Hawaii (Part III) Hang Ten

No trip to Hawaii would be complete without an attempt to hang ten. We found Brother, our surf instructor in a little beach hut just outside the Waikiki Outrigger Hotel. In his mid 40s, bronzed like cocoa, bearing a pot belly, he appeared an unsuspecting instructor. Without wasting a minute, he got us suited up, giving us a crash course on the basics before taking us in the water to test our moxie.

Little did I know that the hardest part of surfing was not the balancing act.  With a little push and the right timing, finding balance on the board took little effort. Half the battle was the paddling back to our starting point, which seemed to take triple the time it took to ride the 3o second wave. Between waves, Brother revealed that he was a former pro-surfer, who used to compete in California. Every once in a while we’d see a sinewy old man skim past us. Brother would give him a shout-out. He told us later that the man, who is in his 80′s, has been around since Brother was a kid, and is still riding the waves in his twilight years. Brother no longer competes. He teaches surfing Monday to Friday, and in between trains his nephew, a former pro-baseball player, to surf. His life is simple, but content.  He beams with pride as he tells me he has repeat customers from Australia who look him up every time they’re back on the island.

No sooner had I stripped off my wet suit, I was already itching to get back on the board. Brother chuckled and said, he’d didn’t know about me, but he’d be having breakfast. He told me I could return after lunch if I really wanted a second go, but his prescription was simply to relax.  If not today, he warned us our arms would be fatigued by tomorrow. Of course he was right. Nonetheless, we found ourselves back a few days later for round two of hang ten the Hawaiian way.

Hawaii (Part II): Culinary Redux

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I’ve since learnt that the zoo is only a hop, skip, away from Kapahulu street, which houses many a Hawaiian institution, including The Rainbow Drive-In, where the price of a hamburger was just $0.25 back in 1961. Prices haven’t changed much after 50 years, and you can still get a hamburger for $2. It’s also touted as an old haunt of President Obama’s student days. Further along the strip, you’ll come across Bailey’s Antiques and Aloha Shirts, an authentic Hawaiian shirt shop, where you will find vintage styles for $3000 dollars, or modern replicas for $3.99 and everything in between. Its walls are packed with rails and rails of Hawaiian shirts. Anthony Bourdain featured the shop on his show No Reservations, and was corralled into purchasing a $800 vintage Hawaiian number.

Tucked away on a side street is one of the best original shaved ice stands, Waiolas. You will be greeted by multiple flavours of syrup drizzled over a generous mountain of shaved ice. Just the thing on a hot day, and pretty hard to resist when topped with condensed milk. A few blocks down you’ll hit Leonard’s, a Portuguese bakery, where they are famous for their malasadas, which is described as “a donut without the hole”.  Best savoured when fresh and piping hot, either sprinkled with lillikoi or plain sugar, or stuffed with guava and coconut custards.

Rounding your way back on the other side of Kapahulu street, a pit stop at Ono’s is a must. A little mom and pop shop, it serves up traditional Hawaiian comfort food. The combination plate will give you a generous portion of pork lau lau, pork wrapped in taro leaf and slow cooked for hours, served with a side of rice, a dash of sea salt, raw onion, taro paste and hot chili sauce. Dead simple food, but deliciously comforting.

Because the locals have had to endure so many tourists, they may initially appear a little weary, but greeted with a smile and curious conversation they open up easily. We found Art behind the bar at the Side Street Inn, a local dive where chefs frequent after their long shifts, a place to shoot the shit over a beer.  Spicy Chicken (battered, marinated boneless chicken, deep-fried then dipped in the house spicy sauce), fresh Ahi Tuna Poke and “Side Style Fried Rice” (a salivating concoction of char sui, portuguese sausage, bacon, peas, carrots and green onion) are must-haves amongst other local pub fare.

Surging with adrenaline after our flight, my friend and I decided to walk all the way to the famed Side Street Inn, on a quiet Monday night from the main strip. A little ambitious to say the least, we made it there just before midnight. Finding the place hidden in an alley, we walked in to see a bunch of guys just staring at two girls who were clearly out of place. A little hesitant, we took a seat at the bar, where we were greeted by Art, who found humour in two lost tourists, and after warning us not to make the ‘Long March” back, he helped us successfully navigate the late night menu. I decided to consult Art with my list of researched restaurants, with every name I threw out, he chuckled unabashedly. Apparently my research was filled with tourist traps, he mocked my “taco Tuesday” joint and shrimp trucks. In pity, he offered up a few of his favourites, amongst them, the aforementioned Ono’s before sending us safely on our way in a cab.

Hawaii (Part I): Lost and Found

Honolulu holds a place in my heart. It’s the first place I traveled to while still in my mother’s womb, and up to the age of six,  our little family of three visited frequently. While Waikiki may be garish, my childhood memories of it aren’t. When I think of Waikiki, I think of my uncle and aunt jogging along the board walk, going about their daily routine. Both of them have since passed, and my most recent visit to Honolulu after over two decades was a study in retrieving lost and found memories.

Much of Honolulu hasn’t changed in over two decades. The architecture remains frozen in the “Tropical Modernist” style of the 50′s and 60′s post-war boom. Prior to Hawaii’s statehood in 1959, many young Modernist architects arrived on the island to find a solution to adapt the current design style of the era to the tropical climates of island life.  Today, the concrete masses of a bygone time are encroached by high-rises lining the strip, and hotels clamoring for real estate on the beach. It remains rampant with Japanese tourists. Macadamian nuts are still the souvenir de jour.

It’s impossible to know what is a memory from the age of six and below, or just fabricated fragments from stories and old photos. But, there are things that will always stick out, like the pool in my uncle and aunt’s apartment, which appeared so much larger as a child, but upon inspection now, it seemed fairly standard, almost small. I recall the zoo, and of course as child, it held no geographical context in my mind. I didn’t visit the zoo on this visit, but I passed its periphery many a time, and now I know its relevance on a map. It didn’t stop me from wondering whether the giraffes and elephants were still there though.

In Pictures: South China

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Myths & Misadventures: South China

“Since China launched its reform and opening-up policy 30 years ago, Foshan has experienced a rapid and continued socio-economic growth. At present, she is dedicated to building a prosperous and harmonious city and a modern metropolis of profound culture and distinctive industry.” – Foreword, Guide for Foreigners in Foshan, 2010

I picked up a”Guide for Foreigners in Foshan” during a recent visit to South China, at one of the purported 5 star hotels we resided in. I, along with 13 of my extended family members, mostly comprised of septuagenarian aunts plus 2 uncles, and 4 cousins, were on a family sojourn to trace the roots of my paternal great grandfather. Foshan, was just one of the cities we passed on our 7 day bus tour of South China’s Guangdong Province.

There are no blue skies in South China. Even on a sunny day, the region is covered in a haze of brown smog. While “beautiful” isn’t the first word that comes to mind, “industrious” is. Everywhere you look, the region is eager to display what the process of “rapid and continued socio-economic growth” appears to be. What it looked like was a country impatiently building up their idea of a “modern metropolis”. Along the highway, derelict stone houses stand next to vast expanses of farmland, lined with the occasional palm tree. Tall cranes hoover like storks in a koi pond, while scaffolding surrounds the skeleton of the newest 50 storey plus high-rise. It’s all very disconcerting, and the dichotomies are stark.

California day dreaming…

“I will embrace the first opportunity to get to California and it is altogether probable that when once there I shall never again leave it.”

~ George Stoneman

It is only apropos that this particular entry be inspired by a new friend I met from Switzerland on one most unsuspecting day of adventure in L.A. What started out as a visit to LACMA (LA County Museum) to discover it closed on a Wednesday, turned into a day of walking much of greater West Hollywood and ended at the Viper Room. There were also a few characters, local and foreign encountered in between.

With LACMA off the agenda, I wandered down Fairfax Avenue to see a queue formed in front of CBS studios. It wasn’t long before I found myself filing in with the crowd to a free taping of the Craig Ferguson show and catching a glimpse of Brooke Shields on the night’s celebrity roster. Emerging from the studios three hours later, I continued down the street and stumbled across Catwalk, a vintage huntress’ bedazzled dream, replete with rack upon rack of collectable finds. On what was a uncharacteristically brisk April day, trench coats were wrapped around my mind. Without hesitation, the eccentric duel running the shop, whisked out Burberry’s, Yohji Yamamoto’s and YSL for an impromptu dress-up whirl.

While, I couldn’t afford the designer price tags accompanying the collectable labels, I could afford homemade gelato at Golden State across the street, where I settled on oatmeal crunch and an earl grey green tea combo. Gelato cup and spoon in hand, I stopped to peruse at Family an independent neighbourhood book store next door, with carefully displayed art books; my idea of coffee table indulgence.

Stepping out into the early evening, I looked across the street and saw an ivy covered movie theatre, which featured double bill silent movies for the night. I watched as a dapper gentleman who appeared as if he had not aged since the cinema’s heyday in a full pinstripe suit and fedora purchase a ticket. In the end, the night was too young to be had in silence. So I continued trekking on foot to see if the night would find me on Melrose Avenue at dusk…

This is not a love letter

 

 

“Holidays in general breed unrealistic expectations. The minute you start wondering, ‘is it going to be wonderful enough?,’ it never will be.”

~ Pepper Schwartz

Dear New York,

I’ve had a crush on you for a while. I might even venture to say that for almost two decades, I dreamed, wondered, lusted and pined over you.

When we finally agreed to meet, I was nervous. You were out of my league, like that guy you only ogled at from a distance, not expecting to get a second glance, much less a first date from.

The day came, and there I was and there you were, drenched in an early Friday morning downpour, caught in rush hour traffic on the freeway searching for a quick exit to Queen’s. Sitting in the cab, I was struck with gut sinking disappointment. I thought I’d surely recognize you, but like a passport photo, reality didn’t exactly match the portrait.

I shouldn’t blame it on the weather, but I did. Dozy from the red eye, I reasoned my first impressions had been clouded by fatigue. I took a short snooze before embarking on my Manhattan date. Standing on Madison, perched on the steps of the St. Vincent Cathedral, I looked across the street to see the Rockefellar centre. I willed myself for that tingle of ‘pinch me I am here’ sensation. It never came. The skyscrapers simply stared back mockingly, while Atlas remained unable to shrug the weight of the world off his shoulders.

Great expectations are born from unrealistic and fantastical whimsies. Somehow, when I stopped searching for the magic, it shyly unfolded. Free from seeking the New York of my dreams, I was finally able to enjoy the city as it was.

Before me was the Guggenheim, and down the street were horse carriages in waiting beneath blushing cherry blossoms in Central Park. I stumbled upon a Motown quartet serenading the steps of the MET. Past the Manhattan Bridge archway on route to Canal Street was where I made a stop at Sweet Sugar Sunshine for cupcakes. I sneaked a peek past the old tenements of the Lower East Side, and weaved my way between Nolita boutiques to find Cafe Habana, where I was served the sweetest corn on a stick north east of Mexico.

I arrived with the idea that I would depart with a love letter addressed to you in hand. While I won’t forget you as my first crush, I leave satisfied with knowing more about you New York than what can be conjured up in a passing reverie.

Top 10 of Coachella 2010

Not music related, and in no particular order…

Carbage cans with heart

Fresh coconuts for $5

Polite festival goers with cool shoes

Hosted at a Polo Club

Flower fountains in V.I.P.

Purple balloons on a fishing rod

Art in action

Giant lit up origami crane

Ferris wheel

Proximity to Joshua Tree