|Hawaii - surfing the waves|
She took us and another couple
on a van across Honolulu and on to the Hostel. There were surfboards everywhere
and it seemed to be pretty close to the beach. There were 6 others in
our room of 4 double bunk beds and 1 single. On the double beds, a Brit
couple doing a long few-continents trip, 2 Californian girls doing a couple
of months to a few places after college and an Italian bloke who'd been
there for a while now. On the single bed, a weird southamerican who didn't
speak, read the Bible, was too clean and tidy but always wore the same
big red-hearts on white underpants.
The manager of the place was
a rather messy "catch
me if you can" bloke who only really cared about waves so it took
a few days to get a room and only to get a broken bed (took another day
to fix), a few bugs, same privacy and much less comfort. On the other
hand he was really cool and friendly if you caught him at the beach and
he took us to catch waves on the body-boards. He would explain enthusiastically
which were the main tricks to know and when was the exact time and how
to catch the wave and how to keep on it after.
One day we went in search for a volcano and found it but didn't feel like climbing to the top. Instead we went down to another beach near it with no sunbathers at all. Strictly windsurfing and very impressive it was.
Beach, beach, beach. I don't even want to mention the rest.
Nightlife was not worth it at all. We went to a couple of bars which were not full of disgusting middle-aged wealthy tourists and where the door-killers didn't ask us for ID. That's when we started to speculate with the idea of Miles going back to London fairly soon and me going on traveling. Miles was tired of traveling, missed a few things in London (red buses, black cabs, friends, family, even work!) and was even more broke than me.
We talked about how and when and what could happen and what if and so on. The decision would be made in San Fran.