No, seriously, what’s the big deal? If your idea of a wonderful vacation to the tropics includes Honolulu, I urge you to reframe your idea! Honolulu is not that great of a place. Mardi and I have been blessed by our ability to travel and live in the tropics. The Caribbean and Hawaii are wonderfully beautiful places, and each has its “arm pits”. After spending 3 days in Honolulu, I’d have to say that it is close to qualifying.

I had high expectations of Honolulu. You know, the classic "Blue Hawaii" of Elvis fame, the romance of the "shore leave" during WWII a la the movie "Pearl Harbor", the fun of the cursed Tiki doll of the "Brady Bunch", but I digress. Let me tell you, that Honolulu no longer exists. In fact, there isn’t much left of the real Hawaii in Honolulu.

My first impressions of the City included a strong remembrance of San Juan, PR. The vast urban sprawl, the forests of concrete and steel condominiums, the humid, cool sea breezes interlaced with aromas of
tropical flowers, salt water and sewers and the preponderance of traffic jams and bad drivers – yes, Honolulu has them all. Here’s an example.

This is a canal in downtown Honolulu. Not too bad, but the preponderance of high-rise condos is only a sampling of what Waikiki and Honolulu look like. The street between my hotel, the egregiously overpriced Ala Moana Hotel, and the Hawaii Convention Center sports no fewer than 3 "adult entertainment centers" for those discriminating adults wishing to be entertained by the dregs of human culture.  And, of course, everything is overpriced. Even the locally produced crops of macadamia nuts are terribly expensive. I think Mardi can get them cheaper at Trader Joe’s.

And there is no worse time (in my humble opinion) to go to Honolulu that during the NFL Pro Bowl week. Why, tell me, do American men have to dress so poorly when they go on vacation? In Honolulu this week, there are streets full of either middle aged, overweight, beer swilling men showing bad tattoos in "wife beater" muscle shirts, or young, twenty something, over-muscled, beer swilling men showing bad tattoos in "wife beater" muscle shirts, all acting like they’ve never traveled outside their state before in their lives. And then there is the preponderance of women that look like Dog the Bounty Hunter’s wife. Do they think it is attractive to look that way?

Am I being too harsh? Maybe. But I heard a great line this week from a famous travel writer where he exclaimed "why do Americans travel to other countries dressed like they have shown up to mow everyone’s lawn?" My sentiments exactly! Show some class, some style America when you travel. You are representing your home country, home state, or, as is the case in Honolulu this week, your favorite NFL team. And, more specifically, what’s going on New York Giants and Oakland Raiders fans? Good grief you guys are not being represented well by your fans this year!

Anyway, I was fortunate to meet up with Mardi’s Uncle Dick Rauschmeyer for some site seeing. Dick is visiting his son Rick who lives on Oahu. Dick drove me around Waikiki, well, we crept around Waikiki since the traffic was so snarled. To imagine the strip at Waikiki Beach, think "Vegas Strip" in the tropics sans the casinos. Yep, it’s that bad.

Anyway, we left Waikiki and drove around the base of Diamondhead, the famous symbol of Waikiki Beach. It’s a beautiful area, but overdeveloped at the base. Seems that everyone wants to live around Diamondhead. Diamondhead is significantly smaller than I imagined. That’s a photo of it below from my walk down Waikiki Beach.

After circumnavigating Diamondhead, Dick asked if I was interested in getting some malasadas. What are malasadas you ask? Well, they are perhaps the greatest redeeming quality of Honolulu! They are orange sized, sugar covered, Portuguese dough-balls of absolute gastrointestinal joy! I bought a dozen, ate 3 immediately, gave away 3 to my traveling colleagues, and packed 6 for eating at home with the girls. I do hope that they taste as good as they did warm. Some seriously good eating!

Well, I’m typing this as I’m heading home Friday night. On the way out of the islands, we flew directly over Molokai. The emptiness of the land, the unspoiled richness of the island, the beautiful and  un-condominiumized shores (is that a word? Doubt it.) – man they called to me.  That is where I want to go next. That would be a wonderful change from Oahu. Maybe next year.

I’m glad to be going home to the girls.