Easy if long flight from LAX with a very comfy seat, a couple of good films – including Blazing Saddles without PC interference – and good service from a stewardess who rang bells somehow.
Glorious approach past Pearl Harbour including views of reserve ships and masses of hardware at what was Hickham Field – presumably it’ll all only get busier still under Trump as he squares up to China, and there is certainly a lot of flying going on.
Delighted to report that there were no garlands and flowers on my arrival at HNL. Instead just efficiency and open planning – the first airport I’ve been to with gardens to sit in and a cheery control tower.
Whisked into the hotel in a large van talking politics with the driver who wanted Sanders for president but clearly didn’t disapprove entirely of Mr Trump, though he found it difficult to expand on why. He didn’t like many of the things being tweeted but…. Worrying stuff.
That said, he went onto explain that he was originally from Boston and was feeling it was time to take things more seriously. The difficulty of living in Oahu, apparently, is that it is a life of sunshine, parties, and much sex. He found it hard looking at FB for all his contemporaries were married with kids. It was time to settle down. Oh dear. I managed not to weep.
Holiday Inn Waikiki is fine – booked in by a delightful lady who squealed when I explained that I was treating myself for my 50th, high fived me, fashioned a birthday card there and then signed by her and her colleagues, and presented me with a gift (shan’t say what obviously because I’ll give it to someone else in due course), and all because it was her fiftieth year too and she was going to England to celebrate.
Duly upgraded to a room with a slightly better view – as she said acidly you’d have to lean out over the balcony for the partial sea view in the original room, and since I’m on the 14th floor I would not have liked that at all.
And then just enough time for a stroll to the beach in the sunshine and, naturally, a small military museum (“What time do you have?” said the elderly veteran at the desk. “Three pm, were you hoping it was four and almost time to close?” I replied. He smiled, and confirmed that was so, but perked up and talked enthusiastically about the place.
In fact, it was rather good ( US Army museum in a former coastal defence battery – echoes of Orkney, of course) and had fascinating displays about the indigenous population’s enthusiastic response to getting guns from westerners (I’m top dog now is the short version), the joys of being posted to Oahu from NYC at the turn of the C19/20th century (let’s live in tents for six months but keep smiling), and most interestingly the war service of second generation Japanese Hawaiians (lots of genuinely vital work translating in the Pacific theatre as well as landing at Salerno and fighting up through Italy and into France).
The striking thing about Hawaii is how un American it is in many ways. In 1941, 37% (the largest group) of the population was of Japanese extraction, and that doesn’t seem to have changed. Most of the tourists are from Japan, or China, or Korea, and the majority of people doing the tourist jobs are either indigenous or asian.
Mixed race is also very prevalent and caused me momentary, if silent, consternation at check in. The jolly white 50 year old, when talking to a father (white) and son (Japanese), said in an entirely relaxed manner “Oh you’re related, I’d never have guessed”. I waited for outrage but it never came. Instead she went on, “Yeh, it’s the same with me, I’m half Japanese but you’d never know, would you”. Oh to be so relaxed, though as I was to discover at Pearl it’s not always like that.
And finally the poke. It was just what I needed and found just round the corner in a convenience store! The choice was good and I plumped for one with avocado thrown in which certainly made things go more smoothly. It was also admirably healthy as well as pleasurable. More of this I thought!
https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Poke_(fish_salad)