It's hidden. If you aren't looking for a cluster of rusted industrial warehouses and shipping containers near the Keehi Lagoon, you’ll never find it. Most tourists stay trapped in the neon glow of Waikiki, sipping overpriced, watered-down Mai Tais in hotel lobbies. They’re missing the point. To actually feel the weird, kitschy, and slightly salt-crusted soul of old Hawaii, you have to drive past the airport to 50 Sand Island Access Road. That’s where La Mariana Sailing Club sits, stubbornly refusing to change while the rest of the island turns into a luxury shopping mall.
It’s gritty. It’s glorious.
The air smells like diesel and hibiscus. You walk through the doors and your eyes have to adjust because it’s dark in there, even at noon. Once they do, you realize you’ve stepped into a museum of Tiki history that wasn't curated by a corporate committee, but gathered by a woman named Annette LaMaire who just didn't want to see the past thrown in a dumpster.
The Woman Who Saved the Tropics
Annette LaMaire started this place in 1957. Let that sink in for a second. That was two years before Hawaii even became a state. Originally, it was just a little shack for sailors to grab a beer after docking their boats. But Annette had a vision, or maybe she just had a bit of a hoarding problem—the good kind. As the legendary Tiki palaces of the mid-century began to fail, she bought up their remains.
When Don the Beachcomber’s closed, she grabbed the wood carvings. When the Kona Kai or the Sheraton’s original bars stripped their decor, Annette was there with a truck. The result is a Frankenstein’s monster of Pacific artifacts. You’re sitting on a chair from one dead lounge, under a pufferfish lamp from another, staring at a massive floor-to-ceiling tiki carved by the famous Edward "Mick" Brownlee. It’s authentic because it’s a graveyard of authenticity.
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Honestly, the place feels alive. The dust on the glass floats from the 1970s is probably original, and nobody wants them to wipe it off.
What to Expect (and What Not to Expect)
Don't come here if you want white-glove service. This is a sailing club, first and foremost. The servers have seen it all, and they aren’t going to fawn over you. It’s basically the opposite of the Four Seasons. If you’re looking for a "mixologist" to explain the notes of charred oak in your bourbon, you’re in the wrong zip code. Here, the drinks are strong. They’re served in heavy glass mugs or tiki ceramics that have probably been washed ten thousand times.
The menu is straightforward. You get the Poke. You get the Kalua Pig. You definitely get the Fried Calamari. It’s "boat food"—heavy, salty, and designed to soak up the rum.
The Drinks are a Time Capsule
The Mai Tai here is the standout, but not for the reasons you think. It isn't the craft-cocktail version with fresh lime and high-end orgeat. It’s the old-school, red-hued, "knock you on your back" version. One drink is usually enough to make the harbor view look a lot more romantic. If you’re feeling adventurous, the Zombie is a literal hazard.
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- The Mai Tai: Traditional, dark rum float, very sweet, very dangerous.
- The Blue Hawaii: It's neon blue. It's ridiculous. It's delicious.
- The Navy Grog: For when you want to forget you have a flight the next morning.
The pricing is surprisingly fair for Honolulu. You’ll spend half of what you would at a beachside resort, and you’ll get twice the alcohol content. Just make sure you have a designated driver or an Uber lined up, because the police know exactly where that Sand Island turnoff is.
The Vibe at La Mariana Sailing Club
Sunset is the magic hour. The restaurant overlooks the docks where sailboats bob in the oily water of the lagoon. It sounds unappealing when you write it down, but in person, it’s pure cinema. The light hits the masts, the shadows of the palm trees stretch across the outdoor patio, and usually, someone is playing a slack-key guitar or a piano in the corner.
There used to be a blind pianist named Ron Miyashiro who played there for decades. He was a staple. While he passed away a few years ago, his spirit still feels baked into the wood. The music is never loud. It’s just... there. It’s the soundtrack to a world that doesn’t exist anymore.
Why It Almost Disappeared
A few years back, there was a real scare. The land is owned by the state (Department of Transportation), and leases in Hawaii are a bureaucratic nightmare. There was talk of redevelopment. People panicked. The thought of La Mariana Sailing Club being replaced by a modern shipping terminal or a sterile glass building felt like a punch in the gut to locals.
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The community rallied. It’s one of the few places where "Old Hawaii" isn't a marketing slogan. It’s a reality. Thankfully, the lease was extended, but the threat of progress is always looming. That’s why you need to go now. Places like this are an endangered species. They don't make 50-foot tall koa wood bars anymore. They don't make hand-carved totems that weigh three tons.
Navigation and Logistics
Getting there is half the fun. You take Nimitz Highway, turn onto Sand Island Access Road, and keep going past the gas stations and the heavy machinery yards. You’ll think you’re lost. You aren’t. Look for the small, weathered sign.
- Parking: There’s a gravel lot. It’s bumpy. Watch your clearance if you’re in a rental car.
- Reservations: They take them, and on weekends, you’ll want one. The locals fill this place up for birthdays and retirements.
- Dress Code: Shirt and shoes required. Beyond that? Anything goes. I've seen guys in tuxedos sitting next to fisherman in salt-stained t-shirts. That’s the beauty of it.
The Real Deal on the Food
Look, I’m going to be real with you: the food is good, but it’s not Michelin-star stuff. It’s comfort food. The Ahi Poke is fresh—this is Hawaii, after all—but it’s simple. The Fish and Chips are crunchy and hot. The real winner is usually the specials board. If they have fresh catch, get it grilled with a little lemon and butter.
Avoid the complex salads. You aren't here for a kale Caesar. You’re here for the Teriyaki Steak or the Fried Shrimp. It’s the kind of food that tastes better when you’re staring at a harbor.
Actionable Steps for Your Visit
If you want the best experience at La Mariana Sailing Club, don't just show up and expect a table at 6:00 PM on a Friday.
- Call ahead: Seriously. Even if you’re just a party of two, the place gets weirdly busy with local functions.
- Arrive early for the "Golden Hour": Aim to be there 45 minutes before sunset. Walk out onto the docks. Look at the boats. Take in the industrial skyline of Honolulu from a distance.
- Bring cash: While they take cards, the old-school vibe just feels right with a few bills for the musicians.
- Explore the corners: Don't just sit at your table. Walk around. Look at the black-and-white photos on the walls. Read the plaques on the carvings. It’s a museum you can drink in.
- Talk to the staff: Some of the folks working there have been there for twenty-plus years. They have stories about Annette and the old days that are better than anything you’ll read online.
Go to La Mariana because you want to see what Honolulu was like before the high-rises took over. Go because you like your drinks strong and your history messy. Just don't tell too many people—we’d like to keep the line at the bar manageable.