Filed under: Travel
So, I got to experience December 22nd twice. Which is kind of cool when you think about it. Landing at SFO around 10:00 in the morning, I thought of my first brush with 10am of December 22nd, 2008 – a mere 12.5 hours ago (seriously). The Boeing 747 just arrived and was offboarding passengers. Someone wheeled in an elderly woman to the space next to me. The flight crew walked in, first in pairs then individually until all eight were there. Over the intercom a woman announced final boarding for a flight to Taipei, first in English, then in Mandarin and finally Tagalog. I glanced again at the floor to ceiling-sized poster of various Filipino entertainers and made a mental note to Google one of them later after I got home. It was 27°C and balmy and I was wearing a sweater.
Thank you, International Date Line, for giving me two shots at the same day.
I’ve been out of the U.S. for nearly a month. My solo overseas excursion took me only to two countries: Hong Kong and the Philippines. But what a joy these two countries were! If you’ve never been to Hong Kong or the Philippines, I strongly suggest you go. In that order. Hong Kong will amaze you with its densely packed skyscrapers, rich culture, delicious cuisine and impressively efficient public transportation system. It’s a good way for Westerners to “baby step” into the awe-inspiring world of Southeast Asia. And when you’re ready to dive in, fly to the Philippines. It may not get as much attention or hype as other countries in the region, but the weather’s just as nice, the people just as friendly, the prices just as appealing and the environment just as colorful and lively and unique.
My return to the Philippines was more a reunion to my roots and to members of my extended family – most of which I have not seen in over twenty years. In that span of time I’ve forgotten much of my last visit. I remembered the Philippines back then, recently rid of the Marcos regime. Hopeful and optimistic, yet rundown and polluted. Frenetic. Twenty-one years later many things have improved but some things remained unchanged. But at least I have felt the love and warmth of my fellow Filipino throughout my extended stay. It was infectious.
I could write pages about my trip, but so much of it was meant for me alone to savor. There will be other opportunities for sharing later. After all, I’m home for the holidays and the new year is just around the corner. There’s still much left to do for 2008.
One of my coworkers had gotten me all worked up to do a road trip up Highway 1 from San Francisco to Vancouver. I was to hunt for a sublet or extended stay hotel, drive up in two to three days’ time with stops in Eugene, Seattle and Whidbey Island, and spend six weeks basking in the glory of one of the five most beautiful cities in the Northern Hemisphere.
That all changed when I went home for five days last month.
I still satisfied my road trip craving, island style. A trip up the windward side of O’ahu brought me past sleepy towns and rocky waters. Turning the corner at Kahuku, I arrived at the North Shore where I crawled through more sleepy towns before reaching historic Hale’iwa. The return drive to Honolulu was much quicker driving along the H2 and H1 past Schoefield Barracks, Mililani Town and the Pearl Harbor.
Of course this adventure did not come without its share of foibles. I love Hawaii, but for crying out loud there were some things that would have made my first ever solo driving experience in my birthplace much more … pleasant.
Observation number one: the fabled “island pace” does not exist within a ten mile radius of Honolulu. If I had a dollar for every time I was cut off and tailgated by local drivers in the city limits, I would have been able to stay one more night at my hotel. Dang, these drivers are aggressive! I did have only one person tailgating me in the rural part of Kamehameha Highway – some chick in a white Jeep had hurry up issues during the stretch between Kualoa Ranch and Laie. Too bad for her I was following five other slow cars, huh?
Still, it was fun to see her slam on her brakes when attempting to pass the truck in front of me.
Observation number two: Kamehameha Highway is Highway 72. And it’s also Highway 83 and Highway 99. That’s the highway numbering order if you’re driving counter-clockwise around the island. Just remember to make that left turn onto Highway 61 at Kailua even though it looks and feels like you’re headed back to Honolulu. If you make a right you’re heading to the beach. Which isn’t all that bad.
Observation number three: people driving convertible Ford Mustangs are ten times likely to be fellow tourists. So how come I got a yellow Cobalt? I wanted a Mustang. Other tourists got to drive Mustangs, so why not me too? That’s so unfair.
Finally, two days before my return home that very same yellow Cobalt broke on me. I had just finished paying eight bucks to park at the overnight lot when the shifter jammed and I could not remove the key from the ignition. After working through some suggestions on the phone with a customer service rep in North Carolina, I had to drive the poor thing back to the airport so it could get serviced. The dude at the counter exchanged the Cobalt for an SUV. It wasn’t a convertible Mustang but it was good enough.
No one tailgated or cut me off for the remainder of my vacation.
…
My thanks to the wonderful people of O’ahu for a memorable short visit. I’m coming back soon. Very soon.
My only “dry” day on O’ahu started out with one sweaty hike up to the highest point in the Diamond Head crater. I was feeling ambitious. According to the State Park’s brochure, it was a 0.7 mile walk up a well kept trail – including portions built in the early 1900s by military engineers – to a lookout 761 feet above sea level. Doesn’t sound so bad. After all, I’ve done hikes up and out of the Muir Woods Valley floor to Panoramic Highway and beyond. 600-plus feet elevation change in one mile on a rocky/dirt trail. Surely I can tackle this walk up a popular tourist destination, right?
Boy, was I in for it.
Seven hundred and sixty-one feet of nonstop climbing. Honestly, after the first quarter mile I began to feel very embarrassed at my need to take a breather at each switchback on the trail. Never mind the nourishing cool water supply from my CamelBak and those wonderful Merrell Chameleon Wrap shoes I splurged on just for this hike … I was a very tired hiker when I finally reached the top. It was a memorable climb, though, and here’s what I can recall of it:
The Crater Floor
Not the Hawaii as I would have imagined it. Dry yellowing grass, low shrubs, barren tree limbs. I was in Sonoma County in August. I could almost swear it. And yet in the 6 a.m. silence there were birds going about their business – singing, gathering twigs, foraging for bugs. I walked the concrete walkway at a leisurely pace, stopping to take pictures of the birds and wonder about how much heat gets trapped inside this dormant caldera. A couple other hikers passed me by but for the most part I had this area to myself. It was when the walkway ended and the trail began where I put my legs to the test.
Rocks, And Can We Say More Rocks?
Making its way gradually up from the floor was the venerable trail of switchbacks and rocks. That’s all it was. Switchbacks, rocks and the railing and the rare rest bench. I tried not to sit down during my many rest stops for fear of developing a leg cramp. It was early yet but it was hot and humid. Nothing like Marin hiking, for sure. No coastal fog nor ocean breeze to cool you down. No shade from towering pines and redwoods either. Just rocks. I huffed and puffed my way up this trail as gradually as I could, choosing to rest every second switchback. There was not enough steady places to employ the rest step – just rocks to strategically scramble over.
It was then that I discovered the steady stream of locals making their way down the trail. These early risers were so used to this hike, having walked it pretty much daily. Every single one of them greeted me with a smile and either a “hello” or “aloha“. It was very welcoming and encouraging. It kept me going. When I got to the first set of stairs I knew from leafing through the Park brochure the night before that this was where the fun would begin.
Engineers Love Stairs
And they love tunnels too. Nice cool and dark tunnels that add mystery and adventure to one’s hiking experience. The first tunnel resembled a miner’s walkway through the darkness of a solid mountain. I had a headlamp but didn’t really need it because the rails were lighted. I was still climbing, of course. That was seemingly never-ending. But it was nice to escape the hot sun for a minute. Nice until I got out of the tunnel at the top end.
To the left was a landing with a very nice photographic view. I took a minute to snap a few pictures then heard the voices of a party of tourists that had come up behind me. They were moaning in disbelief because behind me – to the right of the exit had I bothered to look there first – were steps.
Ninety-nine very steep steps.
The Locals Run ‘Em Like They Were Nothing At All
I think I chose the wrong time to make my ascent. I hadn’t rested long enough. I forgot to stretch my tired legs before climbing. And a group of about 40 Japanese tourists were making their way down these same steps. It was a narrow area and I became a slight bother to other more physically fit stair climbers. But I didn’t give a flying you-know-what by then. Of course I made it. At my pace. Then I took a big sip from my water supply and plowed onwards. There were steps … again. A rusty spiral staircase that led into a bunker where a Park employee was sitting behind a table with official Diamond Head Hike Certificates – two bucks apiece – on them.
This guy hikes up 750 feet every day with a box full of official Diamond Head Hike Certificates and a cashbox to get to his job. He badass.
The View To A Kill
I made it. Crawled outside the bunker and up a flight of stairs that seemed like an afterthought to a view rivaling that of my beloved Golden Gate from atop Hawk Hill. From this vista point I saw the fruits of my huffing and puffing. A complete bird’s eye view of the entire caldera, including the parking lot where my yellow rented Cobalt was. Below me was a lighthouse and some of the most desirable real estate in all of O’ahu. And the Pacific, endless and blue, beckoning to me for a swim. I turned north and saw the Ko’olaus rising green and raked, breaking a small line of clouds. Houses lined and packed along hills. To the east was Waikiki and Honolulu in a build-your-own postcard moment.
It was astounding. 
I shot video and this picture that you can see here. I’m tired but smiling from having made it on my first ever hot and humid hike up a dormant volcano. And though there are many other more challenging hikes in the world, this one meant a lot to me. I had never before even set foot in Diamond Head. My parents had taught me to revere it only from afar, saying that it was a sacred place. That’s why I knew that I had to climb it on this trip. To feel its spirit enter and fill me. No wonder why those locals making their way down had greeted me with the warmest of smiles. Hiking up Diamond Head is as much a spiritual trip as a physical challenge or a tourist destination. I took that feeling with me when I left the top, passing it onto other hikers through an aloha and a smile.
More adventures from O’ahu to come …
is a custom, non-traditional Polynesian-influenced tribal armband with a hint of ukiyo-e on the wave pattern.
ISN’T IT FREAKIN’ AWESOME???
This is my first tattoo. I’m a newly de-virginized tattooed being. What better way to pop the ink cherry than to go with a full armband in heavy black just like my ancestors did. I did a lot of research into Polynesian and Hawaiian tattoos because I wanted to keep it real, so to speak. Be knowledgeable enough about the symbolism and placement of tattoos on one’s body and remain respectful of family and clan designs. The last thing I wanted to dwas to mistakenly appropriate any personal motifs and symbols.
I learned a lot. I even learned that armbands aren’t strictly traditional. Nope … apparently they became popular as a souvenir tattoo for Peace Corps volunteers. How about that?
But I knew I wanted an armband and I knew I wanted it as close as possible to the “Hawaiian style” of tattooing – the deep and dark black tones and iconographic symbolism. And I knew that I had to have it done in Hawaii, where I was born.
Well, mission accomplished. There are several tattoo parlors in O’ahu and I settled with the merry “gang of haoles” at Skin Deep Tattoo in Waikiki. They were very knowledgeable and helpful and talked to me about all the different design possibilities. They could sense how serious I was about getting inked with a Polynesian-influenced design and I had no trouble coming back for more help before actually committing to an appointment. The artist who helped me with my design, Cory, was visiting from Pirate Tattoo in Reno, Nevada. I could tell he had a good creative vision because when I fed him the concept of waves and flowers he immediately thought of some possibilities and sketched them out for me.
Waves and flowers. The waves of course represent the mighty Pacific, the surfing culture that debuted in Hawaii, and all that power and awe that I admire from this ocean that I grew up with. The flowers, 5-petaled and whorled like Plumerias, represent the simple beauty of the islands. They wrap around my arm like a lei in a gesture of warmth and aloha. The design is a reminder that Hawaii – its spirit and everything I remember of it from my youth and all of my subsequent visits – will remain with me wherever I go.
Cory added his own artistic touch to the design, which I welcomed since many of the flash and traditional wave patterns were either simple wavy lines or the telltale plain arches of a rip curl. To make my tattoo unique, Cory decided to draw finger waves with wavy tops to honor the Japanese woodblock print artists he admired. That extra touch, and the fact that my armband winds in an undulating way around my arm (and not in a strict linear fashion) make this tat rock! I gotta hand it to the guy for his vision. It may look like a simple piece when compared to other works of tattoo art, but it’s got layers of meaning and significance … and style.
I’ve gotten a lot of positive feedback from locals and Hawaiians when they saw my tattoo. They really like the design and understood how painful it was to get the inside of my biceps tattooed. I noticed that many more people in Hawaii are tolerant of tattoos compared to people in the mainland. Older people especially. They understand the significance of permanent body modification. They appreciated the iconography represented in my armband and immediately guessed its meaning. That appreciation meant a whole lot to me.
I’ve got plans for more tattoos, but those will have to wait until later this year. After all, summer is here and I can’t go swimming yet until my new ink fully heals. The wait is killing me!
More O’ahu stories yet to come!
That’s me. A very tiny picture of me posing by a very large statue of Duke Kahanamoku bearing fresh flower leis as he welcomes visitors to Waikiki Beach. I’m decked out in my finest luau garb – dark brown aloha shirt with vertical pink and white plumeria prints, a Kukui nut shell lei, tan sheer polyester shorts, and Tevas that were blown dry in the hotel room following a morning swim at the very same beach in which I’m now desperately trying to keep sand from settling in between my toes.
And I’m commando. Thanks to the heat.
The temperature difference between night and day on O’ahu is ten degrees and barely noticeable except when the tradewinds pick up and you feel the breeze blanket you like a welcome hug. After all, if it were to be hot and sunny all the time on the island nothing would grow and the Ko’olaus would resemble barren volcanic slopes instead of verdant green cliffs carved out from rainwater runoff. Wind brings rain and rain brings green.
Being the impromptu budget traveler that I was I knew that with only four nights I had to maximize free and nearly free activities. So I planned my trip around beaches. A beach in the morning and a beach in the afternoon, with lunch in between. Which left little time for a return trip to my hotel room to freshen up and change. There was no need to do that. Everywhere on O’ahu seemed okay for the casual soaking wet tourist – drive-in eateries, souvenir shops, hotel lobbies – you name it, you can visit it with damp board shorts and wild saltwater hair. It was almost like a status symbol. The squish-plop-smacking of sandals entering the air-conditioned storefront … my rashguard clinging to my torso as drops of water stream down my neck … I shuffle through postcards on a display rack and periodically have to wipe one or two clean of a few grains of coral sand. And the merchant smiles and says to me “How was the waves out there?”
Do that anywhere where I live and you’d get security on your ass in five seconds or less. Or a disparaging stare. My peeps have perfected the disparaging stare.
I desperately miss that laid back island style. That implicit understanding that when the water calls to you, you’ve not much time for anything else. Bathing out the sand from inside your swimwear included. That’s why I went commando around O’ahu.
And that’s why no one at the rental car place batted an eyelid when I returned my rental with a thick layer of sand all over the interior. Long live the beach life!
