Now in Hawaii, and back in the United States.

I flew into Honolulu on the island of Oahu, site of Hawaii's only
international airport. After getting off the plane, there was no lei placed
around my neck and no music. Aside from the hard steps of uniformed
security and customs officers and their occasional outbursts of boring, old
American English, the place was silent.

I happened to be on the same flight as a few of the English girls who were
on Beachcomber Island with me in Fiji, so I met up with them outside. I was
sleepy, so I put my bags down next to me. Sarah, one of the English girls,
needed a place to rest her fat ass, so she came over to sit down next to me.
I watched in slow-motion as her ass wrapped around my ukulele and crushed it
against the concrete bench. A shock wave rippled through her cellulite as
the wood snapped, and the horrific sound of splintering wood filled the bus
terminal. Then an awkward silence.

On the way through Honolulu and nearby Waikiki, I noticed familiar hotel
chains and fast food joints that I haven't seen in a year. And to be
honest, seeing the familiar is a bit unsettling. It means that I'm that
much closer to home and the end of my trip.

The driver dropped us off, and we wandered around a bit with our bags before
finding our hostel, Banana Bungalow. Walking along Waikiki Beach at dawn, I
was surrounded by health-crazy joggers in spandex. I stopped for an early
morning breakfast at Jack in the Box and then stocked up on soap and shampoo
at one of the countless local ABC stores. After spending American money for
the first time in a while, I am beginning to realize what a pain in the ass
pennies and sales tax are. And why are our dimes so damn small?

I spent most of my time walking around and exploring Waikiki. The beach is
pretty nice. I spent one afternoon sitting underneath a huge Banyan tree
carving a new string tightener out of a piece of driftwood and fixing my
ukulele. I was even able to attend a free lesson at the local shopping
center where I learned how to properly tune my ukulele and play "Silent
Night". Everyone loved my ukulele because it's made out of a coconut and
fishing line, not a miniature guitar like everyone else's.

I spent an afternoon at the USS Arizona Memorial, site of the 1941 Pearl
Harbor bombing. The guided tour features a slightly over-dramatized but
well-made documentary film on the bombing and then a ferry ride to the
wreckage of the USS Arizona, where a graceful, white building has been built
on top of it. The bodies of over 1000 men still remain in the wreckage, so
it's really one big cemetery. And quite depressing. I wonder if they have
similar memorials in Hiroshima and Nagasaki.

Most of the young Hawaiian guys and girls aren't really Hawaiian at all.
They're usually a mix of Japanese, Chinese, Korean, German, and maybe some
Hawaiian if they're lucky. They all look, talk, and act like Mexican
gangsters. While most of the other South Pacific islanders have an "I don't
give a fuck" attitude because they're truly laid back, Hawaiians have an "I
don't give a fuck" attitude because they think they're bad-ass. Very
American.

Zillions of tourists here, and it seems like most of them are older Japanese
couples. Japanese signs and brochures are posted everywhere. Lots of older
American couples as well. There are also quite a few military bases around
here, which means that Waikiki is filled with huge, lumbering military
types. Most of the other people who do go out are cocky Americans. Very
American.

After the sun goes down, Waikiki is a pretty shitty place. Most of the
night spots are pretty dead, and each place charges cover to get in. A bad
combination. One night, after hearing some college guy with crutches bitch
that he was not having a good time, I smirked in agreement. He saw me from
across the room, asked me what the F I was looking at, and then called me a
F-ing weirdo and wanted to fight me. I also get shit from the bouncers.
After trying to initiate friendly conversation with a Hawaiian bouncer, he
turned and threatened to "blast" me for wasting his time. And the cocktail
waitresses, too.And I got kicked out of another place by a cocktail waitress
because I wasn't drinking enough. This place sucks.

The streets of Waikiki are lined with prostitutes, many of them very
good-looking. When I walked home, I would frequently be propositioned by
two or three of them. For the first time since King's Cross, I was tempted.
But I didn't bite.

I've also taken a few tours around the islands. One around Oahu, and one to
Kauai. The tour guides take pleasure in listing movie stars, showing us
famous film and television locations, and spouting off property values as we
drive along the beach.

I also took a tour to the island of Hawaii, better known around here as the
Big Island. The black lava flows were nice, but the main reason I went out
there was to get to the summit of Mauna Kea, one of the highest mountains in
the Pacific and supposedly the best place in the world to stargaze. Up on
top, they have an observatory, a visitor's center, and a plethora of
powerful telescopes. I planned to rent a truck, drive up there myself,
spend an afternoon seeing all the exhibits, watch the sunset, and then lay
back under the stars.

Getting up there proved to be quite difficult. I had planned to rent a
four-wheel drive vehicle so that I could go up there and do my own thing,
but each rental service here required that drivers be at least 25 years of
age. I'm 24, so I couldn't rent one. I couldn't take an organized tour
because there were none leaving from Hilo. I couldn't take a taxi because
it would have cost way too much money. And I couldn't walk because it was
too far.

A few guys here at the hostel suggested that I hitchhike. Apparently, it is
pretty safe. I wasn't so sure that there would be anyone willing to pick me
up, but I figured I'd give it a shot. Just as I was leaving my hostel, a
some fat Hawaiian guy was making a U-turn in his brown Cadillac. He asked
me where I was going and offered me a ride.

Easy enough. He told me his name was Kivaka, and he looked a lot fatter
sitting in his seat than he did from outside the car. He also had horrible,
acne-scarred skin and a V-shaped scar on his forehead. But he seemed
friendly enough.

As we drove along, I asked him about his family and work. Married with two
kids, and he used to work at the airport but "things have been slow lately".
I asked him how far he was taking me, and then he asked me how much I would
give him to take me right to the top of Mauna Kea. We settled on a price,
and I gave him some money. I hinted that I didn't want to get ripped off,
and he shook my hand, told me I could trust him and that he wanted to make
sure I had a great time on the Big Island, and gave me a shpiel about mutual
respect. He even offered to give me his number so that I could call him
after I had finished my stargazing and he could come pick me up.

Kivaka asked me if I'd like to rent one of his friend's four-wheel drive
trucks. Having one would allow me to get to the very top of Mauna Kea as
well as give me the flexibility to come and go as I please, so I figured it
would be a good idea. He pulled into a shopping center and told me to wait
outside while he parked and looked for his friend.

Kivaka came back and sat with me for a few minutes. He said his friend was
fixing up the truck for me, changing the oil and filling it up with gas. We
settled on a new price, and I gave him some more money. He shook my hand
again. I asked if I could have the truck overnight so that I could explore
the rest of my island, and he said it was a great idea. We settled on a
final price, and I gave him some more money. He asked for some change to
make a phone call so that he could tell his friend to hurry up with the
truck, shook my hand one more time, and then left.

He never came back.

Kivaka made off with a small fortune, and I'm very pissed off about this.
And very embarrassed at the same time. I made a lot of mistakes, and this
whole thing could have been avoided if I had just used a little common
sense.

Dumbfounded and broke, I couldn't afford to take a taxi up to Mauna Kea. So
if I wanted to get up there, I had to hitchhike. Again.

Kivaka had dropped me off on the opposite side of town, so it was quite a
walk back to the main road that leads up to Mauna Kea. To reduce the number
of meanderers and increase the number of drivers who are going up to Mauna
Kea, I walked a third of the way up the mountain myself. Then I dropped my
stuff, perched myself on the side of the road, and spent the rest of the
afternoon thumbing it.

Nobody stopped for me. It was getting dark, and my morale was gone. Upset
that I never got up to Mauna Kea, I started to walk home. Dull, gray clouds
blocked the sunset, and I knew that from atop Mauna Kea, the sun was
painting the tops of the clouds in fiery reds and pinks while the first
stars of the night were twinkling in the sky above.

Tomorrow morning, for the 15th time on this trip, I'll get on a plane. I
finally fly back to Los Angeles, where I'll spend Christmas with some old
family friends. Pauline, my ex from home, and Rob, an old friend from high
school, have both arranged to meet me in LA. The three of us will be going
to Vegas to celebrate New Years. Then back to LA.

But the adventure CONTINUES! I will NOT board my plane home to Texas on
January 2 as originally planned. Instead, Rob and I will drive home,
hitting every interesting spot we can think of between California and Texas.
Check the web site for places I'm already trying to work into our itinerary.
Any suggestions?

In true Hawaiian style, let me wish all of you a Mele Kaliki Maka (Merry
Christmas) and Hauoli Makahiki Hou (Happy New Year).

No Regrets (except for trusting a fat Hawaiian).

Jeff