Thanksgiving Leftovers in Honolulu

I wake up on Friday morning in Waikiki, hear the noise of the city works, police, transportation and medical rescue workers hard at work and recall that a hike was promised by a friend. This is our last day on Oahu, so we really should make it special. There will be plenty of leftovers later as there was a 22 lb turkey and lots of side dishes for just eight people. Food? No problem.

It's time for coffee. Our hotel room coffee is worse than bad tea. Starbucks is two blocks away; isn't it always these days? As ubiquitous as ABC Stores in Waikiki, they thrive for a reason: You get what you need and the quality is pretty consistent. Besides, wifi is free there and the music selection is actually pretty interesting.

Then, time to dress for a hike. In Hawaii, most if not all trails have exposed roots criss-crossing the path and if there has been rain, there will be sticky mud. I wear hiking sandals, but old running shoes would be good, too. The air is pretty humid in every Hawaiian forest I've been in. I've heard an old saying, "Horses sweat, men perspire and women glow." I sweat. Like a faucet. Which may be too much information, but it's just to say I need to bring along a chamois cloth or bandanna and a water bottle for even a moderate simple hike. All set, off we go, in a good mood, ready for adventure.

We join two young hikers, residents here, and then drive with them up the Pali Hwy, turning to drive on the old beautiful, vine-enshrouded roadway that served as the pali road until the freeway was built. Not far up the road is a trailhead where we stop. We are heading for Ginger Jackass Pond if no other reason than to find out why in the world it got its name. This is not too far up the road from the Queen's Summer Palace, and there are many toney homes in the neighborhood.

We begin the walk on the undulating pretty trail that wends its way through bamboo, Norfolk Island pine and tropical forest growths. There are vines hanging from the towering trees near the trail. The men do their Tarzan moves to varying degrees of success. Soon, we cross an unnamed stream, stepping from boulder to boulder, go up a short climb, loop around through more forest areas, hear a lawnmower and realize civilization is very close at hand. Soon after that, we begin to hear water again. This is a 1.5 mile hike at best and would be considered more a walk, but we are all pleased with it; it's very pretty. The sound of water leads us to a small pond where a man and his two young boys are fishing. The little stream flows down some slick rocks, forming a waterfall into the pond.

The young'uns get into the pond, splash about, declare it chilly but refreshing, and get out. We poke around and rest, but get on our way again. Too soon, the hike is over, and I am drenched in "glow." We consider some options. The Pali Lookout is up the road. We might as well go up there to have a look.

Normally, the lookout is a wall of wind that wrenches jackets, purses and wigs off visitors, but today it is merely a spectacular view overlook with gentle puffs of breeze. (Oddly enough, we would later hear that that very same day had proven to be deadly as a heavy storm squall had hit the north shore and torn the roof off a school building.) There are a smattering of clouds over the distant hills, it's a fine view, and we get a satisfying look at it.

Then, it's time for the girls to go shopping. We are all smiles; this is going to be fun. The menfolk need down time, so it works out nicely. Off we go to the Ala Moana Shopping Center, leaving the males to lie about lazily for the afternoon. Well, the mall has essentially become a giant magnet for the entire population of Hawaii. It is thronged with what seems like half a million people. It's Black Friday after all, and no one is left at home except our men who want nothing to do with it. Probably, it was a wise choice.

We get our minds made up. It's my choice to go to Victoria's Secret and then we'll cruise to some other places. It takes the merest second to see that VS is the destination for what seems like all females who have come to the mall. They're all here right now, examining bras and panties with keen expressions, as if they are TSA inspectors looking for bombs. Photographs of pouting, perfect, 16-year-old models in nearly nothing glow from high on all the walls. The store is lace, pink-on-pink, with "Pink" written on everything, as if you didn't already get it. Techno music thumps. Breasts are big business. As if you didn't already get it...

A young saleswoman says hello, whips out her measuring tape, corners me with a confident gaze, and measures me before God and all present. It would do absolutely no good to protest; she uses her measuring tape as a cowboy uses a lariat to rope his cattle. Shall I moo? I find a few items to try on, and jostle my way to the dressing rooms. There are lines there, but the staff make short work of anyone who is undecided or who needs assistance, rushing away to find more delicates to try on. Their hard work pays off; I buy several items and leave feeling well served if not a little lighter in the pocket book.

Fresh air feels good. It has begun raining, but no one in Hawaii ever takes that as a sign to get under cover. It always seems to stop quickly and never cools off much anyway. (Sometimes it rains with no clouds visible overhead, the rain blown in on the trade winds from makai way where the air is cooler and more turbulent.) Day is now evening. We have shuffled with the crowds past the 200 or more shops in the giant mall and wish we had more time to fondle the clothing in the expensive stores. But the menfolk will rendezvous with us again, phoning and texting frequently as they approach the mall. They are bringing food; where are we meeting; when will we be there; where should they park, etc. The plan is to have a picnic of leftovers at the park across the street. Everyone is glad to eat, recharge batteries and settle down after the crowds and cross-town transportation exasperation. We're better now.

After a some small talk, it's time for a movie at Ward Center. We have to drive a short way from the beach and find a place to park. The theater is monstrous, could hold thousands, all told, has stadium-sized screens and comfortable seats. I buy pineapple chunks to snack on during the movie. It seems right somehow, pineapple at a Hawaiian movie theater, watching a movie set in India. We watch The Life of Pi, a movie I find interesting and visually very beautiful.

Now the day is done, our stay in Waikiki has come to an end. Aloha oi. We say our good-byes, give and receive warm embraces, and then we depart, even though I hate to go for many reasons. Tomorrow, Kauai, the Garden Isle, awaits us.

Waikiki Does Thanksgiving

I am walking on the sand at Waikiki at 9 a.m. To the left is the pale aqua milkiness of the sea. And about a thousand tourists playing, everywhere I look. To my right is the densely packed hotel playground area of the Sheraton. Pools, chaise lounges, fake waterfalls, chairs, snack bars, showers and toys of all kinds are stacked and ready for everyone to have fun, everyone to indulge in tropical water play.

It's Thanksgiving Day today. I am on a morning walk after an açai bowl with good coffee at Honolulu Coffee Roasting Co. Waikiki Beach itself seems happy, screaming, all of it posing for pictures. Girls are signing up for outrigger canoe rides, surf lessons and stand-up paddling. Little kids with floaties on their arms run in and out of lapping wavelets. Japanese ladies, sun phobic, are dressed from head to toe in dark fashionable clothing and carry parasols to shield their pale skin. Business has not slacked off at all for the feast day, probably because a good number of tourists have no idea what Thanksgiving is. Many are from Japan, Korea, China, Germany and Italy.

Waikiki is a big backyard pool, a safe and energetic playground rocked by a gently surging ocean. It is so iconic and so easy, a place to be out in nature without really knowing nature at all. You just go play and have a good time, no matter who you are. It's like you're living in a post card all the time, with "Aloha" written up in the sky in red and gold lettering.

As long as you are at the beach in Waikiki you can ignore the whole world, all its problems and anything that used to be important back home. Refreshingly warm water - not too warm - and puffing trade winds are a balm for the child in your heart. Just play and play and play some more. Live the simple life at the beach. On Thanksgiving, your sense of play is in some way a form of gratitude, I suppose, employing the health and vitality that you were given at birth. It sure beats sitting indoors in the cold, worrying about difficulties and feeling burdened by responsibility all the time.

I walk to the Royal Hawaiian to find quiet peace in the inner gardens, take a look at the fine panama hats in one of the shops on the grounds, consider one for $450 and decide I have become delusional for even considering a hat like that - even though I look fabulous in it, I must say - and walk back to my hotel, watching people along the way. It's still early in the day, and it's possible these out-of-towners will enjoy traditional food later in the afternoon, but nothing I am seeing right now indicates that is even a remote possibility.

My six-block walk takes me past the Apple store where a line of maybe 12 customers is being herded into a very straight queue before the store opens, an employee exerting his line-forming skills in a loud voice that surprises me. I'm glad I'm not in line; it's a different kind of gratitude than I'd been considering just a moment before. So-called Black Friday, an ominous term recently coined, is tomorrow.

Finally back at my hotel, my husband and I gather up our things for the holiday meal, drive over to Kaimuki to our family's house and commence chopping, slicing, stirring, baking and otherwise preparing our fine feast. Friends come over at 4, I meet Noah, age 2 months, and I reacquaint myself with his parents. They are probably going to earn a prize for most loving and alert parents of the year. The meal is delicious, conversation and games are fun, and I am grateful over and over again to be right here, right now, in this least likely version of the pilgrim's first celebration.

Almost Local in Honolulu

I'm living local in Honolulu, but not familiar enough with all parts of town to feel I can make my way around; I still need to make a conscious effort going here and there. Back home, I drive from one area to another and get to a destination almost as if the car drove itself. It's not quite the same in Honolulu, but I feel much more relaxed than I would as a tourist. I'm something in between.

I swim again at Ala Moana, do not see any brides this time but there is a covey of older Japanese-American men playing croquet on the wide expanse of lawn. A homeless man with a large boom box is playing Frank Sinatra and big band tunes while he sits in a folding beach chair in the shade, lost in thought, smoking and smoothing the crease in his polyester slacks, Nike sneakers tied with red laces. Another man in the parking lot is playing his ukelele while he reclines in his beach chair, his feet propped up on the tailgate of his small truck. His little granddaughter is toddling around, rushing toward other parked cars to tag them with her wide-open hands and look back at her singing grandfather. He occasionally calls out to her in a gruff voice, "Hey, no! Don't you do that! Come ovah heah!" The uke music floats out over the milky aqua blue water while people sit in the shallows and talk story with one another and kids play. All sounds are softer, as if cotton batting were wrapped around them. To the west large jets take off from Honolulu airport and rumble up and away into the clouds, load after load of tourists departing for home again. Other jets soar in and bring replacement tourists for the ones who've just left.

My swim is satisfying. I push the pace a bit at intervals in an attempt to preserve my fitness. The water is probably 76 degrees. I'm getting better at keeping the salt water out of my mouth, but I end up stopping to spit it out vigorously every so often. When I finish, I down a bottle full of fresh water with enormous gratitude and pleasure.

Waikiki is a world away. I like this park, the peaceful nature of the place and the views it affords of the city to the east of what is called Magic Island, an area popular for joggers.

I join my husband, and we head over to a light industrial area on Coral Street in Honolulu to find Hank's Haute Dogs for lunch. There is no better place to find a tasty sausage dog. I get a Hawaiian Dog (a Portuguese sausage topped with mango mustard and pineapple relish) and hibiscus lemonade because it sounds exotic and tropical. A steady stream of visitors wait patiently in line, gazing up at the large menu board behind the counter, order and again wait patiently to pick up their food. I am very happy as I wait and even happier as I eat. It's a fine meal.

Later, after a nap back at the hotel, it's time to go to the grocery store to buy provisions for our Thanksgiving feast.

First, we eat outdoors at a take-away BBQ place near the Safeway store on Kapahulu Avenue while a delusional man, probably schizophrenic, walks by telling (us? God? who?) his tales of woe. He talks louder as he gets nearer our table but keeps going, fogged by his delusions. Hawaii has its share of mentally ill, and they are made more visible by its warm environment. I've seen the ruined and wretched often in Waikiki and other parts of Honolulu, just like most of America, a painful aspect of society. The meal we are eating is tasty, and I feel relief that I can provide for myself and have my health.

The truth is living in Hawaii costs a lot, and wages are low. Locals usually extend each other a more favored price than they do to strangers who are usually tourists; the kama'aina discount is a way of helping each other out, extending aloha to one another. Later, knowing that, I am really surprised when Whole Foods in the Kahala Mall (located just off the musically named Kalanianaole Highway) is jammed with shoppers. I am told this is how it is every day in this store. All hours, every day. There are very few sale prices, and most items cost more than at other stores. It seems quality has more appeal than cheap prices. Foodies abound.

Where we had seen MSG-soaked pork sausage guaranteed to taste horrible and fill us up with salt from the products offered at Safeway, Whole Foods presents us with three different pork sausage blends and no MSG. We select one, toss some other goodies into our basket and call it a day. We intend to use the sausage in our stuffing recipe.

It's time to bake pies, talk and spend time with family, prepare for the gathering tomorrow afternoon. Success! The pies do not burn, the cranberries cooperate and the fruit I bought at the stand on the North Shore is holding up well. We'll do the real cooking tomorrow and then give our thanks.

Out of Waikiki, to the North Shore

We are in a mood to get out of the city, flee to rural Oahu today. Even though this is a medium-sized island, there is immense variety in terrain and climate. Wherever the tradewinds blowing across the Pacific for a few thousand miles suddenly slam up against a cliff, there is rain. Tall, dark jagged mountain cliffs block the moisture carried on the wind, sending it upward where it cools and tumbles, then condenses and pours down on the flanks of the mountains and plains further out. In contrast, the southeast side of the island, only a few miles away on the protected side of the pali, appears to look like the high desert of the southwest on the mainland. 

We decide to go to the north shore and circle the island’s perimeter starting with Haleiwa, the historic little town that has evolved from a plantation town to tourist attraction and gateway to surfing's mecca, the North Shore. On the north shore and areas that border it, life is surfing and surfing is life. There is solace, renewal and physical challenge out there in the salt water. It seems as if it is living, that ocean, but it is many forces of nature jostling for dominance, and we ascribe emotion to it. If nothing else, the ocean is intoxicating, I will give you that. 

Simply say, “north shore” to a surfer, and they know you’re talking about Oahu’s legendary surf spots. Lots of surf places can and do offer huge waves or beautiful swells, but this constitutes the beating heart of surfing, the one place where any surfer worth his or her salt will eventually find themselves gazing at the ocean, studying surf reports as they have never studied before. They all dream of paddling out for a spot in a lineup on the north shore, even if they can only handle a flat day like this one. There are many strata of surfers, the lowliest of them wobbling out on boards to try small waves, then paddling back to shore when the swells kick up, knowing full well that their skills don’t allow for head-high or overhead surf conditions. The waves the north shore are infamous for are big, thick 30- to 40-foot monsters that boom like thunder. It’s hard to imagine at the moment, but there are certainly a lot of galleries and stores stocked with images of wiry athletes charging down mountainous and glistening waves to prove that it happens. They seem to defy gravity just as cats do, exactly as lithe and graceful. 

Right across the street from the Haleiwa McDonalds, which looks very quiet, the Haleiwa Cafe is elbow to elbow with mostly large, white, not-a-chance-of-surviving-a-tiny-wave tourists, but a few locals (unruly hair, deep tans, surf shirts and board shorts) sit with friends here, too.  The food is hearty, nourishing and delicious. The women waiting tables are very good at their work. My breakfast burrito has a savory sauce that sets my mouth watering. I am grateful for the simplicity of it; it seems honest for some reason, perhaps because the cafe is very small and has evolved in response to the needs of hungry local athletes over a long period of time and stick with what nourishes instead of following trends and fads. 

I am glad to be away from Waikiki and the loud thrashing din there. We finish our meal and consider our route for the day. It’s possible to shop among many little boutiques and art stores here, but we will drive on further northeast and then south along the windward coast. This being the wet season, the sky is heavy and overcast but still warm. We are very comfortable in shirts and shorts. 

After a few minutes we begin to see roadside fruit stands and cars bellying up to them. The ladies at one stand have bagged fruit. They call out prices for bananas, pineapple, dragon fruit, tomatoes, corn and papaya in sing-song voices. No mangoes. I choose a pineapple, some corn on the cob and a bag of tomatoes. Thanksgiving is in two days. 

At Sunset Beach, the Vans Triple Crown of Surfing is setting up; it will also be held in turn at Pipeline and Waimea Bay. A huge crane is hoisting scaffolding into place to form the observation structure where judges will sit as well as the press photographers and officials. I can imagine the two-lane road we’re driving today will be an incredible crush of cars when the contest is going on. I’ve always hoped to see the waves heave up to massive heights, but the ocean has never cooperated while I’ve been on island. Someday. Certainly today looks like a riffled lake, a disappointment to competitors and fans all over the island.

We stop at one of many public beach parks to photograph and stretch our legs. There are a few other people around, but the moody sky is keeping most away from the shore today. A fresh pineapple snack is refreshing. Little red-topped cardinals as well as the ubiquitous and silly local doves call and flutter, alert for crumbs and morsels. Palm trees rustle in the steady wind, and they look like wild mops to me, upended by a temperamental giant. 

Traffic intensifies later on as we near Kaneohe, Kailua and Waimanalo. These are towns below the vertical pali that block the precipitation blown in on the shoulders of the tradewinds. The scenery is dramatic and tropical, vines climbing everywhere and flowers littering the ground. Driving is fairly easy to handle as most drivers on the island tend to move more slowly than in say, Southern California or Texas (where if you dare to use a turn signal, drivers behind accelerate past you with a devilish and pig-headed desire to obliterate you). Hawaii remains relatively mellow even as the population has increased, one of the reasons I love it. 

Finally reaching the southmost stretch of the island, we see wind-sculpted rocks, sere landscapes and turbulent waves thumping the shore. It’s rugged and beautiful, but seems to snarl with a nasty temper. The scenic overlooks near Sandy Beach give a good view of the dark teal water with its white foaming spray. The blowhole is going full blast, and little girls watching are giggling and screaming with delight. I am mesmerized and want to stand there watching for the rest of the day. 

At last we arrive back in the busy hive of Waikiki to rest and then join our family members later. (We’ve brought home leftovers from Maile’s Thai Bistro, a delicious discovery we bumped into in Hawaii Kai on the south shore.) The images of the day are jumbled, misted by restless waves and currents. So many people on one island, so much rock and such a tremendous ocean, all of it moving and alive, continually. 

A Swim, A Palace: Honolulu

I wade out into the sea, and all the city noise fades away. Waikiki is a loud place, the din obliterating most of the aspects of what I have come here for:  warmth, loveliness, serenity. 

The water is cool at first, impulses of currents moving against my legs and hips, sand under my feet. This is the lagoon at Ala Moana Beach Park. It’s a place where noise disperses and waves are held at bay by a distant manmade reef. Swimmers move away  from the beach and then parallel to the long shoreline, taking steady rhythmic strokes to the distant buoys and flags that serve as guideposts. It’s a relief to be in the water. I dip into the cool liquid up to my shoulders and then begin to swim. It’s very easy swimming, the salt water makes me more buoyant than usual. The trade winds ruffle the surface to a tiny chop, but there are essentially no swells.

I set out, swimming in the general direction of the first buoy. I feel good again, but it takes some warmup time to get my mind focused on the swimming, and I begin a workout of sorts, recalling drill patterns and pace I’ve done many times in my masters swimming workouts. 

Ala Moana is north of Waikiki by a mile or so and offers an oasis that I crave, a respite from the city roar and bustle. It’s good to visit other towns to see what they have to offer, but the sounds get to me. I need this swim, and I’m very grateful to the city planners back in the day who carved out this peaceful gem for its citizens.

Being used to a freshwater swimming pool, I have to adapt to the murky opacity and no line to follow on the bottom. I’m can sight by the buoys to keep from meandering in every direction.  

I reach the last red flag posted far from my starting point. I’ve seen several other swimmers including one who, despite the buoys to guide him, is swimming straight for me. I swim to my right to avoid his course, but he swims to his left even more as if a homing device is beaming him toward me. I stroke pretty hard to keep out of his way, but he keeps on toward me. Eventually, he rushes past my left shoulder about four feet away, and I feel tempted to look around to see if he is going to make another rush toward me again, like a bull heading for a red cape. Odd.

The water has a nice swelling lift to it every so often, just a tiny one, but I feel like I’m cradled in a swaying embrace. I swim on back to the starting point where all the families are playing in the water, children yelling happily. Their voices are muffled by the air and sun and ocean. 

Later, after I’ve showered and dressed, we drive over to the Iolani Palace in the middle of Honolulu, a historical treasure I’ve missed on past trips. As the docents will tell you, it’s the only royal palace in the United States. After the Hawaiian Islands were discovered by yankees, a relatively systematic takeover by Christian missionaries and their descendants began. Eventually - and I am skipping a very long series of events - the queen Iolani was imprisoned for eight months within her own palace, and Hawaii was declared property of the United States.  Read Unfamiliar Fishes by Sarah Vowel, a good read with both humor and pathos underlining the whole story. 

The palace has been carefully restored and can be toured, led by a guide or by taking an audio tour ($14.95). There is an especially beautiful grand staircase that leads from the main hall where you begin the tour, up to the sleeping and living quarters of the king and queen. Many exquisite treasures furnish the rooms. A few unique features exemplify the forward-thinking sensibility of the royals of the day including electrical fixtures, flush toilets and a pleasing overall design of the structure itself. 

The colonial island esthetic always strikes me as harmonious with the islands’ colors and sensations. In early times, buildings were oriented in a direction declared sacred by the kahunas and used the beautiful island woods, especially koa, for doors and framing. Because King Kalakaua had traveled abroad and was well versed in his contemporary sciences and languages, he helped craftsmen design and create features of the palace. The light fixtures are striking in both their simplicity and graceful shapes. There are large brass hinges on all the koa wood doorways, and the staircase itself is koa and walnut with other woods used in the fine details of carving and overall form. 

The palace tour finished, we drove back to Waikiki where we are staying for a few more days. This, like other visits, requires me to go find the quiet Oahu that lies beyond Waikiki. The North Shore still calls, as do hikes, more swimming, and, of course, time with my family. 

Oahu Again

Out of the mists of autumn comes a jagged silhouette, enrobed in green: Oahu. After five hours of flying against the jet stream on a steady course, the islands’ appearance is just as unlikely today as it was the first time I ever flew here, the vastness of a shimmering ocean stretching on and on for untold miles in every direction. It’s an impressive and amazing thing to find a tiny string of beautiful islands in the middle of a big blue nowhere after five hours’ flight at 500 miles an hour. Out here in the Pacific Ocean, the biggest ocean in the universe, I am a speck taking refuge on a collection of old volcanic rock islands. I can’t imagine it even as I am here writing and breathing. I admire the nerve of ocean-going explorers who had a knowledge of navigation using celestial bodies and wave patterns. They had that, but they had no real idea how darned big the ocean really is. 

We land safely, if not with a jarring thump as the tradewinds let the jet down off their shoulders, having borne it willingly and steadily, looping in from the east around Diamond Head, skirting the shore above the city. Bam! It's a jolt that smacks us all into alertness. Nobody applauds the pilot this time, but I feel relieved the bird has landed safely. We disembark, we modern well-fed and pampered travelers, and disperse, embraced by the islands, all in our separate directions. 

The fall and winter here feels like summer on the coast of California, about 65-70 degrees. It's pretty in bits and pieces in Honolulu, but the city roars with traffic and stinks with exhaust, especially in Waikiki. We go through the usual baggage claim/shuttle to rent a car/drive to the hotel and check-in routine and get ourselves untangled from our traveling equipment and orientation to our living space. The soft warm air wraps itself around me; I am delighted at the absence of the damp chill and fog of my home town.  This is the way Hawaii works its charm, claims my heart. It is a gentle persuasion. 

Waikiki envelops me and my husband with the glare of business signs and absence of much that seems local and charming, but in total that is its charm. I haven’t found the water yet. I know the ocean changes everything, defining the island in almost every way, beautiful, dangerous and unimaginably complex. I will spend as much time as possible in it, near it and looking at it. Once I’m back in the water, I’ll really feel I’ve returned to Hawaii once again.  

Good-bye to Kauai, Hello Again Waikiki

Today was transition day; time to shift attention and focus to other places.  We left Kauai today, but first we drove slowly from our little bungalow along the skinny winding and scenic road east to Hanalei Bay to feast our eyes one more time.

Waves were steaming into the bay from its outer reaches, long plume-bedecked rollers that kept on and on without collapsing or playing out.  The heavy rain from the day before had washed lots of silt into the bay and turned it brown.  Mist hung on the surrounding hills like lace, sun glittered on wet places and the ever-present rainbows arched left and right.

It's deceptive to see photographs of Hanalei and the north shore because most of them look brooding and overcast, but the air at this time of year is about 75 degrees.  Bikinis, shorts, t-shirts and water sports are worn all four seasons.  Actually, in Hawaii, like other tropical places, there is a wet season and there is a dry one.

I never know whether to just get up and go away from a place or person I love, quickly leaving to avoid prolonged good-byes or to linger and savor every last moment together.  As we walked out onto the Hanalei pier to watch the surfers and paddle boarders, it became obvious we were just going to have to say good-bye once and for all and get it over with.  We savored the views, trying to memorize every aspect and finally got into the car and drove away.  Fittingly, a downpour started and seemed to erase the scene just behind us for a while.

The flight to Oahu is brief; no time for in-flight service.  You zoom up and away into the face of the tradewind and then you land again.  In Waikiki, our last treat was to rent a room at the Park Shore Hotel to get a view of one more beautiful Hawaiian sunset before traveling to the mainland tomorrow.   We're here overnight to say hello and good-bye to our two loved ones once again.  They called us before the dramatic sunset quite hit its highest note.  Their community was going to be having a Christmas parade; did we want to see it?  Of course yes.  Christmas in Kaimuki would be just the right bookend to a holiday vacation.

The whole community, which lies about three miles southeast of Waikiki, was in the parade, or half of it was.  The other half watched, and so did we, while Santas in shorts, t-shirts and whimsical headgear paraded by.  A Santa waved to the parading kids and posed for me.  Cub scouts, Brownies, football teams and beauty princesses waved and yelled to friends.  Eventually, another Santa on a truck decorated in lights and holiday garlands rolled slowly by, followed by The Grinch who guarded a volcano fuming green smoke.

There go my countrymen, I thought, all these people who live in America, Hawaiian style.  They're parading happily down this street with their beautiful and precious little children, yelling Merry Christmas the same way every kid in America does, no matter their State or ethnicity.  Santa hats, reindeer noses, candy canes and Christmas carols - no matter the way the weather feels - it's the way we do it, we nutty Americans.

Then, it started raining again, so we ducked inside for Thai food - still another flavor of life in Hawaii.  The whole day felt like some sort of parade of images, gradually turning from one to another before my eyes.  Rainbows in Hanalei turned to our own flight's arc from Kauai to Oahu and then the descent of the winter sun down to the horizon.  Finally the bright smiles of cheering kids and waving Santas, all a patchwork of tropical colors and din of city noises.  What is it about life that we don't live it like a vacation all the time?

An International Day in Honolulu

Honolulu, like most big cities, gets up and roars from before dawn on through the day and late into the night.  On the stretch of playground called Waikiki, the bus system is an arterial flow of people borne in large vessels to every reach of street and highway.  It's all about pleasing tourists, moving them  around, feeding them and seeing to their every need.  In quieter parts of Waikiki, you can hear the rustle of palm leaves in the tradewinds, the soft swish of waves on the long beach, and small Hawaiian doves calling gently.

This morning, we went to Chinatown to buy groceries for tomorrow.  We parked at the Aloha Tower complex nearby and walked a few city blocks to the middle of Chinatown.  This oldest part of town is nearly a separate nation, distinguished by its nearly total dependence on Chinese culture, started back in the 1840s or so.

The Chinese immigrants who were brought here as laborers more than 150 years ago gradually recreated China complete with all its delicacies, fabrics, art and customs, and the many city blocks that were the heart of the community are still in use today.  All signs are written in Chinese as well as English, and you get a sense of both Disneyland and foreign territory as you walk around.  The Disney aspect comes from the scaled-down size of things including many diminutively sized people bustling about their business.  I felt very tall.  A very long line of people was formed outside of the Lee Bakery on one street.  We didn't want to stand there with them to find out what was so amazing, but found out later it was pork buns.

With several bags of produce in hand, we piled all of it into our car and drove a little way south to Ala Moana Park, a sprawling city park with a fine large lagoon where I swam for a half hour or so.  It was fun to stroke along and see parasails on the western horizon, Diamond Head to the south and the Honolulu skyline to the east.  There were  few rainbows now and again and other folks out for runs or swims with me.  Paddle board riders floated by talking story in pidgin.

Next, we drove across the road to Ala Moana Shopping Center, a shopping mecca, where we shopped for Thanksgiving dinner supplies.  Thai food back in Waikiki was pretty good, not the best, and then we stopped for a nap back at the hotel.

On an impulse, we put our swim suits back on, walked over to Waikiki Beach - two blocks away -  and shopped around for an outrigger canoe ride.   Everyone shoves the canoe into the edge of the surf, gets in, gets a 20-second lesson on how to hold a paddle, and off you go to join the lineup of surfers, hundreds of them.  The helmsman turns you around, tells you to paddle like the dickens and you catch a wave and go powering along to the swish of whitewater, keeping up with surfers standing on their boards next to you.  We surprised one guy swimming back out.  He saw our outrigger coming straight at him and ducked under water just in time to avoid a new buzz haircut.  

To top off the day, we rounded up our two loved ones and found a wonderful Indian and Nepalese restaurant in Kaimuki, not far from their home, called Himalayan Kitchen.  Kaimuki is an old community that could be called a suburb of Honolulu to the southeast a bit.  It has always been home to blue-collar workers and students, and its main business district is definitely eclectic.  In the one-block area where the restaurant was, we found nine other ethnic cultures represented in cuisine.  Locals in the know flock to the hidden gems in Kaimuki.  After a fine meal in a warm and hospitable setting, we walked home in a spritzing effervescence of rain, tired out, heads full of Thai, Chinese, Nepalese and Hawaiian culture.  

No Place Like The North Shore

Waikiki is one version of paradise, if you like shopping and thousands of shuffling tourists everywhere, but the naturally gentle feeling of the air and water  make it feel a lot like perfection no matter how many people you see.  Waikiki and most of the leeward side of Oahu including the southern, southwestern and western areas from Hawaii Kai up to and past Hickam Air Force Base are thick with people and cars.  That includes greater Honolulu and neighboring communities, definitely Waikiki.

But, complain as you might about traffic density and human impact on the island, step into soft morning air and then into gently surging waves of ocean water that's about 77 degrees and your fussing stops.  It's so easy to fall in love with it.

Today, we walked from our hotel to the Moana Surfrider two or three blocks away, admired their lovely open lobby and veranda where you can have tea in the afternoon under the shade of a giant banyan tree, and then walked over to our favorite, the Royal Hawaiian Hotel.  Nicknamed The Pink Lady for the bubblegum pink color of the Spanish Colonial style of the original buildings, the hotel is surrounded by high rise modern structures where once she stood alone with tropical gardens all around her.  The nearest hotel was the Moana Hotel, both of which still appear far more stylish and beautiful than anything that has been built since.

We splurged on a delicious breakfast on the open veranda under the shade of pink umbrellas.  Gracious and excellent service marks the restaurant as well as the entire hotel as proud grande dame from a bygone era.  There is a hat shop on the property that sells fine handmade Panama hats.  I tried on my dream hat - a beautiful ladies summer hat that felt like a feather on my head and fit perfectly.  It's a hat that needs a hat box, a pretty dress, good jewelry and an estate to live on.  $200 is too rich for me.

After a quick walk back to the hotel, we hit the road north and then east to Kaneohe by way of Interstate Highway 3 (H-3).  Yes, there are interstates in Hawaii, but it's due to a technicality, I've heard, allowed because the highways connect federal lands together (military bases).  Yeah, I know.  H-3 is a spectacular 10 mile highway that goes from the leeward side of the island, through the high jagged peaks  by tunnel, and then suddenly out the other side where you skirt the mountain side and see the eastern, windward coastline, far below.  We drove that way just to get the view, which is stunning.  Then, winding north along the coast road with the top down on our convertible, we drove through small communities of a more rural quality and past roadside huts selling souvenirs and pineapples.

We continued all the way to the north shore where Sunset Beach, one of the main surfing areas in the entire world, is currently hosting the Triple Crown of Surfing for the next week.  I'd have loved to have sat and watched the waves and surfers out in the far break for hours, but we had to get going after a short while.  The best waves we saw were about head high there, breaking about a half mile out at most. I've never been lucky enough to see giant waves on the north shore, but when a big swell is on its way, the crush of surfers who head for the area is epic.  Parking becomes a horrible mess and spectators line the beaches high out of harm's way for miles.  I'd go anyway, just like all of them, to see the spectacle of such power and beauty.  Nearly everything about North Shore is surfing, made even more fabulous by the rugged open land and agricultural region of the whole north end of the island.  Distant high mountains and big cumulus clouds piling up in the west create quite a backdrop for the long tawny beaches and aqua-blue sea.

We stopped for a late lunch in historical Haleiwa and then drove home again, getting caught in rush hour traffic in the last few miles.  There seems to be no really good time to get to the north shore except very early in the morning.  Beaches have free access, some offer showers to rinse off sand when you're done and lifeguard towers.  I've been to the north shore a handful of times and I've never gone away unhappy.  There's always something beautiful you can never get enough of, and you always want to go back.  Always.

From the Oahu Coast Back to The Groove

The Manoa Valley was stormy and windy, with rain coming down in pattering showers all night and a cool 67 degrees.  I set off for Honolulu early in the morning to explore for a little while before turning my car in and then going to the airport.

First of all, I had to have my cuppa Joe, so I tried out Great Harvest Bakery in the financial district, right across the street from the Hawaii Electric Company along a narrow lane.  The bakery is a cheery place that gives out large samples of their loaves, sells scones, sweet rolls and other delectables as well as coffee to go or eat in.  There are only four stools that line the window, and the counter is decorated with painted tin pots stuffed with bright pink cosmos daisies.  Baked goods were voted "Best Bread" in 2008 by the Honolulu Advertiser readers.  I think I agree, although Manoa's bakery around behind the Safeway store is running a close race with them.  Both require determined searching.

The air was filled with whisping, backlighted drizzles and rainbows arched across the sky.  Clouds were scudding overhead and sheets of gray rain in the distance over by Diamond Head looked dark, cold, wintry.  Scooting along the Ala Moana Boulevard, I decided to explore the large park that goes by the same name.  Its right across from gigantic Ala Moana Shopping Center, the country's largest outdoor mall.

The park is very large and part of it juts out beyond the boat harbor.  Joggers and walkers were out in number, as were a few locals fishing off the rocks and bantering in pidgin.  I needed to walk after my scone and cappucino, so I joined in the flow of energetic people getting their morning constitutional.  The city was to my right and Waikiki was way off to my left, as was the again-approaching storm.  No one looked to be deterred by the oncoming shower and the air temperature was warming actually.  Shirtsleeves and sandals were fine.  I think the looping course that took me along the perimeter of the main part of the park was about a mile around, maybe a bit less, all flat.  The views of the city were really nice; I appreciated the new vantage point.

I found the local swimmin' hole, a much better place than Queen's Beach for serious swimmers; Ala Moana is much more protected, much bigger and is lined by a very mildly sloping beach.  Next trip, I'll be in there.  Surprisingly, I never got in the water once the whole week, save a little ankle-sloshing walk once or twice.

My walk finished just before the shower hit.  I drove back to town and said a fond farewell to the cute little Mini Cooper that had been a zippy conveyance for my explorations.  The convertible top was useful on warmer, slower days.  I rented it from Little Hawaii car rentals, by the way.

It was very difficult to say good-bye to Oahu and its people.  I really hated to go for many reasons.  I'll go back; I'll return many times.  The ocean is so big there and so alluring.  The island seems simply to be a hopscotch point for those of us who are so often in a water-sport-loving groove.  Now I'm back in Pacific Grove and curious to see what comes next.  I'll let you know.

Chinatown, Kings and Queens

Time for a bit of architecture and history in Honolulu today.  But first, Chinatown.

Today I parked my Mini Cooper and took off on foot into the heart of old Honolulu, seeking out the oldest clues to people and culture of the old Hawaii, wherever it might be.  I headed first for Chinatown.  This part of town has narrow streets lined with old brick buildings dating back to the earliest days of the city in about 1910.  The heart of Chinatown is the Cultural Plaza, a brick-lined and busy courtyard where, on one side, an indoor market bazaar houses fishmongers, butchers, and produce vendors.  Time seemed to have suddenly warped back about 50 years.  Produce as fresh and varied as I have ever seen before lined the walks and filled stalls throughout the building.

I took my time and shuffled along slowly, trying not to appear conspicuously like a tourist, but the camera in my hand as well as the fact that I was at least 8 inches taller than most people and did not speak an Asian language at all kind of gave me away.  No one cared though; everyone went about the business of selling and buying goods, bartering, examining vegetables with a critical and expert eye, rearranging stacks of fruit.  It was quiet but busy; peaceful but energized.

I found myself standing in front of a fish vendor's counter.  All signs were in Chinese characters and a couple of fans with grass fronds flew around above a display of rock fish on ice.  Two large fish tanks held swimming, breathing, not-long-for-this-earth fish.  Two very spry-looking and petite Asian ladies were eyeing the fish, frowning and dickering with the vendor who had a fine-mesh net in her hand, waving it for emphasis as she spoke.  One of the short ladies indicated something, a deal was made and Net Lady went to work.  She reached into one of the tanks with her net and snagged a pale rock fish, about 12 inches long, and then showed it to the little lady.  Little Lady nodded and stepped back to wait.  Net Lady dropped the wriggling fish into a plastic bag and set the bag on a wooden chopping block, picked up a bright red plastic mallet, took aim, and then banged the fish on the head with it.  Dead fish.  Then Net Lady took the fish to her back counter and rapidly gutted, descaled and filleted it.  Done in 60 seconds.

I walked on and saw more tanks of sacrificial fish who were oblivious to their fate.  Tripe, bones, knuckles, chops and ears were laid out in neat displays, all very clean and fresh.  The only fragrance I detected was that of the ocean, a very good indication of cleanliness and freshness.  A sign said "chickens feet" next to a pile of pale disembodied feet ready for a pot of, what, I don't know, foot soup.  A rosy pink pig head wrapped in plastic looked up at the ceiling, surrounded by pork chops and other mysterious items you never see in standard supermarket meat counters.  Fascinating.

I walked out of Chinatown back into the Western World, looking for The Palace.  The Royalty of the islands included kings and queens who spent a good amount of time building large impressive mansions in the area.  Queen Liliuokalani's brother built a grand one, and it stands in all its glory right in the middle of the city, surrounded by a wide spreading lawn and shaded by huge trees all 'round.  I did not have a reservation to take a tour, but I walked the perimeter outside of the iron gate lining the property and admired it.  I'll see if I can go back later.

I saw the Hawaii State Capitol Building, which is enormous and very unlike any other capitol building I've seen before.  Most of them have Roman-style domes, pillars, cornices, etc.  Since Hawaii was named our 50th state in 1959, the architectural styling of this capitol is deliberately east-west in appearance, very modern and unusual.  It also reflects the natural and unique features of its island homeland.  Its columns are palm tree-like; two main areas sloped in part like a volcano; the center is open to the sky, and the entire building set in a large pool, just as if it, too were an island.

The whole area of the heart of downtown is beautiful, open and park-like with vast open lawns and towering tropical trees that provide shade and a graceful natural dignity to the setting.  Many buildings are open to the public and can be accessed very easily on a walking tour.  It's flat and very scenic.  They are too numerous to count and describe here, but I did spend about two hours walking among them and enjoying the impressive features of as many as I could.  Standouts were Washington Place where the governor lives, a gracious-looking wooden colonial house; St Andrews Cathedral, dedicated in 1867, and made of British building stone; Kawaiahao Church, where you can still hear Hawaiian-language hymns if you go to church there on Sunday (note to self: don't miss this ever again); and the King Kamehameha statue (he was the first unifying king of the islands).  He was a handsome buggah in his feather cape and helmet; locals adorn him with hundreds of huge long leis on King Kamehameha Day.

I finally found the oldest hint of early, early human life and customs in the area:  A fresh water spring with a pretty splashing fountain next to the Mormon Chapel and King Lunalilo's tomb.  This fountain and pool are where the earliest royals in Hawaii took baths and purified themselves.  Most especially, a Queen Hui, who lived long ago, enjoyed this very pool and bathed while sitting on the lava rocks still present.  Even though the pool has been made into a fountain now, one hunk of lava is marked with a bronze plaque and is original there.



Feeling pretty footsore but satisfied with my self-guided tour, I had lunch at a Thai restaurant downtown and then took off for Kapiolani Park in the Waikiki area where I took a nap and gazed at clouds, palm trees, the ocean.

The wind is still blowing hard, keeping the windsock straight out horizontal; it's posted about 1/4 mile offshore near the Canoe Club at the park's south end.  The ocean is big, bigger than ever, blue as the eyes of Triton.  I am never tired of it, especially this island version:  Warm, sparkling and beautiful.

Hawaii is my Groove This Week

I flew the Groove today and ended up in Honolulu, which is pretty far out of my usual groove, wouldn't you say?  The day started out early from the airport.  I was squished into a seat the size of a hamster cage and was further compressed courtesy of the seated passenger in front of me who reclined her seat all the way back into my lap.  I think she wanted me to give her a neck massage.

Seated next to me was an older gentleman, apparently from India, who never spoke a word but was murmuring in his native language with the young family across the aisle from him.  They were a young Indian couple with a small boy, probably age 2, who was in constant wiggle mode.  The parents did as good a job containing him, but he was 2 and he wanted to get loose and go.  He squealed, screeched and tried to get away, but -- credit to the parents -- they kept him distracted and occupied as well as can be expected of any parents in a confined space for five hours.  I've seen and heard lots more obnoxious and upset kids on flights before, so it wasn't that horrible.

The irony was that the airline was featuring the movie Where The Wild Things Are.  The boy was a handful for his mom right up to the moment when the movie began and then dropped off to deep and peaceful sleep.  Last I looked, his mom was sitting with a glazed stare, watching the screen as the boy sprawled across her lap, head resting on her crooked elbow.  He looked like an innocent angel.

Hawaii caresses you from the moment you first meet her.  So it was today:  Soft warm air, flowers, pretty girls and guys with surfboards carried on scooters zooming around town.  The lifestyle here is busy but still slower and definitely easy going.  People wave you in from merge lanes on the freeway and drive more slowly.  Compared to almost everywhere else I've driven a car, Hawaii is easy and nearly fun.

After I picked up by my rental car (Mini Cooper convertible - my splurge on this trip) and went over to Kapiolani park, the large urban greenspace at the base of Diamond Head that offers mellow views of Waikiki and the mountains beyond.  I ate, chatted with strangers who seemed friendly and interesting, watched tiny waves lapping the shore and planned out my coming week.  Nice start so far.  Vacation time, and still in the groove.

Surfin' to Starbucks

Hawaii is pretty. The air is soft, the pace is slower. Actually, it isn't any slower than here in Pacific Grove, but since it's not blustery and cold, it feels slower. Here, you peer hopefully out of your window, considering your possibilities. You see sun, bobbing flowers on vines, and all seems quiet and calm. Then, you step out onto your front porch. You notice kids playing on playgrounds are shrieking with cold, not happiness. Birds overhead are flying sideways or backwards, not floating lightly on a freshening breeze. Whitecaps stack up like folding chairs, smashing to bits on the shore. The average ocean temperature is about 52 degrees or so. A romantic stroll on the beach becomes a Frankenstein-like staggering lurch on frozen bowling ball feet. For me, as a resident of The Groove, the most shocking thing, the most stunning, is that when I venture into the ocean in Hawaii, I come out alive. Better than that, I'm smiling and I don't want to ever leave.

You don't have to wear a wetsuit in Hawaii. Locals do everything in the water there. Eat, play, sleep, swim, surf, watch TV, you name it. Sick of traffic? Jump in the ocean! Tired of work? Go swim! Just waking up? Go surf! We stayed at the Beachcomber Hotel on Waikiki at the end of the week, which sounds romantic and was to a certain extent. I'll leave out the part about roaring rooftop air conditioning units, traffic noise, police sirens, loud music from a karoake bar. Our view from the 18th floor looking at Diamondhead was spectacular and the room was fresh, comfortable and new, but what really struck me was seeing surfers paddling out at 6 AM. (I was still on California time I think). It's the best Waikiki Starbucks location. Paddle out, catch a dozen waves, paddle in and go off to work.

It's tempting to think I can adopt a Hawaiian lifestyle here in the Groove, but I just step out on the front porch and reality slaps that happy little dream right down. Conditions here make the heart grow fonder for conditions there in the islands - water conditions anyway.