Honolulu

So we’ve been back in the land of convenience and cheap beer for ten nights now, and I think we’ve hit that point in the trip where it’s time for some quiet nights in; what better excuse to get my blog on again? Also, there may be family members who will hold my cat ransom if I don’t keep them suitably entertained while away…

Third time lucky in the US (let’s hope that holds true in Vegas in a week’s time), and we're at the stage now where things that were a marvel the first time round and a curiosity the second have become commonplace. I’m not sure whether to feel sadly jaded or just nonchalantly cool that navigating LA via public transport/tipping/daily American life is now just standard practice. Although I do keep saying stupid things that I forget people over here won’t understand (‘op-shop,’ ‘takeaways’ etc), and I had quite the confused moment when someone asked me at a café whether I wanted ‘boba’ in my smoothie or not; apparently some kind of tapioca balls, which I quickly said no to. It seems either some things are yet to make it to Dunedin, or I’m woefully behind the times whatever city I’m in.

After a hectic and slightly distracted/grumpy last week in New Zealand (sorry all, nothing like leaving the country, moving out of a flat and into a storage unit, trying to coordinate three exhibitions in a month and PACKING! Oh, the packing!), we made it to Honolulu in a bit of a can’t-believe-this-actually-happened state. There were no flight dramas, the sleeping pills and anti-anxiety pills worked their magic, and I woke up in an island paradise not quite sure what was going on. Our first act upon making it to our hotel and realising we had a couple of hours till we could check in was to ditch the luggage and find food and beer. Fittingly, there was a bar overlooking the beach about a block from our hotel called ‘Lulu’s’ – how could we not?! We ended up frequenting my kitty’s namesake bar a number of times, and I even bought a token tourist t-shirt on the last occasion that I’m fairly sure will never be worn. FYI, anyone wanting to make money off me right now, put ‘Lulu’ on something and I will totally buy it.

Sam at Lulu's

Lulu's! My cat has her own happy hour...

Following the inevitable nap upon check-in, we ventured out onto the mean streets of Hawaii to see what was going on. What was going on turned out to be a Spam Festival of all things (yes, that’s a festival dedicated to some kind of weird canned meat). People thronged into the streets to glorify all that was artificial and processed, and to a certain extent this describes Waikiki Beach. If you don’t like the beach aspect of things (you know, the good part - the surfing, swimming, lying in the sun), then Waikiki doesn’t have a hell of a lot else to offer you other than awful tourist nonsense, which I think is about the position Sam found himself in. It took me three days to get him in the water, but it did eventually happen!

The view from our hotel window...

Look, you can see a smidgen of ocean!

After being thoroughly spammed on the main street, we wound our way through some beachfront bits, and found ourselves in a suitably relaxed looking restaurant surveying the waves. Sadly, after getting settled in and making friends with the waitress, it became apparent that it was a barbeque place with no vegetarian options. It was too awkward at that point to leave though, particularly when everyone gets all bend-over-backward-y to accommodate you anyway (oh the beauty of working for tips). Dinner was at least cheap; we got a baked potato with sour cream and some garlic bread (and in the US, that’s totally enough to feed two!) Upon exiting the restaurant directly onto the beach, I got lei’d; well, we both did, but of course after the initial friendly banter about it, turns out the leis were $10 each, so we relinquished one after Sam decided that mine suited me more. It was then subsequently donated to the Duke Kahanamoku statue, a giant bronze statue of the dude who pretty much invented surfing, and who everyone drapes their leis over (we’re assuming there is some kind of good luck or a tradition related to this, but it was never made clear). We then got our booze on at Tiki’s Bar and Grill, where a pretty sweet surf guitar duo were interspersing the usual numbers with Johnny Cash, Neil Young, etc. It was at this place upon encountering the nicely shaped oval cardboard beer coasters that I decided I would collect coasters in each bar we drank in on the holiday (or at least those that had coasters; they’re not  always on the agenda at dive bars) and then use them to paint on once I get home. I already have quite the collection and not enough painting ideas to match! The first box of PBR was then purchased on our way home, and casual times in the hotel room ensued.

Day two in Honolulu; beach time! For one of us at least… Thanks Sam for watching my stuff while I swam. The beach was very ‘un-St Clair’-like; warm for a start of course, but also not very paddle-worthy. Within about one or two metres of entering the water, you were up to your chest. Great for swimming, but I do enjoy a good paddle first! The waves were very mild and it was kind of like floating around in a rather pleasant bath; this would prove not so effective when I attempted to bodyboard the next day. Sam went for a walk to the end of the pier and was rewarded with some views of interesting fish, which I was quite happy not to know were sharing the water with me. We then visited the iconic Duke’s (after the aforementioned local surfing god) for lunch and they were obliging in replacing the meat patties in their usual burgers with veggie ones – go Duke’s! The afternoon was then dedicated to drinking (at Arnold’s, one of Honolulu’s only dive bars left, although even then it wasn’t quite dive-y enough for our tastes; they were playing sport on the TVs and quite suspect tunes, but the drinks were strong and cheap) and shopping. I was at critical point for needing make-up, having gone without replacing the things I’d run out of in Dunedin for at least six weeks (I refuse to pay four or more times what I’d pay in the US! I am cheap, and will wait and look frumpy in the meantime!) so I made us walk for what may have been an unreasonable amount of time to get to the Ala Moana Center (AKA America’s biggest open-air mall). Mall delivered make-up-wise; I spent $120 on what would have cost me about $500 back home, but was otherwise dull and mall-like (duh), without even a redeeming record store. With somewhat blistered feet we went back to Arnold’s for a recovery drink, and I revelled in my box of six Maybelline mascaras for $36 (OMG they’re usually $26 each at home!). Dinner was at Cheeseburger Waikiki, another fine establishment with vegetarian burgers (in every other city we’ve visited in the States, vege anything is easier to find than in NZ, but Honolulu may be the exception to the rule). Our awesome waitress Lana, a rockin’ lady in at least her sixties - who wore a grass skirt with aplomb - was kind enough to take some holiday-style photos of our silly drunken selves as we left too.

Sam preferred the banyan trees to the beach

Or maybe just the beer to the beach...

I look so relaxed and island-time in this picture that you could almost imagine I had a tan...

Beached as....

Oh wow, a semi-healthy breakfast! The next morning, after exploring our vege options online (we’re learning Honolulu, we’re learning), we found ourselves at Mac 24/7, a restaurant in a hotel open 24 hours that will serve you any food at any time (want breakfast at 2am? Go nuts! A three course dinner at 10am? Okay!) Two orders of their special healthy eggs florentine (with fresh fruit, oh yeah!), and we were rejuvenated. Sam went off on a record store adventure (ended up selling two Gravemind LPs, yay), and I hired a bodyboard and flippers and went and jumped in the ocean again. As excited as I’d been about reliving my bodyboarding glory days (ha!) of ages 11 - 13, it wasn’t the best day for it (flat as, mate), and I think in about two hours out there, I caught maybe three waves, and even then they were all pretty slow and lame. I’m a self-proclaimed wuss, but what I was used to back in the day at St Clair was way more exciting than this!

Dinner was at Keani, a Thai restaurant with some quite potent Mai-Tais and Blue Hawaiians, followed by beers at Cuckoo Coconuts (perhaps only worth it for the amazing put-your-head-through-a-hole-and-look-silly cut-out thing). I believe we went back to Arnold’s from the night before again (it may not have been hugely dive-y, but it was better than the rest of Waikiki music and atmosphere-wise). Notable on our walk home was the guy hanging out on the street with a homemade cardboard sign saying ‘Shitty advice: $1.’ As someone who dislikes being actively harassed in public but who is generally sympathetic to the plight of the homeless, I’m a sucker for an interesting or creative sign held by a quiet and non-intrusive person. We paid our $1 and ended up hanging out with him for quite a while. Although his shitty advice usually revolved around the trials and tribulations of relationships, after explaining to him we were off to Canada for a year’s working holiday without jobs lined up, he promptly extended his services to us, and advised that our best course of action was to become drug dealers as soon as we arrived. Thanks Shitty Advice Guy, hopefully it doesn’t come to that…

Check out Stacy, what a baaaaaabe... At Cuckoo Cocunuts

This was the day on which I took drastic action and decided that Sam had to be forcibly put in the water. Thankfully, nagging was enough, and I got him in bodyboarding under his own free will without having to push him off a pier. I believe there may have been ten to fifteen minutes of something bordering on fun before he cut his knee on a rock and it was all over. I reckon if we gave him studded water-wings, it could have been a different story. To be fair, it was at very low tide which made things horribly rocky, and having a surfing lesson booked in for later that afternoon myself, I started to freak out a bit too. I then spent about twenty minutes sitting next to the surf stand place thinking to myself that surely if I showed up at lesson time and wussed out but paid them anyway no-one would mind, but then when it came down to it, turns out I’m cheaper than I am scared, so decided to do it (reasoning that at least if I died in the process, it would be a glamorous way to go). Sam stayed round long enough to laugh at me suiting up and then took advantage of the knowledge that I’d be out on the water for a whole hour to run away and do record store things again.

My instructor was the archetypal Hawaiian surfer dude, probably in his late forties to fifties, physically fit and burly but super relaxed, and even called Don; I at least felt in safe hands. I knew it would be a shared lesson but was a bit dismayed when I arrived to see that the person I’d be sharing with was not the ideal I had pictured (ie: someone cowering and wanting to wuss out more than me; a three year old child or a senior citizen, perhaps?), but I got a sporty-looking American guy in his twenties (I believe some of you may be familiar with the term ‘Chad’?). Cursing my luck and lamenting having ever decided to do this, I nonetheless followed said instructor and Chad onto the sand, where we were given a solid two minute preliminary session (“So lie like this and paddle when a wave comes, then go on your knees, then stand up, right?”) What, I thought this part on the sand would go on for a good half hour at least before I had to actually do it?! Nope, they don’t mess around in Hawaii. Before I knew it I was paddling out into the ocean, still pretty convinced that this was a very bad idea. I must say though that I’ve always been well-behaved and excellent at following instructions, so when the first wave came and Don yelled “Paddle!” “Knees!” “Stand!”, I did as told, and things went surprisingly well. I rode my first wave all the way into the shore, marvelling every moment that I hadn’t yet died, and then suddenly found myself on the sand next to the photographer guy who worked for the company giving the lesson, who high-fived me on my apparently impressive balance. The second wave I had to bail on after about five seconds, and from that moment on my biggest problem was the mascara I’d stupidly put on as per my usual morning routine (not thinking ahead to the surfing lesson) running into my eyes. Instructor Don then started calling me Robert Smith, but at least he was like “You got balance, Robert Smith!”

Robert Smith may have had balance, but was lacking in many of the other qualities required for surfing, such as stamina for paddling back out each time and strength to manoeuvre the board in the water. I managed to catch about five waves fully into the shore, and maybe about three others which I rode for a while then bailed on, but man that shit was exhausting! You’re all stoked on having ridden a wave, but then you have to paddle out again, and once you’re back in the bit where you can catch another wave, all I wanted to do was lie there on my board for like ten minutes catching my breath. Contrary to my previously held beliefs, apparently physical fitness may have its uses…. Dave (no longer Chad, because he was actually pretty nice, and I’m a judgemental jerk) and I ended up bonding a bit, because although he was better than me at all the other surfing bits (paddling, carrying the board, confidence), he took about five tries to stand up and ride the wave; with our powers combined, we would be the perfect surfer!

"You're saying the FBI's gonna pay me to learn to surf?"

Lesson survived and feeing rather pleased with my bad-ass surfer self, I met up with Sam and it was back to Lulu’s for some victory beers… We then felt sozzled enough to attempt to recreate the photo that Sam’s mum had wanted us to do, of a shot of her and Sam on Waikiki beach when he was four years old. It proved too difficult at that point to source the appropriate orange waterwings for him to wear, but we found the right spot and made a valiant attempt, helped along by some lovely middle-aged American tourists who totally got into the concept. Oh Rachel, the things you have me do…

Post-surfing face, feeling quite Johnny Utah...

Generic Honolulu scenery

This one's for you, Rach...

Following that, we visited the Moana Surfrider, the oldest – and still fanciest - hotel on Waikiki Beach for a couple of drinks in their beachfront bar. This may have been our classiest moment of the trip (certainly of the night), but it descended fairly quickly into finding an ABC Convenience Store, buying mini bottles of Sailor Jerry Rum and encouraging the night to go downhill from there,. There’s something about being in a tourist spot and wasting money on all that it entails that makes you just want to get hideously drunk in your hotel room instead, so on our final night in Honolulu, that’s what happened…..    

They let us in to a super posh beach bar, and the bartender was even nice enough to take a photo to document the occasion...

Me and the Duke; apparently I'm drunk enough now to do surf hands

Miniature bottles of Sailor Jerry Rum and Faith No More tunes, I regret nothing...

……and then you realise you actually have to get up somewhat earlier than you’ve been doing to check out of your hotel on time, and wish you could rewind the clock. Unfortunately, upon leaving the Queen Kapiolani, where our lovely comfortable beds were, we couldn’t even hightail it to the airport, as we weren’t due to be picked up by our airport shuttle until like 7.30pm that evening. Cue a day of lolling and whining around Honolulu being hungover and complaining about it. The Honolulu Zoo proved a satisfying distraction for at least a few hours though, despite the fact that we had been warned that going mid-afternoon meant that most of the animals would be asleep (and they were, and we were jealous, wishing we could still be asleep ourselves!) Highlights of the day go to:

1)       Runner up for Sam: the Golden Lion Tamarin. Yep, they were pretty cool, and we both like things with impressive tails (ahem, Lulu). Sam even went so far as to get a souvenir coin with the Golden Lion Tamarin on it as we left the zoo. Hungover people are obviously susceptible to trinkets…

2)       Runner up for me: the lemurs! This surprises me, because lemurs have historically been my faves in any zoo, but on this particular day they were trumped by a noob. Points for the fact that there were both ruffed and striped variety  lemurs though, and they all looked pretty poochy and casjh.

3)       Winner by far: Fenuc foxes! Have you ever seen a fenuc fox? Cos you should, they solve the ongoing debate between cat and dog people once and for all. They’re smaller than cats, and combine the best features of both felines and canines. The ones we saw were little mini curled up Lulus (yes, with impressive tails!), and had beautiful little friendly faces. When someone asks if you prefer cats or dogs, take the middle ground, and vote fenuc fox…

Yup, I wish it was a Lulu Zoo full of Lulus

Goats are weird and like to stand on rocks

Fenuc Fox! Yes, in addition to Lulu, I want one...

Look at its little face!

These dudes and their epic tails were also worthy of photo opportunities

Following the zoo, there was more moaning about our hungover plight, and Sam got to indulge in a pleasant nap in the sun while I watched our stuff and prepared to assure any passersby or curious police that no, we were not vagrants but just useless tourists. I also took the opportunity to write some postcards (hope they arrived already Mum and Dad/Nana!) It was then Sam’s turn to be vigilant stuff-wise, and I got to sneak in one final swim before we ate our last over-priced Honolulu meal (at a Mexican restaurant called La Cucharacha I believe), and then finally made it to the airport. When will we ever learn the lesson that you should not get hideously drunk the night before you have to check out of your hotel?