Aloha Hawaii

Hawaii has always been a far and distant dream to me, a cliched one of honeymoon proportions and loud, tanned (burned?) American tourists. Living in London, it was as realistic on my travel list as going to Fiji or Bora Bora, a beautiful dream with no substance.

But as it turns out, Shanghai is well placed to get to these geological delights. One direct flight a day heads from Shangers to Honolulu in 10 hours and multiple flights connect via Japan. I flew to Honolulu via Osaka on Hawaiian Airlines for a reasonable sum and was greeted with endless Hawaiian viewing: hello Season 1 of Hawaii 5-0! Hello every film ever set in Hawaii!

That was the beginning of something of a crush on the mid-Pacific geological wonders. 

I met Clare and Karen on Waikiki Beach where we holed up for three nights. It was what I expected--tourists, shopping, bad chain restaurants. There were gems to be found off the main strip and the beach was admittedly beautiful despite the throngs of people. 

We ate shave ice.

We watched the surfers eat dust in the waves.

We marvelled at endless sunshine with Mai Tais in hand.

Between the 18-hour time difference jet lag, we attended to the tourist functions. In the first of a series of summer small worldness, Rosa and her family were in Hawaii at the same time and we joined them at a luau. Watching the pig emerge from the charcoal pit was not high on the list of vegetarian delights, and the cheese factor was high but what can you do? 

We emerged three days later more tanned and ready for a hop to the Big Island, home of arguably the US's best national park with its own active volcano and some stunning secluded beaches. This was the Hawaii I was dreaming of.