Hawaii: The Big Island

While Mike and I spent the first and last nights of our Hawaiian vacation in the tacky delight of Honolulu, the bulk of our trip was spent relaxing on the Kona coast on the Big Island. Hawaii really has two kinds of vacations: Waikiki and everything else. With one of the big tourist hotels in the heart of Honolulu you get a sliver of an ocean view, beaches crowded with tourists and uniquely Hawaiian activities (luaus and hula dancing) under the watchful and familiar gaze of Diamondhead. This is the Hawaii that looks exactly like Hawaii, retold in countless movies from the 1960s heyday of surf culture. More modern and sophisticated travelers like the unspoiled and less crowded splendor of other islands, where massive resorts have sprung up in former sugar cane fields and pineapple farms, delivering high end slices of paradise.

I had been to Hawaii before in December of 1999, freshly released from my career at AOL, and living on my small farm in Southwest Michigan. Eric Mueller organized a big trip with many of his friends, and we all made the journey across the ocean. Mike was stationed there at the time, so it was an opportunity to visit him and get a little touch of warmth just as winter was settling in hard on the shores of Lake Michigan. That trip was a blurry sea of drunken sailors (the sixth fleet was in town that weekend) and wild gay adventures. A fight between me and one of Eric’s friends on the second day left Mike and I alone for most of the rest of the trip there, which is just how it was this time around too. Having already experienced Waikiki we were both ready for the other Hawaii.

We landed in Kona and the airport, much like the one in Honolulu, was a quaint throwback to a kinder, gentler time before terrorism and security made airports so utilitarian, ugly and walled off. The Kona Airport looks like a cheesy movie set, not unlike the opening sequence in Postcards From The Edge. I am not even convinced it was real lava rock the building was constructed with. It might just as well have been stucco spray-painted black by an eager production assistant. The biggest difference on the Big Island was a decidedly slower pace, set by a much older crowd.

The condo my Dad rented was in an old but well-maintained complex right on the ocean. The accommodations were functional, in the barest sense of the word. For someone who likes to be pampered and taken care of at all times, my Dad weirdly has no lust of luxury, another trait I largely (though don’t completely) share. The condo was disappointing, although given my father’s history with such things, I don’t know why I was surprised. However, when I learned that it was only $1300/month, it was magically transformed in my cheap eyes into a castle worthy of our adventure. After all, that was less than our old apartment in Manhattan.

Our week in Kona was supposed to be about relaxing, and it was. We logged in some nice time at the swimming pool, doing our best to avoid the elderly and small children. Of those of legal drinking age on the island, we were among the youngest people there. But with the six hour time difference from New York, dinner was at 5pm most nights and by 11pm, we could barely keep our eyes open. Combining that with the pace and demographic surrounding us, it was easy to feel like charter members of the AARP.

But we used the early to bed, early to rise scenario to our advantage. True, our one trip to the local gay bar, Mask (of course), was cut short when I nearly fell asleep in a bowl of stale popcorn there just after 10pm. But with our 7am wake-ups, it left us with a whole day of exploring, even after throwing away a few hours in the morning over lattes and bagels at the Café. On Tuesday, we drove for two hours to Volcanoes National Park, where we hiked into the crater of an active volcano and I posed for a series of wacky photos, including “warming” myself over a steam vent. When I recounted my activities to my friend Paui, he said that he treated the steam vents like a magical spa, opening his pores and lungs until a park ranger advised him that he was basically breathing in microscopic shards of glass and maybe putting his face in the vent wasn’t the best idea ever.

The volcano has been quite active recently and it is a good thing we went on Tuesday because Wednesday the sulfur dioxide levels were so dangerously high they closed the entire park. But by then we were miles away at the green sand beach. Hottie Zach recommended a trip there, and it turns out it is one of only two such beaches in the entire world. And not wanting to go to Guam, we made the trip to this hidden gem on the Big Island instead. Having been around the world, I have long since given up the notion of discovering a hidden treasure. The first time I went to Notre Dame in Paris, somehow I thought it would be tucked away in an old neighborhood, not surrounded by gift shops and a Haagen Daas store. The green sand beach was another story.

It is not far from South Point, the furthest south you can go in the United States. This is the place where the original Hawaiians probably landed when they came up from Tahiti. From there, you have to walk several miles along what is barely a path with no sign to guide you, to a beach that is literally cascading out of a rock outcropping. The sand is a deep olive color but green it is. The water was a pastel blue that day and the contrast was incredible. We were there for hours and all told saw perhaps two dozen people. Most of them, like us, making a solitary march through a barren landscape to encounter a fabled nook nestled in the far side of the world. Without question, one of the most satisfying experiences of my life.

As much as we loved our quiet days in Kona, we knew living there permanently would probably make us crazy. A week was more than plenty of time. By Friday we were sad when we sipped our last latte at the café and made the winding drive down the hill to the airport. But at the same time, we were ready to return to civilization. Waiting for us on Waikiki beach were rooms at the famed Royal Hawaiian hotel, with soaring ceilings and comfortable beds. Gay life was just a short walk down the road at Hulas where I ran into Michael, the former Mr. Gay.com who was a guest on my radio show way back in 2004. Suddenly, my week of anonymity was at an end. Our vacation was drawing to a close and this last bar crawl was the perfect way to ease us back into real life.

Hawaii: The Unexpected Father

Late last year, my dad let me know that he was renting a condo in Hawaii for two months and that for much of that time it would be empty. “I am only using it for a few weeks,” he offered, “but it is cheaper to rent it for two months. So if you want to use it, it will be empty.” This was the impetus for my current Hawaiian vacation. A free place to stay plus a flight paid for entirely in miles equals my kind of fun! I didn’t know anything about this condo before getting here. Only that my dad has been renting it out for years and for a time two years ago when he put his house on the market before heading off on vacation here, had briefly ended up signing his Dear Abby letters “Homeless In Hawai’i” after it sold unexpectedly fast.

Throughout my childhood, my dad was always a planner of elaborate vacations. In his mind, he figured we would never remember the boring parts in between, or the parade of stepmothers, if circus-like adventures clogged our tiny minds leaving no room for anything else. The downside of this strategy was the invariable disasters that would ensue on these road trips, always reminiscent of the National Lampoon’s Vacation movie series. Although in the end, he was right. I remember them quite vividly.

My concerns based on our shared history led me to email my Dad to make sure that the condo had the basics: cable and internet access. His wry response that it did, as well as running water and electricity, did not make me feel guilty in the least. After all, when we went to Lake Powell last summer, he booked us into a single-wide trailer with a backdoor that didn’t close properly, utilizing only a heavy rock on the outside to keep the urgently needed air conditioning from escaping. Never mind that it did nothing to keep roving serial killers from pushing the rock aside and just wandering in with a hatchet and a few hours to kill. The TV, mounted hospital-style in the corner of the living room only received two TV networks, forcing me to engage against my will in a night of So You Think You Can Dance and Are You Smarter Than A Fifth Grader.

While the condo in Hawaii did have internet access and basic cable, it also had an additional feature I had not anticipated: my own father. Apparently, he was able to successfully move some other business around and extend his stay at the condo for the full two months. He offered to pick us up at the airport, and sure enough, when our plane landed at the Kona airport on Sunday night, there he was, waiting just outside the Polynesia by way of Hollywood lava rock building. I always like spending time with my Dad, especially when he is away from the rest of the family. And Hawaii is really his element. Finally, he is able to be the hippie artist he always was inside, and hobnob with other disaffected burnouts of the me generation.

Mike has gotten particular joy out of hanging out with the two of us. Additional pieces of the Derek puzzle fall into place, while others go questioned back into the pile. While I have previously assured Mike that I picked up all my worst habits from the father, he didn’t believe me until he saw them played out right in front of him by someone else. Like me, my Dad is incapable of leaving the house once. There is always something left behind that must be immediately retrieved, and sometimes a departure can have as many as three or four false starts. Dad also shamelessly ogles, as Mike discovered at the green sand beach while he was transfixed by the blond wahine who briefly abandoned her bathing suit in a 60s era giggle fit and I stared at the hot guy ignoring her nearby.

One huge area of departure for us is humor. My Dad does not get my sense of humor at all. “I can’t tell if you are kidding or being serious.” It is as if his brain is unable to process sarcasm. While walked back to the car yesterday, we were discussing Dad’s new Hawaiian friend who goes only by his last name of Ransom. “It was like I said to Ransom yesterday. Send a million dollars or I am going to kill you.” I could hear Mike rolling his eyes behind me while my Dad just turned to me with a blank stare. “Why would you say that to him?” When I said I was joking, Dad asked me to repeat it but Mike tried to stop me. “It wasn’t funny.” I did the bit again and explained that I said it because his name was Ransom, like a ransom note. “Oh. I get it now. Mike’s right. It wasn’t funny.”

For the most part, Dad has kept to himself on this trip, not wanting to get in the way of our planned vacation. Although, he did introduce us to the Holuakoa Café, which has been our center of gravity for four days now, with our morning lattes and everything bagels with cream cheese. Even now I am blogging on their patio, enjoying the cool ocean breeze on an overcast day. Dad was here earlier, sitting at a table sketching but he has since gone off to the gym and then who knows where else. I would offer to have him join us for 30 Rock later tonight, but if he doesn’t get my sense of humor, Tina Fey will seem like an alien from another planet. I guess in the end it is fine. You should have some things in common with your parents, but the older you get, it is important to have your own identity. And maintaining a sense of humor about that relationship with them always helps.

Hawaii: Honolulu Nights

Hawaii is a special kind of place. There is a reason they shoot TV shows and movies here. It is very distinctive and always memorable. LOST is currently filming here, and I hadn't been back since it started. Now everything here reminds me of the show. I just hear the announcer voice saying "previously on LOST..." as we pass a brand new housing development set among the tropical foliage or a dilapidated and rusting mechanical structure that just begs for a Dharma Initiative sign swinging in the wind outside.

Of course, my TV heart really belongs to the best of the Hawaii shows: Wind On Water. In this epic of the 1998 TV season, Bo Derek plays the mother of hot sons (one of them William Gregory Lee, now steaming up the homos on Dante's Cove) who herd sheep by day and surf competitively by night. The timing of these activities never really worked out for me, but the hot sons were reason enough to savor both episodes of the show that aired before it was cancelled. True, some people may better remember a show like Hawaii 5-0 or Magnum P.I., but those shows ran for decades! Wind On Water has lived more intensely for me and with less to work with. Now that's a classic!

Our flight landed in Honolulu for the start of our exciting Hawaiian vacation. After staying up all night and flying for 14 hours, we were a little tired, but still anxious to get our vacation started. We checked into the hotel, showered, and then headed downstairs to grab a drink and then some dinner. We walked down the road to Hula's, the best known of the gay bars in the area and it was deserted. Granted, it was late afternoon, but it was still a Saturday. One of the bartenders flirted with me a little but I think he just wanted to keep us from leaving. After two drinks, we wandered off to find dinner.

Initially, we had planned to go to a cheeseburger place on the beach but it was packed when we arrived and really didn't want to wait. More wandering and we ended up at Chili's which not only was a perfectly acceptable dinner location, but allowed us to see through the window to the Denny's we would assuredly be eating breakfast at the next morning. After dinner, we made our way to the other gay bar but it was even more tragic than Hulas. Skinny bar waiter twink kind of looked my way for a moment, but I could barely keep my eyes open. It was scarcely ten pm local time (4am in New York) and we were walking zombies. Back to the hotel we went to sleep.

The next morning, we got up and headed out early to Starbucks for a cup of coffee and a muffin to enjoy sitting on the gay beach. Some gays wandered by but mostly we watched a group of tourists learning how to surf. After checking out of the hotel and ditching our bags there, we gorged ourselves at Denny's and then took a leisurely stroll to the mall. This was the highlight of the day.

Before I left New York, I realized that every article of clothing I owned was in terrible disrepair. All of my jeans were falling apart and even my shorts from last season were threadbare and ratty. I insisted on finding at least one pair of shorts and possibly even some new jeans at the mall. Went to J. Crew and everything fit horribly and it was outrageously overpriced. Next we hit Banana Republic where the shorts fit even worse. Plus, I accidentally tried on a pair of skinny leg jeans. The jeans got on alright, though they were weirdly baggy at the knees. But my meaty calves were too much for the skinny and in pulling the jeans down, I got stuck in them below the knee. Starting to feel claustrophobic and fearing I may need assistance while my pants were around my knees, I began to wildly tear at and kick off the jeans. Finally, I managed to pull them off inside out and ran from the Banana like it was on fire.

Over at Old Navy, I did fine a pair of cargo shorts with an orange flower on them that fit great. At first I was reluctant to get them, but filled with the aloha spirit, Mike insisted they were perfect for me. After that, we looked at some backpacks at Oakley since I was complaining about my ultra ugly but free Gay.com backpack I was still carrying around after the Fresh party in SF (and the demise of my old PlanetOut.com backpack). I got a new backpack with more zippers than I need, and even Mike picked up a new carry-on bag too.

Riding high on our purchases, we headed back to Hulas for what turned out to be a better second round. The place was more crowded on Sunday afternoon and this time there were even some hotties. The afternoon waiter was genuinely flirty, which is always welcome, though it did make leaving quickly to catch our shuttle to the airport all the more disheartening. But, we told him, we would be back on Friday. After all it was just the start of our Hawaiian vacation. 24 hours in Honolulu to kick things off, followed by five relaxing days in Kona, before returning for one last farewell day on Waikiki beach. Moments later, we were headed to the airport and ready for the next round of adventures that awaited us on the Big Island!

Hawaii: Go West (Not So) Young Man

Even though I plan to blog about my Hawaiian adventure this week, the first entry will be devoted to just the trip there. After all, with our three hour layover in Denver, it was fourteen hours of the first day of my vacation. Factor in travel time to and from the airport and of course a full night of sleep and the next thing you know, it is the entire day.

For this trip, I cashed in 150,000 miles on United so Mike and I could fly First Class. I had been saving my miles for a return to Japan or perhaps even a trip to Australia. But the realities of hosting a radio show made me realize that I won't be taking any long trips half way around the world anytime soon. We could have gone to Europe, which I really wanted to do, but with the exchange rate such as it is, we could get there but then we would be homeless and begging in the streets. True, my years in Manhattan observing any number of panhandlers at close range, has given me some solid strategies for raising money, but this really isn't how I want to spend a vacation.

My Dad rented a condo for two months in Kona and said it would be empty, so it was decided that we would go to Hawaii. Mike was stationed here when he was in the army, and by the end of his tour was pretty sick of it. But that was seven years ago. Plenty of time for the old animosities to fade away and only happy memories bubble to the surface. And after six grueling months of winter, we both thought a few days in tropical splendor would be just the thing.

Kona is less-densely packed and cosmopolitan than Honolulu so we knew going in that our contact with the gay community would be at a minimum. So we planned to fly in and out of Honolulu and spend Saturday night there on our way in and Friday night there on our way out. That way, we could get a couple of nights in at the gay bars and perhaps run into some actual gay people. Then, in between, we could relax by the pool, take in the sights, and hope for at least some nice reasonably naked surfer eye candy.

The night before our 6am flight, we decided to just stay in the city all evening and sleep somewhat on the plane. We went to dinner at Arriba, Arriba first, which was a great way to start things off. Our server was the same server we have seen there for seven years and Mike observed that it might be time for him to change his status from Aspiring Actor to Career Waiter. Though his acting skills have come in handy since he still manages to be friendly and solicitous without actually flirting. Be that as it may, the food and accompanying margarita were delicious.

Unfortunately, a heavy meal of Mexican food and tequila might not have been the best plan for two people who wanted to stay awake after a long work week. We headed to Therapy where the already thin crowd headed for the doors as soon as we walked in. "What is it about us that always clears a bar?" Mike wondered. Our energy was flagging. We walked down to The Ritz, where there was a massive line (aka everyone who had escaped Therapy), and immediately turned tail and headed to Vlada. Vlada had some kind of a crowd, but the enchiladas suizas and the late hour were weighing heavily on me. We went back to our respective offices to pick up our bags and head to the airport. So far our exciting adventure was off to a sleepy and dull start.

We met up outside Mike's office and hopped in a cab to La Guardia. At 4am on a Saturday, the trip took maybe ten minutes. I think we stopped for one red light. At the airport, we got our tickets and then headed for airport security, which wasn't even open yet. We were woefully early. I went to the bathroom and there was a toilet malfunctioning, gushing torrents of water. Being so close to Earth Day, I went to the man slowly dusting the elevator door outside the bathroom and told him. He informed me I had to tell the guy who cleans the bathroom. "I just need a maintenance person to come." He shook his head. "I don't work in the bathroom." There was a helpful hotline number on the bathroom to call if there are problems. So I went to the pay phone and dialed *37 and got a recording that someone would be in the office to help at 7am on Monday. By then, a lake could be drained with the water flushing away, but I gave up caring. I did what I could and all I got in the end was a need to wash my hands a second time after touching that pay phone. No good deed goes unpunished.

On the plane, we settled into our First Class seats and I have to say, though not in a Naomi Campbell cell phone/spitting rage sort of way, that I was disappointed. Air travel has fallen into such disrepair that now First or Business is just passable travel accommodation. It is a reasonably roomy seat with some leg room and a decent recline, plus a meal and a strong chance (not a guarantee) for a pillow and blanket. And that is it. Frankly, this is what air travel should already be. That shouldn't be the definition of luxury. Luxury is a sleeping compartment, manicures, gourmet meals, an in-flight entertainment system with movies and music on demand. In irritation and sheer exhaustion, I just went to sleep.

The second leg from Denver to Honolulu was an improvement in service (tons of food and attentive care by the middle aged straight male cabin crew) and there were even power outlets at the seats for our laptops. But still, First wasn't what I remembered it to be. And it just served to remind me of how miserable air travel is today. I wonder if another industry went so far out of its way to make its customers this unhappy if they would be able to stay in business too. For me it is like your own tree house being taken over by the school bully. Where are we supposed to go now?

Finally, we landed in Honolulu. We grabbed our bags, dashed onto the shuttle and away we went to our hotel in Waikiki. The hotel was a typical tourist mill, but my room was on the ocean edge and had the best view of the ocean available. But in the end, it didn't matter. What was important was that we were in Hawaii. And the great thing about Hawaii is that it looks just like Hawaii here! After months of never really feeling warm, it was just great to feel the sun on my skin and even at night, not notice a chill in the air. Maybe this vacation thing won't be so bad after all.