Last weekend Margaret and I were finally able to put aside work—and Waikiki—and explore Oahu.

Pane & Vino

The two guys who owned and ran Pane & Vino appeared to be partners in business and life, a fact apparently lost on the young Japanese women who flocked to the Italian restaurant and giggled at the sight of the two buff and tans. To their credit, the guys gave these women what they were looking for, putting their hands on the women’s shoulders while they placed their order.

We didn’t get any special touches (at least that I’m aware of—or willing to admit). But we did get a complimentary shot of grappa, which Wikipedia describes as “a fragrant grape-based pomace brandy of between 38 percent and 80 percent alcohol.” We’re assuming our shots were closer to the 80 percent figure. (Margaret dumped half of hers in her water, but even diluted it was too strong for her; she spent the rest of the meal drinking from my water glass.)

The food, especially the bruschetta, was great. And the wine list was of sufficient quality and quantity to placate Peg (which is best).

Saturday we drove around most of the island’s perimeter, making a few stops along the way:

Hanauma Bay Park

Here we snorkeled along a coral reef. While the reef itself wasn’t spectacular (at least compared to what Margaret’s seen while scuba diving and I’ve seen on tellyvision) the fish were. There was a large variety of fish, and they had no problems with humans swimming amongst them.

Giovanni’s Shrimp Truck

Along the northern side of Oahu there are several vehicles on the roadside that resemble ice cream trucks. Only they sell shrimp.

Margaret and I skipped the first one we saw when we realized we had nary a dollar between us and reckoned the truck wouldn’t accept credit cards. So we stopped at Giovanni’s Shrimp Truck, which is near the Turtle Bay golf course. The shrimp was great, although most of the garlic goodness was relegated to the shells, so we had to suck on them first, before digging out the meat.

Watching the surfers on Sunset Beach

Considered one of the best beaches for surfing in the world, Margaret and I stopped here for a while and watched the surfers do their thing. There were a few clusters of 20 or so of them, biding their time in the water. The waves were breaking about 50 yards from the shore, making it difficult to recognize how large they were—until a surfer got up and rode one.

Sitting on our butts in a bar

Sunday, however, we returned to our normal routine: watching the Patriots play. Only this time, after they won we went to a bar on the oceanfront and watched a group of middle-aged women throw snap caps like they were teenage boys. Our fellow travelers in Waikiki continue to disappoint.

Maunawili Falls

Monday it was back to work, albeit for just a half day. In the afternoon one of Margaret’s colleagues had people to her family’s house for a cookout and hike. The hike was fantastic: about three miles through mud, it included sweeping panoramic views of cloud-covered mountains and culminated at a waterfall.

(Again, you can view all of our pictures from Hawaii on Flickr.)

I shot this picture this morning from the lanai of our hotel room.

(You can view all of our photos from Hawaii at Flickr.)

As the pictures show, however, so far the Margaret and Zach Hawaiian experience has been a lot of looking and not much doing.

Margaret is, of course, here for work. As such, she’s in the office for regular business hours. And while I was hoping to have time to explore the islands immediately, a nasty mix of work has left me tied to my PowerBook (albeit it sometimes a PowerBook that finds itself at the poolside lanai).

Anyway, we left our apartment Monday at 9 a.m. EST and entered our hotel room at 4:30 a.m. EST. It was strange waking up on my own at 6 a.m. local time (11 a.m. EST). My previous experiences starting a trip with jet lag have been eastward, which just further reinforces my natural disposition to sleep it off late.

Our hotel is lovely, the other guests seem lovely, and the neighborhood is, yes, lovely. Whilst I appreciate clean space and complimentary drinks, the stale environment reminds me of how much better the experiences can be at a hostel. Of course I’m 31 now and would probably earn the moniker “The Old Guy” if I were to stay at one.

The main drag near our hotel, Kalakaua Ave., reminds me of the insipid stretches every city seems to have that I feel obliged to stroll, if only to kvetch: Times Square, Lincoln Road, Kurfürstendamm, Champs d’Ellsyes (although the history, views, and architecture make it worthwhile), Las Ramblas, the Spanish Steps, Rodeo Drive.

Exhibit A:

The area reminds me of Miami, although with less silicon and more Asians. There are also two Starbucks nearby, but as Margaret thwarted my attempt to lug our espresso machine with us, I’ll refrain from complaining about their presence.

When traveling sometimes soul just deposits itself in your lap. Other times you’ve got to search for it. Waikiki appears to be the latter, but it’s a small island so hopefully we’ll be able to have some authentic Hawaiian experiences soon.

Anyway, while hanging up our clothes, I discovered Margaret packed eight pairs of shoes, which is one fewer than the number of kimonos I packed. (Do you know how many tea services I plan on having?) I guess a combined 11 pairs of shoes is another reason why we’re not at the hostel.

This weekend we’re planning on watching some outrigger races, a movie being shown on the beach, and, yes, the AFC Championship game. It’ll be nice to put work aside for a few days. Working from a lanai that overlooks the ocean is far better than working in front of the wall of our apartment, but oh the temptations…

(And in case you are wondering, “lanai” is one of my favorite words.)