Wacky Wacky

BY DAY
My preconceived notion of Waikiki was that of a dirty, busy city filled with tourists and the beaches packed with, well, tourists.

What I found after a day spent wandering the streets of this popular Hawaiian city was a bit different.

Yes, there are tourists. Thousands of them. Literally. But the city itself is beautiful , clean, and somehow the tourists add to it's charm rather than distract from it. It may be my soft-spot for big cities, being the city gal I am and all. However, I'm oddly drawn to the city of Waikiki.

My first day in the city was quite an adventure. I meticulously followed the directions my cousin, Mitch, had given me that brought me from my garage in Kapolei to the parking ramp in downtown Waikiki. His advice for me after I parked, "just walk around and see the city." Well, I did just that.

I wandered over to the Hale Koa (one of the many hotels in Waikiki) and held my head high as I pretended to know where I was going and eventually maneuvered my way to the beach. I was greeted with loads of sunbathers and just the man my father warned me about - the pot-bellied, hairy man in a thong. Quite the sight (and a disturbing one at that).

I meandered down the paved path along the beach until the path stopped. Was this it? Less than a mile of beach and a few hotels was all Waikiki had to offer? This couldn't be so.

I called in the experts on the city. Mom and Dad.

After a much needed update on the Twins game from Dad, the phone at navigation central was handed over to my personal mapquest.com. Mom gratefully pulled out her handy map of O'ahu and navigated me down side streets, proudly naming landmarks along the way, until I was smack-dab in the middle of the true, picturesque Waikiki - filled with miles of beaches, shops, and tourists. Thanks Mom!

My plan for the day was to do a bit of sight-seeing during the day and in the evening, meet up with a fellow UWRF alum now turned Waikiki resident, Craig Jones, for a tour of local watering holes.

I spent my afternoon dodging in and out of the throngs of Japanese and haouli (white folks) tourists as I passed the upscale shops of Gucci, Tiffany's, and Prada and the tourist traps of International Market Square while exploring the main drag in Waikiki.

I had just popped into one of the obscure ABC markets (um, just kidding, these little shops are located just about every two feet) to grab a bottle of water and was heading back out on the street walking toward the beach, when I saw a familiar face in the crowd. Now, I only know one person on this island. One. That's it. And I ran into him.

"Craig," I called out as he walked out of 24 Hour Fitness.

We both laughed in awe of our chance meeting. Craig remarked he was just getting out of work early (he works part-time on weekends at 24 Hour Fitness), was going to run a few errands, and then give me a call to see if I wanted to meet earlier for dinner. My answer, in person, was yes. We said our see-ya-laters, and I continued my exploration.

Next stop - da beach.

I removed my slippahs (flip-flops) and buried my toes in the warm, fine sand and aimlessly strolled toward Diamond Head taking in the sights or veering my eyes as needed.

The beach itself is not as expansive as I had imagined, but rather a thin strip of sand that hugs the coast-line on one side and hotels crowd it on the other. At some areas, the beach is a mere ten feet wide...but the length makes up for the shallow width.

I was about ready for a bit of a break and began looking around for a place to rest when I realized I was surrounded on all sides by men. Gay men. Gay men in very skimpy bathing attire. Oi. Instead, I decided to make what I now know to be "Queens Beach" my turn-around point.

BY NIGHT
Dinner time arrived and I met Craig at Roundtable, a local sports pub where I was showered on all sides by TV's turned to ESPN and proudly broadcasting...baseball. Ah, heaven.

After we filled our bellies with pineapple pizza, Craig became my personal tour guide of the city. First stop, his place. Two blocks walk and we were there.

Craig rents a little studio apartment on the ninth floor of one of the numerous high-rise apartment/condo complexes in the city. His place comes complete with a washer/dryer, parking space, full kitchen, bath, and the coveted lanai (porch)...all for $725 (same rent I was paying in St. Paul!). His home also has a roof-top terrace; a must-see for me.

We hopped in the elevator and rode straight to the top. By now, the sun had set, and we were greeted with a view that was beyond breathtaking. 360 degree views of the city from the 29th floor - the mountains, Diamond Head, the ocean, the city lights, it was all there. I could have stayed up there for hours, days even. But the bars were calling.

First stop - a university pub with $5 pitchers away from the tourist-y areas. We met up with a few of Craig's friends, including a fellow Minnesotan named Jen, and started the night out in style (OK, fine, as much style as you can in a dive bar).

When pitcher #2 arrived, I overheard the conversation at the table next to us. One man was bragging about Wisconsin lakes and the great sport of fishing. I couldn't help it - the MN/WI rivalry kicked in, and I budded into their conversation.

"Excuse me, I truly didn't mean to be eavesdropping on your conversation, but did you just say something about Wisconsin lakes?" I asked.

"Why, yes, I did," came the reply.

"Well, I'm from Minnesota..." and you can guess our comments after that.

Minutes later, our two tables had merged and the world became a tad bit smaller. Turns out, one of the locals at the other table went to UMD and ran track with Craig's cousin. Odd. Or in Craig's words, Waikiki truly is "Wacky-Wacky."

Later, we hopped in a cab and decided to sample the bars downtown. We ended up at a bar in The International Market Square (and the name escapes my mind presently) for a few more drinks and dancing.

At this unnamed bar, we encountered a young lady with a mustache who later traded in her thick strand of hair across her face for quite the dance routine, met a group of engineers from Virginia on the island for business, and attempted to soberfy Jen with glass after glass of water and rumpshaking on the dance floor.

What a night. Before we knew it, the clock had struck 3am and our beds were calling.

After tucking Jen and Nikki into a cab, Craig and I walked the three blocks back to his place where he graciously offered me the bottom half of his bed (his bed is made-up of two queen size air mattresses piled on top of one another), and I happily accepted as memories of college days filled my head as I drifted off to sleep.

And that, my friends, is the story of my first day in Wacky-Wacky.