Before entering the United States, lowly
South Africans need to apply for a visa. Although the process is simple, US
immigration is stringent, and I’m sure the FBI and Homeland Security both have
retinal, fingerprint, and handwriting samples from me. But compared to
Australia, and contrary to what I expected, when entering through a port, the
US is a breeze – not that their security is any less, you just don’t feel like
a criminal entering Foxworthy (a Prison Break reference for the
Pop-culture-challenged :D). But to get to Hawaii, I’d probably endure anything,
so read the aforementioned merely as a comment.
Oahu, hosting the capital Honolulu, in the
archipelago state of Hawaii, is a beautiful place. Much bigger than you’d
expect (referring also to my time in Koh Samui), the island is largely divided
into two: tourist mecca is on the south (Waikiki), while most of the locals
inhabit the west and north shores. But if, like for me, you’re visiting for the
first time, whether you would prefer a more local exposure, stay in Waikiki.
Transport and tourist information is more readily at hand, and once under your
belt, you can always return to a more secluded experience.
The hostel that was my home for 7 full and
glorious days was 5min walk from Hawaii’s most famous beach. But more than
that, it was home for a bunch of travellers whom at that time and place banded
together and became one heck of a social group. We retained individuality, but
when out together, the local bars and nightclubs became our playground. It was
a week of bliss, pure enjoyment and for some, significant memory loss. But more
than the fun, we enjoyed taking in the sights: Pearl Harbour (resting place for
1800+ WWII soldiers, casualties of a surprise Japanese attack), Waikiki Beach,
Waimea Beach, Hanuama Bay, and for me, Kualoa Ranch (location for several
movies, most notably Jurassic Park).
But for all the stories shared around the
group for that week, it’s my last day on the island that I’ll cherish the most.
With some crafty suggestion, I managed to negotiate the rental of two
convertibles for the group. We all climbed in, some still braving hangovers,
and set off for our quintessential Hawaiian experience: music blazing, roof
down, lots of chatter, looking at the sights. We came across fantastic vistas
and crystal clear waters, making a quick dip or photo op the order of the day.
Without question, my African driving skills scared the shit out of some of my
mates, but the memory of beach volleyball on Turtle Bay will stand the test of
time. That, and being dropped off at the airport in style: a red Ford Mustang,
America’s muscle car.
Hawaii has definitely earned a “must go
back to visit” accolade in my book. Whether I return to Oahu, or brave Big Island
or the equally scenic Maui is irrelevant, it’s that I cannot leave this earth without
again dipping my toe into Hawaii’s turquoise Pacific.
