii ad come true as I floated in the Blue Pool, a natural-rock swimming hole with a waterfall tumbling down a fern-draped cliff and ocean waves crashing 20 feet away.

On the Big Island of Hawaii, I hiked a rocky trail to watch molten lava ooze and steam into the sea, part of the continuing eruption of Kilauea, the world's most active volcano.

On Oahu, I snorkeled for hours in Hanauama Bay Nature Preserve, the sea-filled, collapsed crater of a volcano where tropical fish swarm.

Sometimes it rains in paradise: One wet Oahu day on my first trip to Hawaii, I took refuge in Honolulu's Bishop Museum, a treasure trove of Hawaiian natural and cultural history. In an ornate, high-ceilinged room, a group of women performed a traditional hula, part of the museum's history and craft demonstrations.

I watched the women dance intricately and gracefully to simple chants and percussion, and I remembered trying to dance my fantasy of the hula as a little kid in our suburban living room on dank winter nights.

Here was the real thing — not a plastic hula skirt in sight, no fake-flower leis, no crooning ukuleles. I'd finally gotten a taste of the real Hawaii; it's kept me coming back for more.

Kristin Jackson: 206-464-2271 or kjackson@seattletimes.com