We’ve divided our experience of O’ahu into three distinct periods:
The Televised Phase: Growing up on the east coast of America with romantic, slickly produced shows like Hawaii 5-0 and Magnum PI. These did what they were intended to do, namely cement our affectionate, sentimental impressions of the islands in ways that persisted long after we started traveling here.
The Nakedly Touristy Phase: A half-week on Waikiki at the original Moana Surfrider, followed by a half-week on Kauai, Maui, or the Big Island, courtesy of American Airlines, Sheraton Hotels, and Pleasant Hawaiian Holidays. Garlands at the airport, Singapore Slings under the Banyan Tree, ukuleles and swaying skirts on the sand, trinkets from the International Market, a bus trip to Pearl and the Polynesian Center, Don Ho at the Hilton. Yes, it was all a bit hokey, but as long as we knew we were getting bamboozled, who cared? Everyone was so nice about it.
The Almost-Living-There Phase: After our sister drifted to O’ahu and found a 20-year job teaching in Kaneohe, we started coming for longer stays focused on her life and family. We got to know our way around Chinatown, the port, the pig business, the O’ahu real estate oligopoly, the schools, the politics, and the prejudice. By the time our perennially unhappy sibling indulged her island fever and fled (to Queens and a job on Rykers Island, no less), we were ready to say Aloha ourselves.
But then, ten years later, when we arrived for a gorgeous, storybook wedding on the beach in Kapolei, we decided to ring the island and try to re-capture everything we knew about O’ahu in one long, circular adventure.
Starting clockwise from…
Waikiki—The Moana Surfrider
Even today, with air conditioning replacing ceiling fans in the rooms, the first hotel built on Waikiki still feels like its most authentic—not necessarily true to Hawaii per se, but to an exotic, sleepy South Sea suspension of reality that has probably faded away. Think of Raffles in Singapore, an open-air bedroom on Bali, or a thatched Tahitian tiki hut with servants mixing the exotic, parasol-topped drinks. The irony, of course, is that way-back-when, the only way we modern nouveaux riches would have visited these places was as one of those over-taxed, under-appreciated servants.
Honolulu—Chinatown and the Port
Like most American cities, Honolulu has done its best to squeeze the charm out of its urban pores, but fortunately, it has never quite succeeded. The historical trappings of the independent Hawaiian nation left a colonial vibe without too much of the overbearing colonialism. Chinatown might not rival its San Francisco cousin for sophisticated cuisine, but it captures the New World Chinese experience of keeping one’s head down and surviving in spite of all the indignities thrown at them. The Port is fun, and there’s nothing quite like finding the best true Hawaiian cuisine on the island—in a Bowling Alley!
Pearl Harbor—Hickam Field—Schofield Barracks
In late 1941, Mom sent a carton of cigarettes to a boyfriend in the Navy, only to have it returned when his ship sank here. So we understand her outrage at the throngs of Japanese tourists, even though we can’t imagine a trip to Japan without visiting Hiroshima. From the wreck of the Arizona to the mothballed Missouri, to Hickam Field, up to the boxing arena at Schofield Barracks (where the fictional Private Robert E. Lee Prewitt started things rolling downhill in From Here to Eternity), this part of the island exudes equal parts anger, pride, reverence, sadness, and regret. It’s one of the more complicated places we’ve visited.
The Leeward (Western) Coast—Kapolei to Waianae
Everyone should get married at least once on the western shores of O’ahu. None of your guests will care about the food, the clouds, or the intermittent drops of golden rain. No matter the time of day or night, you’ll both look flawless and radiant—these are just scientific facts. And speaking of science, as you stroll along the pristine, empty beaches out here, keep in mind that there’s nothing between you and Japan except billions of gallons of restless, unruly water. Not that we mean to intimidate.
The Farrington Highway—Mākaha around Kaʻena Point to Waialua
The old, dirt trail from the western Mākaha beaches around the northwestern Kaʻena Point to Waialua on the north shore takes less than 2 hours on foot—but by car, the blockage here forces you to backtrack all the way into Honolulu and come up from the other side. On either section of this, the misnamed Farrington Highway, you feel the centuries melting away into one of the most rugged and under-developed corners of the island. No gas, no food, no trinkets, but lots of Hawaiians who aren’t waiting to sing to you. As you circle Mount Kaʻala and its handmaidens of the Waiʻanae Range, you’re reminded that, like Mount Saint Helens back home in Washington, Kaʻala is an extinct volcano that will never, ever, ever blow again—until it does. You won’t want to be there when it loses its temper.
The North Shore—Waialua to Haleiwa
This area will quickly remind you that, in amongst all the singing, sun-tanning, and soul-saving, Hawaii arrived in the modern age as a massively profitable agricultural oligopoly. The Big Five—Alexander & Baldwin, American Factors, Castle & Cooke (Dole Pineapple), C. Brewer, and Theo. Davies—carved up the islands into endless fields of pineapples, macadamia nuts, coffee, tobacco, and sugar cane. Admittedly, the modern relics are far more pleasing to the eye than the rusting steel mills of Pittsburgh and Cleveland or the empty factories of Buffalo and Detroit, but in their day, these oligarchs set the world standard for oppressive paternalism. Ask any Hawaiian—their heirs still own too much of the land. But all of those fields waving in the breeze are as breathtaking as ever.
Waimea Bay—The Big Eddie
The only sports tournament in the world that sets minimum external conditions for it to run—meaning ocean swells of at least 20 ft, that cause wave faces to reach 30-40ft. Since 1985, there have been just 10 Big Eddies and champions. Nevertheless, every December to February, local traffic comes to a standstill, and our friend’s house and front lawn here become a carpet of bodies, as big wave fans converge from all over the world to watch the 28 elected surfers paddle out into the Pacific Ocean.
The Windward (Eastern) Coast—Kawela Bay to Kaneohe
The Windward Coast—so named because the trade winds land here first on their east-west trajectory—takes the brunt of those winds and drains out the moisture onto the slopes of the Koolau and Waianae mountains. The result is 200 inches of rain per year and some of the most intense and beautiful rainforest on earth. The area gets more tourist action than the Leeward (Western) Coast, but suffers none of the frantic vibes of Honolulu proper, so you can relax, set your own pace, and do as little as you want. The restaurants, diners, and picnicking beaches along this stretch operate in comfortable slow motion.
The Southwest—Hanauma Bay to Diamond Head to Manoa Falls
The natural and historical drama ratchets up as you round the southwest tip of the island to Hanauma Bay and the massive crater of Diamond Head. Manoa is the rainiest point on the island and feeds its gorgeous tropical Falls. Bring your hiking boots and water bottles for the hidden trails throughout the jungles here. And finish off your circle of the island with a visit to the stunning Punchbowl National Cemetery, final resting place of the legendary war correspondent Ernie Pyle and so many of the dogfaces and jarheads he loved and celebrated.
As Joni Mitchell (and Tom Rush) put it:
And the seasons, they go round and round And the painted ponies go up and down We're captive on the carousel of time We can't return, we can only look Behind, from where we came And go round and round and round in the circle game.
With the passing of our sister, we don’t know when or if we’ll ever return to O’ahu. But we’re not sure it matters. Like so many other wanderers, physical and imaginative, we’ve been blessed by a relationship with the islands that goes back long before we set foot here. And once this paradise percolates into your bloodstream, it’s yours for life.
As for the Movies…
The best beach love scene ever filmed (at Halona Cove off Hanauma Bay) with Burt Lancaster and Deborah Kerr:
For the teens and big wave surfers (but actually a first rate movie—and trailer—for anyone):
And who says you need great acting? If you don’t recognize this TV theme song, where have you been?