Hawai'i, America's own paradise. Part I

As flying first class on BA ruins normal plane travel, so a trip to Thailand stops you from ever seeing a new beach again without thinking, "well it's not as beautiful as Haad Salad" (or whichever Thai beach you first saw and fell in love with).  Everything else is just, "same same." That was my feeling at least until a recent trip to Hawai'i. 

Sunset in paradise

Seeing as the Hawai'i Islands, or archipelago as I could rather pompously call them, are a mere five and a half hours from San Francisco, the lure of the tropics was too much to resist, so The Missus and I booked ten days in December for some winter sun. There was much deliberation over flights because unlike Thailand, where there's an abundance of reasonably priced beach accommodation, the well known beaches in Hawai'i are peppered with resorts, with rates cheaper when booked in advance. After much toing and froing, not arguing, just healthy discussion, we settled on The Sheraton Waikiki on Oahu and the The Sheraton Maui, in Lahaina. So, flight into Honolulu and out of Kahului, Maui, with a short island hop in between. Smashing. 

What's still hard to grasp about Hawai'i is that it's the tropics but it's America. It's America but it's the tropics. This is no bad thing but the juxtaposition is striking, if only for it being yet another example of just how big this country is.  Even if, in this bit,  I did find myself 2398 miles off the coast of mainland USA, in the middle of the Pacific, sunbathing on, well near, active volcanoes. For an outpost it's impossible to argue the US hasn't chosen a good spot. The Falkland Islands, this is not. Nice work America or, to use local parlance, "Good jaaaaaarb." 

Surf's up in Waikiki

In fact the most striking thing about Waikiki is just how American it is, high-end, capitalist, luxurious. Our hotel, in the middle of Waikiki Beach, was surrounded by shops you would expect to find on New Bond Street or Fifth Avenue, though it reminded me more of Hong Kong's sprawling new shop-until-you-drop (literally of the heat) shopping cathedrals. 

Prada, Chanel, Versace, shimmer in the afternoon heat and burst out bright light after dark. Lighthouses of capitalism and extravagance.  I have no objection to these establishments except for the one fact that, as with all shops here, in the searing heat, these beacons have their doors wide open, blasting out constant, freezing Arctic air into the tropical atmosphere. Air-conditioning is one of the most power guzzling additions to any building, so the fact that all this energy is blasted back into the open, genuinely shocked me. Not least because in shorts and t-shirt, walking passed each doorway felt like jumping into a plunge pool. 

So Waikiki is not setup to cater for an authentic experience. It may be a typical middle-class British habit to feel the need to explore the "real" destination so if that's what you're looking for in Waikiki, you'll be disappointed. However, if you're looking to stay in a luxurious hotel that may resemble a shopping centre, this is your place. In fact, The Sheraton Waikiki is just that. A hotel-come-shoppers paradise. It was hard to grasp the mix of souvenir shops, boutiques and expensive surfwear retailers that sat side by side with the hotel lobby. I got used to it, but the adjacent food court was a step too far. I still, with every piece of my being, hate food courts. 

To lounge by the pool, to lounge in the pool

Step passed this, passed the rather excellent Father Christmas sand sculpture and all is forgiven. Whoever invented infinity pools is God. Whoever put floating bean bags to laze on in the pool is Jesus and whoever came up with the idea of serving cocktails to those lazing, is the Holy Ghost. Suddenly indulgence is to be savoured not scorned. Mind you, if the Holy Trinity created the the perfect pool, The Devil came along in December and made it compulsory to blast out Hawaiian Christmas song covers. The Devil must have also had a hand in making sure that Israel  Kamakawiwoʻole's cover of, "Somewhere Over The Rainbow" is played constantly in every, literally, every lift, lobby or waiting area. When Dr Green died to that song on ER, I cried. When, after three days I got into a lift and heard that song I cried again, but for a completely different reason.

An ever present rainbow

The need to see something with a bit more depth than a shiny broach was satiated with a visit to Pearl Harbour. The Missus and I had unwittingly timed our trip to arrive in the week of the 70th anniversary of the Japanese attacks. Entry to the visitors' centre in Pearl Harbour is free and with a little bit of cajoling The Missus was persuaded it would be a worthy stop on our drive around the coast. 

Pearl Harbour and USS Arizona Memorial

The base was preparing itself for the anniversary, which meant that those survivors who could still make the trip were walking the base, reminiscing on camera and what was most touching, being recognised, honoured and thanked, by passers-by. All the surviving service personnel of Pearl Harbour are now at the very least, in their 90s, so 2011 was the final year for the Survivors' Association before being disbanded. As one survivor said to the New York Times, "We had no choice. Wives and family members have been trying to keep it operating, but they just can’t do it. People are winding up in nursing homes and intensive care places.” 

Gun turret, mooring, wreck beneath

With this poignancy we approached the wreck of the USS Arizona lying eerily just below the surface. Standing over the grave of so many men lost is moving. A corroded gun turret still peers above the surface of the gentle waters. As I looked up from the memorial I could see the hills, covered in rain forest with an ever present Hawaiian rainbow glancing across the vista. It was hard to imagine such a paradise being turned so quickly into a battlefield, seventy years earlier. Such was the impact on mens' lives that some veterans, to this day,  choose to be buried in the wreck. 

The names of those that gave the greatest sacrifice

In the UK we are used to seeing the effects of both World Wars, whether that be on the battlefields of Northern France, the cemeteries, the preserved trenches at Verdun, the shrapnel scars on St Paul's or even, as I still remember, the areas of the Docklands not yet rebuilt in the 1980s. And of course there's always Coventry. But to the Americans this, until 11th September 2011, was the only attack on US soil and it holds a particular poignancy. It is easy to sneer from the UK, but I respect the Americans, not least because I am moved by how they treat and respect those that serve, or who have served, in their armed forces.  

Despite the flippant marvellousness of cocktails in the pool, Pearl Harbour will be the lasting memory of my trip to Oahu. 

The Stars and Stripes on the memorial, attached to the main mast of the wreck

 

It's life gym, but not as we know it

Having been in California for a year now I'm in a position to be able to take stock, perhaps not criticise my hosts but certainly flag some odd behavioural traits. As Englishman in America, where to start?

A combination of the obsessive part of my personality, the incessant Californian zest for healthiness (yes I have tried wheatgrass and will never again) and the fact that we're constantly warned of slowing metabolisms and the dangers of inactivity have meant that I have become an increasingly regular gym user. I did work out in the UK and cycled to the office, as any self-respecting liberal leaning, Guardian reading always-eat-my-veg person would do, but "The Gym" has become an almost daily part of my life in the States and actually, I enjoy it. More accurately, I enjoy listening to my music and the feeling after The Gym but that's almost the same thing.

A wise friend, when discussing at length annoying things people do on The Tube once nodded sagely, "It's the old problem of people treating it like it's their home." The rule is the same for the gym as it is for The Tube. Incidentally, unacceptable public transport behaviour in my book includes feet on seats, eating smelly food, women doing their make-up or clipping nails and, worst of all, playing music through the tinny speakers on a mobile phone.

Observed behaviour in The Gym has gone from illiciting a "please don't do that in front of me" response to, "You belong in a zoo, you weirdo!" I read recently, "there are good people and then there are people who don't wipe the machines after them" but what I have seen goes far beyond general courtesy, it circles craziness, has a pit stop in Freaktown before ending up in Sick Puppy World. So in no particular order, I thought I'd share some of the more eye-opening experiences I've witnessed in the last year.

The fully clothed steamroom sweatout

Outside please

After a good workout, a relaxing ten minutes in the steamroom or sauna is a perfect way to unblock pores and let muscles relax, but people listen. Well actually, Californians listen, because I have seen this behaviour in San Diego too. You don't go into a sauna fully clothed. You don't go in wearing the rank sweaty clothes you've just been working out in. You certainly don't go in wearing bloody shoes. It's unhygienic and you stink. If you're wearing your workout clothes (I've even seen people in there in jeans, jumper and trainers) I can guarantee you've had a shower before going in. Filthy. What makes you people think that the sign "swimming costumes only" doesn't apply to you?

Whenever I see these clothed wet area frequenters, I wonder what the Icelanders would think because they are meticulous about showering before going into such areas and rightly so.

The gym is for working out

Let's face it,  no one really likes being there. So you've made the effort along with a hundred others and now there's a queue to get on a machine because don't forget, it's the cardio that's important. Guaranteed to make my blood boil is queuing when half the people on the machines aren't even breaking a sweat. In fact, they're so unsweaty that they're able to read a good novel, chat on the phone, even make notes on an assignment.

My favourite violation has to be the man on a cross-trainer, wearing a coat, scarf, ski hat and playing chess on his iPad. San Francisco's such a lovely city, I'm still baffled as to why he just didn't go for a nice walk or may be ski-cross-train-ipad-chess is the new fad the kids are into.

Don't get your sweat on me

Inevitably, if you're not on your iPad, you're in the zone, you're going to work up a sweat. Rule of thumb, if there's a machine free that's not right next to the one I'm using, go on that one. Let's keep our distance. For most blokes, this is easy. Instinctively we want distance. It's urinal politics. For the most part this rule is observed and sweat crossover on the gym floor is kept at a minimum.

However, let's get back into our increasingly infuriating, not relaxing, wet area and in San Francisco we find large contingents of Chinese combining the hot air with a mixture of what can be described as vigorous tai chi and Catholic style, self, or even mutual, flagellation. I don't think I need go into why the mutual bit is wrong in a public space. I know that this is liberal San Francisco but at the very least rapid movements in a sweaty environment  (includes arm swinging, leg jostling and leaping) cause Bellagio type fountains of contaminated sweat to ricochet around the room. When that touches me, there's violence. Well alright, there's English grumbling and the odd harsh tut.

Hold it in or leave the room

Not a pleasant gripe to read or write about so you may want to skip this one, but it's an affliction that's more prevalent with the early morning gym types. For all our sakes, use the goddamn toilet before you start working out or, if the need to go manifests itself halfway through your workout hold it in, or use the facilities. Personally, I'm a strong believer in better out than in but that doesn't mean out into everyone's faces. I have to give kudos to my gym in SF who keep the toilets clean, even though they're open twenty four hours a day and, as you may be guessing by now, have a large amount of weirdos passing through continuously. There may be a guy in the next cubicle on a conference call as he sits and, well you know, but that is not your problem. That is the problem of all the other poor sods on the other end of the line.

No weird noises

If lifting weights means you're groaning, grunting, pulling some weird sex face or risking an anal prolapse, drop down a size or two. Please. You see the English, unless drunk, will do everything  possible to minimise the amount of attention drawn to oneself. In America, less so.  If you're ever in doubt, if it'd be frowned upon in Wimbledon, it's going to irritate your fellow gym members.

Don't leak in the shower

So far, apart from sweat contamination, everything else is actually personal preference. Who am I to tell people how they should conduct themselves in the gym? After all, they have the right to be there as much as I do, but if I ever see someone as I did two weeks ago stand over a drain in the shower and take a leak I'll be turning into a supergrass and getting the management down, because really if you want to do that in your own shower that's your business. Though I think it's pretty grim, the toilet is in the same room after all, to have no shame at all to do it in public, you need your head examined.

Well I feel better now I've got that off my chest do please let me know your own peeves when working out, it would be interesting to know if this is San Francisco's relaxed morals going too far or if freakish gym behaviour is more of a widespread problem.