Exploring Oahu 2: Outrigger races, native dances, poke, the destitute, and scrubbing the dirt

We were hoping to update this blog more often, but there’s not a lot going on during the week that’s worth writing about. We wake around 7 a.m. Shortly thereafter Margaret leaves for work, and I hit the elliptical machine, partake in the complimentary breakfast, and then plop myself down at the desk in our suite and begin working too.

Margaret usually returns around 6 p.m. at which time we head to the lanai for her complimentary Cabernet and my complimentary Blue Hawaii. It’s at this juncture that our days start to have some variety: sometimes I only have one Blue Hawaii, other evenings I have three. Three’s the limit though; four Blue Hawaiis = blue Zachy.

Last Saturday we had a nice lazy day. For the second straight week we tried to watch outrigger races and for the second straight week we went on the wrong day. But at least we knew where to go for them on Sunday. So instead we ate overlooking the ocean at the Shore Bird before returning to our room for a nap. Later we went to a cookout at a house the Fish and Wildlife Service owns.

There I met a woman who spends six months each year living on the furthest outlying Hawaiian island where she and six other people count birds on behalf of the state. She’s been working in this job for years; up until recently she didn’t bother to take days off because there was nothing to do but drink. This year though she started taking off Sundays, which she spends reading.

Sunday was more eventful. Margaret, her colleague Wendy, and I started off by, yes, watching the outrigger races.

The Ala Wai Challenge also featured natives dancing for mostly non-natives.

Afterwards we headed to the westward side of the island. Strangely no road goes all the way along the island.

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So last weekend when we took our first drive we couldn’t complete the circuit, but had to drive home through the middle of the island.

Our first stop was for the best meal we’ve had in Oahu: Poke Stop. Poke is typically raw fish that’s been marinated. And it’s fantastic. I had lunch. Finished. And then had a second lunch. Poke Stop is in a strip mall, surrounded by a Sizzler and Popeyes. But the chef is world-class and the food tastes it. We’ll be back.

Wendy had been to the western side of the island before, and as we headed to the shore she described how destitute it was. Predictably, the homeless were not Japanese tourists who’d gone astray on a sake bender. According to Lonely Planet, many of them are natives of Oahu whose ancestors were displaced and fled to that shore when Kamehameha invaded the island when unifying Hawaii in 1795.

There were probably several hundred people living on the beach, some in store-bought tents, while others constructed their homes as birds assemble their nests, piecing them together from whatever materials were available.

We continued until the road ended at Kaena Point State Park. Framed by mountains jutting out on both sides, we sat on a beach of volcanic rock and watched the waves crash in front of us.

I wandered around to take some pictures. When I returned to the car, Margaret was gone. In her place was her evil twin.

Margaret’s evil twin decided that we then needed to find the end of a rainbow. The result was better than the last time I chased a rainbow and ended up at the Blue Oyster Bar (Dah da da da da daaaah, dah da da da da daaaah da-dah).

When we returned to Waikiki, Margaret, Wendy, and I went to the Hilton Hawaiian Village for gelato. The compound bills itself as an all-inclusive resort; when Margaret was looking for hotels, the operator there said that Margaret’s husband would love it, “He’d never have to leave the hotel!”

As I was walking from the Hilton Hawaiian Village to our hotel I saw a Hilton employee using Fantastik to scrub the dirt from an outside wall. I was about 20 miles from the tents.