All good things must come to an end

From my little perch in a 10th floor apartment I try to absorb enough of the Waikiki view to last me a lifetime. Well that might be a little overdramatic seeing that I will surely return to Hawaii some day, but with my current finances in mind I think it is prudent to assume it will be a while before my return to surfing glory. The view from where I am sitting really is spectacular, lapis blue sea and lightly swaying palmtrees as far a the eye can see, but Waikiki and I will probabaly never really get along. Too many highrises, plastic replicas of Hawaiian artifacts, and way way too many tourists. That might sound a little hollow considering that I myself am a visitor to the Islands, but Id like to consider myself Kama'aina (meaning welcome resident or long term visitor). The next time I visit though I think id prefer to reside on one of the other islands. Maui which we visited this past week was amazing in many ways, and especially the North Shore towns of Paia and Hana had the local vibe that spells Hawaii to me. No rush, friendly attitudes and most importantly room to move and live. It didnt hurt that the best kitebeaches in the world are located nearby, and that one can get to ride one of the gnarliest waves in the world, Jaws, if one should suddenly develop suicidal tendencies. As most of you have probably guessed I would definitely choose the North Shore if I was ever to live on Oahu again. Still bugs me that I never got to kitesurf Mokuleia on the North Shore, but at least I got to see polo up there which is almost as cool. Not. Sitting hunched over my laptop the question of how best to spend the last days in paradise does present itself. I struggle to come up with anything really good, but I can proudly say I got up at 630 this morning and had a pretty good surfsession at Waikiki beach for the first time. Im hoping therell be wind tomorrow so I can get in one last tropical kitesession before its back to the muddy waters of Amager. I am however looking forward to the briliant Scandinavian winds! Tonight I will drink brightly colored cocktails because this i Waikiki after all, and then I will begin to look forward to my 36 hour flight back home. Aloha!

A celebration of evil globalized monopoly

Today, heavily hungover, I decided to feast in all the wrongs America has to offer. So the girls and I went to "hang out" at the Barns and Noble/Starbucks franchise conspiracy at Ala Moana Center. Two of the very evilest franchises the world has seen, joined forces to steal even more of your attention, time and money. And oh does it work. In this particular coffeeshop/bookstore you can tak any book or magazine on the shelf (and mind you ive never seen as many copies of either anywhere) and read for as long as you want while consuming endless amounts of much too cheap due to monopoly coffee. They have every magazine avaliable here, and regardless of your fetish youll should be well pleased. Its porn for the wannabe intellectual is what it is. At the Satrbucks counter I recieved service from a tiny trasvestite lady who insisted that my name was "Miss". Which resulted in a conversation along the lines of: "Here's our coffee miss" - "oh thank you miss" - "oh your welcome miss". Probably only funny at the time. Now the only thing left to decide is which of the books within reach I will preview: Windows 7 secrets or Skintight by Susan Andersen...

The return of the urbanized Hawaiian

It's been a while I know. And much has happened since the last posting. Most significantly I have abandoned the country life in Kailua, and setteled into a Pent House in buzzing Waikiki. Gone is the serene mornings, and clean country air and in its stead I find an ever pulsating nightlife and fastfood in all shape and sizes. Did i trade down? Well in most ways I probably did, but then again its hard to complain when you wake up to a glorious mountainview from the 22 floor, and start every morning out by taking a dip in the pool on the 6th floor. The Waikiki life is in many ways the antithesis to the quite village that is Kailua. Our building is "secure" meaning that you need a central key to do any and all things. The elevator does not go up or down without it and you cant access the pool. This means that you personally have to go down and pick up all guests, which I suppose is kinda good hostmanship, but very annoying nonetheless. The Waikiki surfing is not bad but crowded as hell, which is a shame as I have all the time in the world on my hands with exams being over and all. The exams were quite stressful but as far as I can gather I am now unoficially a straight A student. Consider this a preliminary notice though, as the final results are still pending. Tomorrow Christian and I are headed to the infamous West-shore of Oahu where the locals allegedly beat you up if you are a white boy. Were hoping the rumors of the local un-aloha behaviour turn out to be wrong... Ill let you know.

Why one crazy landlady in the house is worse than two on the roof

So my landlady lost it. During the last couple of days I have been indited with a wide range of different house-crimes amongst those are the theft of my next door roomie's shampoo, and having entertained illigal company. More specifically my old and dear friend Flemming slept over one night because we were going camping in the morning. The young man next door ratted me out to the landlady and the shit hit the fan. A house meeting was called because the indian-jewish spirits of the house had been disturbed by the unrest. This last part is purely speculation by the way. I call it as I see it you know? So now im F'ed in the A basically, because my pride prevents me from staying much longer in the asylum I have called home for the last 3 months, and it is not easy getting a place to stay for a month and a half without paying an arm and a leg. But hey, at least camping was fun.

We went to the North Shore and set up camp. We found a nice little private camping site called Friends of Malei Kahana (I finally managed to memorize the name, but still cant get the hang of the spelling though). We arrived and it seemed we had gotten the perfect spot. No one around to complain about the noice and inappropriate behaviour and the beach only a stone's throw away. We went kitesurfing for about an hour and when we returned at whole frekin platoon of the Boy Scouts were setting up camp next to ours. When an actual platoon of army guys decided to visit our camp later in the evening I had a nagging notion that we might not be welcome the following day. But what the hell: Seize the Day, no?

It turned out we didnt get kicked out at all. Not one complaint. Very tolerant or very deaf people. Rent of the trip was spent surfing and boozing making it a pretty perfect weekend.

Booze cruise and beyond

Sam arrived not to long ago and since he touched down things have taken a turn for the worse. Heavy drinking has been the order of the day and my previous brand of clean Hawaiian living has been tainted. Will it ever be the same I wonder? Not to say that it hasn't been fun. This friday Flemming, Sam and myself decided to join the teenage tourist delinquents in Waikiki on the notorius booze cruise. The booze cruise is a short 1,5 hour journey on a catamaran equipped with a abundant bar. It costs 20 dollars and then the world is your oyster for the duration of the trip. Of course we missed the cruise by 10 minutes and had to watch the mothership of boozing take of without us. We have already booked tickets for next week. That trip we will most likely also miss. It takes more than a missed opportunity to knock us out however and we quickly re-organized and sat down at the nearest sea side bar. Its the first time ive been doing some Waikiki mainstream drinking and its certainly an experience. Its like driniking in the 80ties. After that we went to first friday downtown and did the boogie. The Honolulu nightlife is actually pretty happening when you figure out where to go. We ended up in what I assume is Honolulu's answer to Copenhagen's McKluud: Golden Gate Pub. We shot some pool with what appeared to be some local homeless people, and we shot some shots with each other. Much to my regret it turned out to be very difficult to find a decent kebab to finish of the evening, so we had to go for hotdogs!?! An unworthy ending to an otherwise epic night.

In case of an emergency the exits are located...

I jumped out of an airplane this saturday. A stupid thing to do some would say. Was there something wrong with the plane? some would want to know. Well actually there just might have been something wrong with the plane. It looked like prop from a 2. world war movie, except for the fact that it was covered in doodles apparently made by a kindergarten class. The padding inside the plane was hanging from the walls and ceilings, and the seats were very uncomfortable. In many ways it was a plane that suggested jumping as the safer option to landing. As the plane ascended to its destination at 16000 feet, we, the passengers, got the most amazing view of the North Shore of Oahu where the tiny skydiving airfield was located. Mountain ranges streched as far as the eye could see and the Hawaiian shoreline never looked more inviting. Unfortunately scenery like that makes you comtemplate how stupid you are to voluntarily be risking your life by jumping out of a resonably safe aircraft. On the other hand you know that your mind in bound to fuck with you, and try to persuade that little baby of a man living within you to abandon this idiotic notion that man were ever meant to fly without motorized assistance. So you tell the little voice to nutt up or shut up, and contrary to what you might expect it worked. What really helped me overcome my fear og jumping was the fact that the tiny red haired guy in front of me was obviously much more scared than I was. I mean this dude was pissing his pants. You can pretty much always pick out the really nervous guy by identifying the white knuckles that come with holding on to your seat way to hard. Also his very very quiet demeanour was a good clue. When someone that scared is sitting right next to you, it sort of takes the pressure of your shoulders. Hell I look like a regular daredevil compared to this guy. "Ha ha. Hey everybody come see how scared this pussy is." When they open the door at 16000 feet it IS freakin scary though. I was last out of the plane, and my instructor didnt see it prudent to stop at the door before jumping like everyone else. He just ran us straight from our seats and out the door, threw us into a backflip and it was ON! Sickest feeling ever. Two thumps up. Highly reccomended.

Why it's harder to go backwards than forwards

Glorious springbreak is upon us. No homework for an entire week, means time to finally do something meaningful with my time. Pretty much everyone else has fled the island to visit either family on the mainland og some of the other Hawaiian islands that are supposed to be much more beautiful than Oahu. I have no money so Oahu will have to do for me. The beautiful thing is that Oahu seems a lot "lighter" now that everyone has left as Devon from my sustainability class put it. The beaches are less crowded, the lineup has room for even chumps like me and traffic congestion seems a little less prevalent than normal. I have been surfing like a crazy motherbiatch during the week, and gotten a little better. A have also sprained both my albows and seem to be pouring water out of my skull on a constant basis but it's all good! Mike has taught me how to do the turtle roll where you flip over and use the bottom of the board as a shield against the biggest waves. This particular technique appararently causes the "water coming out of your head syndrome". I have no surf pictures yet but I do have a shot of the surf-ready Buick. Sweet!



The title of this posting refers to a bit of community work that I have had time to do this week. Along with an American Kailua-girl named Becky and a french Kailua-girl named Cloe I went to do work on a ancient Hawaiian Heiau (meaning temple). To get to the site we hade to go through a cement quarry, and the site itself lay right under the H-3 highway. This slightly parculiar coincidence is due to the fact the the temple was discovered during the construction of the highway. The city council wanted to build on top of the ancient ruins but some locals chose to oppose the decision by camping out under the construction site for 3 (!) years. Eventually it was decided to run the H-3 just next to the ruins rather than through them. Our particular job for the day was to clear the road leading to the temple because a funeral service was to be held there during the weekend. The old caretaker of the ground had just passed away and his dying whish was to be buried in the temple of his forfathers. So we did prison work basically, stading in a long line clearing bushes and rocks off the road. The grandson of the caretaker worked along side of us so everyone was happy to help. In the end we ate lunch a the temple site, and got a tour of the grounds which was lush with Papaya, Coconut, Avocado, Chili, Sugarcane and whatnot. I have never seen that sort of abundance in my life. The site is home to both the male and female heiau. Back in the day the women hung out in their temple (there was different places for playing, workig and giving birth) and the men fought and chilled in their penthouse heiau from which they could keep an eye on the women down below. Both temples are almost completely destroyed though and the restoration is going to take many year to complete if it ever happens. The people working on the highway ruined the remnants of the temples in a matter of months and it's gonna take forever to rebuild. Sometimes it really is a lot easier to move forwards than to go backwards.

In the pictures you can see our tourguide, Lelei (I think it was...), the grandson of the deceased caretaker.

Offshore property rights

When you first go out surfing you think: "Wauw the open ocean. Here every man is his own master and no one is gonna tell me what to do!" And then you learn how the world works. Mike, Flemming and I went surfing at Diamond Head the other day. It's a pretty mellow surf spot, and there is not real danger apart from the occational reef here and there. I went out on my longboard, Flemming brought his boogie board and Mike was on his much shorter 7 foot board. This particular board distribution meant that I got my ass handed to my on the way out, because I can't get under the waves with my supertanker of a board, while the boys just dove under the waves and got out real easy. I was pretty hammered when we reached the lineup on the far side of the reef, and took a long breather before engaging the waves. Which by this point were getting pretty big. Now once you line up for a wave, you have to know where the wave is coming, how fast it is and how big it is. Then you start paddling as if your life depended on it. You have to reach a certain speed before the waves catches up with you. Otherwise it's gonna either pass under you, or just slam you. For once I caught the first wave I went for and I quickly realised that it was in fact quite big. You can usually tell how big the wave is by how vertical you're going. And I was going pretty vertical by my standards. I managed to stay on the board however and sat in a hunched position to keep my balance. The wave took me almost all the way to the shore, and I was stoked that I had caught a wave that big. I merrily paddled back out to the line up, where I expect to be met with applause and cheering. In stead I run into the local guy who curses me out: "What the fuck you doin, huh? Its the second fucking time you steal my wave. Get back it man. Get the fuck back in." The guy is pissed. Now there is a golden rule in surfing that dictates that you have to get of the wave if someone cathches it before you do. But I'll let you in on a little secret. It's freakin impossible to keep an eye on all the other surfers in the lineup, while concentrating on getting on a wave without getting slammed. The dude curses me out for about 10 mins while I profusely apologize. In the end I tell him to accept the apology or get out of my face, and that seems to appeace him a little bit. Learned one lesson that day: People are just as territorial on the ocean as they are back on land.

Just driving along minding my own business.

Driving is easy. Really. I thought it would be much harder. It is especially easy in the US where you don't have to worry about some manual transmission making it all needlessly difficult. You got two pedals, one to make the car go forward, and one to make it stop again. Seems logical. In Denmark it would seem nuts to go on the freeway within the first hour of driving (ever), but in Hawaii that's just the way we roll. Feeling very safe with my mentor Flemming sitting next to me I took the wheel and drove the Golden Lightning up to the Northshore, and back down to Kailua on the freeway. Driving to the Northshore is quite easy as there is one very long two lane road that takes you all the way. I did fiddle around with a bit of backing up into traffic in Haleiwa, but still very manageble. The tricky thing seems to be to get some feeling of how big the car actually is. When you are in a Buick and a Hummer comes towards you (it happens all the time over here), you start to wonder: "How wide is this road? Was it really made to accomodate to tractor-size cars approaching each other?" So I end up in the very right portion of the lane quite a lot. It is equally tricky to stop yourself from turning in the direction you are looking. When looking over my shoulder, as ay good driver does when turning or changing lanes I inadvertantly turn the car in the same direction, which caused a bit of trouble. And a bit of panic on the part of my co-driver. Well we made it back alive and hopefully I shall soon be ready to face my biggest driving challenge so far: The Hawaiian drivers test!

What are the odds?

...that I would ever take a statistics class? Very freakin' slim I would have said not to long ago. But here I sit 12 hours after my first statistics exam wondering how that went. Answer is; Not to well probably. But in this case passing in itself must be considered a great succes. The class in question is COM 6070 and this is my story:
Actually the full name for the course is Quantitative methods in Communication and when I enrolled for it I honestly thought that qualitative studies had more to them that just doing statistics. Apparently they do not. I have been sitting for two months now crunching number in a program I don't understand (SPSS 17 anyone?) and getting result I can't read: "Unstandardized Coefficients: B = 6.847 Std. Error = 1.004" anyone? This relates to a popular analysis called a regression in which we try to predict future behaviour. But i'm getting ahead of myself. The major problem with this course, apart from the fact that its mindnumbingly boring, is that is normally requires two pre-requisites. One that introduces the student to the study of statistics and one that introduces the student to SPSS 17. As I have had neither I am royally screwed. This fact dawned on me quite quickly, because it felt as if I had missed quite a few classes even at the very first lecture (those of you who remember "Sproglig analyse" will know how I felt). People were cheerily conversing about Chi-Square functions and the difference between independent samples T-tests and dependent samples T-tests. And I said: Ok ok the professor can't hear you right now so give it a rest!. And i've been lost ever since. But did I give up? No sirreeebob! I purchased "Statistics for people who (think they) hate statistics" (SHS) and started reading. This amounted to pissing on a wildfire however, and so I secretly developed a tactic that would get me through this devious course. SHS has little guides after each chapter explaining how to compute data, regardsless of how well you understand the input and output. So this entire midterm I have crunched numbers I don't really understand and given answers I don't know how to enterpret. I am like a little baby mimicking the behaviour of the adults. I now write things like: "And the exact probability that a t-score of -2.449 was obtained by chance is .022 = very unlikely." Odds of passing are relatively slim I predict with my new found understanding of probability... Thank god I have found a new and even more lowbrow statistics book:

Sustainable blogging

Maybe its time I wrote a little bit about school. "But school is boring!" you say? Why yes it is, but its also very enlightening at times, and today I shall attempt to share just a little bit of the educational process I have undergone in the last 2 months with you dear readers. My favorite course at HPU, and the only reason I im not pissed beyond belief that I have to study so hard, is Ecological Economics and Sustainable Developement (EESD). I think I have mentioned this earlier but now, two days before the dreaded midterm, I feel like I finally know the course well enough to explain why I like it so much. Reason nr. 1: Its economics. "Well THATS not a very good reason" you say? Normally I would agree, but the interesting thing about approaching ecology and sustainability through economics is that you get to share the economist's (who rule the world!) point of view. And more importantly you learn how to argue within their frame of reference, and possibly even win the argument. Put shortly the main difference between classical economics and ecological economics is that The Classics do not recognize the environment as having any impact on the economy. Resources are abundant and forever, and if they run out we shall simply invent a technology that gaps the lack of said resources. Also The Classics have no opinion of equity of distribution, which Ecological does. As I mentioned its very interesting to become familiar with the terminology of the economists, but so far I must say that Ecological Economics carry a rather suspicious resemblance to Socialism og at least Social Liberalism (as i think Venstre coined the term back home). I'm sure we simply havn't gotten to the section of the textbook where someone explains to me how rampant liberalism and sustainable development can live happily together ever after... The other awesome thing about EESD is that we get to do Public Affairs. I know I have mentioned this earlier but I just think it demonstrates purpose on the side of the lecturer to run a course on Ecological Economics and combine it with some practical hands-on experience with the PA and PR aspects that we are most likely to be working with in real life. I'm doing a policy memo on geo thermal energy in Kenya (thank you Iben) for next time. Who would have thought?



Until next time: Keep it green y'all! (Oh and don't drive Buicks. Its bad for the environment)

PS. If you are reading the Humu-blog why not become a subscriber "or "fast læser" as the danish term is? I love when I can see if anyone is actually reading the damn thing ;-)

The American dream is wrapped in tan leather

I can assure you straight away; This wont be a dirty post. I apologize to those of you who were looking forward to finally getting som American dirt under your fingernails. The title of this posting was inspired by my first ride as a car owner yesterday. Technically its my boy Flemming who ownes the car but later this week my name will be on the certificate. I shall assume ownership of the mighty American Buick because my superior age gives us access to cheaper insurance. And because the Buick is mine, MINE you hear? We bought the Buick of an US army dude living in the massive military base in Kaneohe. The base is basically a town in itself. It has a Safeway supermarket, two bars (in which plenty of post-traumatic-stress-fist-fighting takes place apparently), and a huge private beach with some of the best surf on the east shore. The guy seemed on the level, although he did have "fight holes" in the walls of his appartment, and two "trained? waddayamean trained?" pitbulls runing around the premises. We were a little concerned because we got the car way to cheap, and when Flemming called me yesterday and said "we didnt get of to such a good start..." I got really worried. Turned out the fuel-line burst the second the car left the base. Fortunately it turned out the guy actually WAS on the level, and came out and fixed the line straight away. Nice. After that Flemmning and I drove around Kailua for a while, reflecting on the similarities between a golden Buick Century with leather interior, and the good ol' United States. Theres someting about the way a Buick is built and the way it drives thats undeniably American. Its pointlessly big. Not so much on the inside as on the outside. So they had to put a massive engine in it. Not that that makes it move very fast, but it does make for a very big car with a very big engine. Just because they can you know? It sails rather than drives. It is the very embodiment of cruising. This car is about comfort and bigness at the expence of practicality and reason. And when you couple that with full tan leather interior that makes the inside of the car seem more like a living room in the Playboy Mansion that a car cabin I feel confident that we are dealing with a significant statement about America. Im not sure exactly what the statement is, but im getting there.

Until next time: Wrrrrrooommm (7 km på literen, suk)

Its a bird, its a plane, its a Buick!

There has been yet another dramatic development in my persuit of motorized transportation. After prolonged consideration I have decided that its unpatriotic to drive a scooter. Its drives 50 miles a gallon, it only has two wheels. And even worse: Its sofisticated. Its just not american. Therefore I have decided to invest a vehicle that truly represents America and the american dream: A gold colored Buick Century from 1998. Here we have a car every american senior citizen would be proud to drive onto a golf course. And its just does not get any more american than that. But actually it was never my decision. The Vespa and Buick decided the issue among themselves: Check it out:

The China Town manifest

Sometimes it seems as if Hawaii was only developed to accommodate tourism. Which is not so strange beacuse it basically was. But I just cant help but wonder; Where did people live before the seventies? Every structure in south Oahu seems to ave been erected in the golden age of Hawaiian tourism and possess about as much charm and soul as a slab of concrete. In Europa every major city has an 'old town' district with some sort of history to it. Untill recently I simply assumed that all housing in Hawaii was erected after the sixties, and before that people lived in tiki huts and tents. Then I stumbled upon the China Town district, and behold, it would seem as if this little corner of town was actually founded pre mass-tourism. The buildings look like something out of an old Louisiana district, and you can almost imagine an old schoool western shoot out to have taken place here once. Im sure it never did, as the wild west was no where near this far west, but you know what I mean.





The China Town district is home to the usual range of weird asian shops and minimarts that sell crappy suveniers, cheap pirated DVDs and exotic food. Hate gifts basically. I sometimes wonder if the asian themselves shop here, or they leave that to the stupid tourists who think theyve found a little bit of Asia in America.








China Town however is also home to some of the trendier bars and clubs in Honolulu. This seems to be the place to go if you are not in the market for the particular brand of "young-fun-extra-power-all-night-long-banana-boat"-partying that Waikiki has to offer. People here wear tight jeans, mac books and fancy hair. Usually that gets old pretty quick, but in this case its actually a welcome change. Sis, Emma and I went to a bar called Manifest and were pretty surpiced to notice that this bar might as well have been situated in Berlin or Copenhagen for that matter. Nice to know when you have snobby european guest. I could have done without the tribal-logo myself, but apart from that it was a pretty damn cool little bar.

The great tzunami hoax of 2010

As you have no doubt realised by now the Hawaiian "tzunami" of this saturday was in fact nothing more than a clever publicity stunt thought up by the good people of the Hawaiian tourist association. How do I know this? Well first of there was no tzunami now was there? I quote from the newsbroadcast during the time the alleged tzunami struck: "Oh I think I see the water receding. Yes yes im sure there was more water before. Something is definitely going on here. Oh wait the water is back. Ladies and gentlemen; We have just witnessed a tzunami striking the shore of Oahu." Ok some might argue that they did see a tzunami, all though I sure did not. I do however have more compelling proof of the great tzuami hoax. The day after the great tzunami we came back to Waikiki, still heavily traumatized, only to discover that most of the shops were already selling "I survived the tzunami of 2010" T-shirts! Now if this is not evidence to my theory I dont know what is.




On the day of the tzunami the danger felt pretty eminent, since there was no way of knowing the devious ways of the people of the Hawaiian tourist association. We simply had to assume that the threat was real. This gave me an opportunity to make some interesting observations on the way different people handle the prospect of danger. Being the scientist that I am I shall devide my observed specimens into three groups:

1) The ridiculously panicky: I am ashamed to say that the little ragtag band of survivors that I was with on the day falls into this category. We fled from the 15th floor (!!!) at 2.30 a night (8 hours before the earliest possible tzunami impact) into the hills where we spent the better part of 14 hours sleeping on the ground. We were safe as shit no doubt, but behaving like you are in a Roland Emmerich film is just not very cool.

2) The sensible: One of my friends packed his lunch and some water and headed up Diamond Head mountain 1 hour before the alleged tzunami struck. From the top he watched as nothing happned while he ate his sandwich and went back down.

3) The heroicly calm: A guy named Chris from my sustainablility class was very hungover and slept the day away in his first floor appartment by the waterfront. That guy is my hero.

Until next time: Dont trust the media!

The tzunami OR How i learned to stop worrying and love the wave

As I write these words a tzunami just struck Oahu and I am dining in the middle of the jungle next to my dear sister and roughly 700 asians. Why you ask? Because Hawaii recieved the dreaded Tzunami warning after the massive Chile Quake hit, and we fled to the hills at 3 o clock at night. A long and perilous journey has brought us to a strange restaurant in the middle of Manoa Valley Jungle surrounded by a massive flok of asians behaving in a culturally unfamiliar manner. We suspect they might be evacuees from one of the big Waikiki hotels, and are forced to spend their saturday morning in the middle of the jungle with us. It could be worse though as the restaurant/building we are sitting in also serves as the location of Lost. When we arrived this very very early morning the crew was still dissembeling the set and driving exotic plants and gear arund the premises. The cages that held some of the leading characters in the second season can be seen just below the mens room (and in these pictures).



A lady gives regular updates, on what we assume to be the status of the tzunami, but as all information is devulged in Japanese we have no real way of knowing. At present the Tzunami is assumed to be aoround 2 meters, but you will probably all know the actual size by the time you read this. A large portion of our Japanese friends have gathered in the room next door and seem to be either loudly celebrating the end of the world or warming up to an epic karaoke fest. Its all a bit surreal to be frank and I am about as confused as I am knackered. On top of eveything they just raised the price of the dinner buffet to 14 dollars. Special tzunami price for you... Bastards!




In this last picture you can see the locals gathering supplies at 7/11 at 3 in the morning. Bad day for Hawaii, good day for 7/11!

McLovin in da house

We’re back on track! The American Dream rolls on like an 18 wheeler running downhill with no brakes. I went to the DMV and aced my test after promising the tiny asian bureaucrat that I had studied fiercely this time around. I didnt get a single question wrong. Dont ask me how I knew how many rear view mirrors a car with a trailer has to have though. After the completion of the test I could tell how proud my little asian surrogate mother was, and knowing her affection for me I was worried to notice a glimmer of pity in her eyes. What was this? The doll sized rasin faced lady asked me to wait in the cashiers line and wait for my name to be called. The line was completely static for half an hour, and I slowely started to grasp why the TV-show Reaper has chosen the DMV as the earthly portal to hell. I love that show for some reason. Partly due to the fact that I am at heart a simple joe, and partly beacuse Ray Wise is the best cast devil EVER. And bear in mind that I have seen the devil played by Tom Waits in The imaginarium of Dr. Parnassus. Well anyways after another 35 min. wait the man behind the counter called out ”Nelsher” and because this is a better than average pronounciation of my name in America I knew instantly he meant me. Now I am the proud owner of a Hawaiian drivers permit. I was so proud I could cry. Untill it turned out that I need to take the motorcycle test as well before I can drive my scooter. Bastards! Im going to take the test the day after tomorrow (yes Emmerich you freak there will be a day after tomorrow), and be on the road before the weekend. I hope.

Kokua, chill out and enjoy life.

It seems that the place to learn about Hawaiian culture and way of life is on The North Shore. So the sister, Emma her friend and I packed our stuff in our newly rented Toyota Corolla ("uhhh, the accelerator dont get stuck to often on these ones...") and headed north. Hawaiian culture is all about showing "aloha" and "kokua". Now "aloha" is commonly used to describe pretty much any kind of welcoming or friendly gesture. It also doubles for hello and goodbye. Kokua is a bit more tricky to define. The automated voice on the bus says "Please kokua, give room to the elderly and disabled". Roughly translated this comes to "Please; "extend loving, sacrificial help to others for their benefit, not for personal gain..." give room to the elderly and disabled". (If you click the link it will take you to another blog concerned with Hawaiian culture and language). As the quote suggests "aloha" and "kokua" actually comes closer to discribing a way of life rather than just being terms for good behaviour. Sadly in the hands of american cultural imperialism these words are reduced to tourist friendly quasi-authentic fully-bullshit catch frases meant to make your stay more unique. Of course it has just the opposite effect. This rather long digression was leading one way; North. It seems to me anyways that the North Shore is the place to go to experience the aloha lifestyle. Here money matters less, people are not primarily concerned with selling you something and you give the right of way to others. Except when surfing. Here you just get a punch in the face if someone else wants the wave you are on: "You try to take another mans wave brah?" and BANG!. To the locals waves are like women apparently. Need less to say its difficult to convey the feeling of the North Shore in text, but I did find this sign in the local Coffee Gallery that might get us some of the way:




Every other café in Hawaii has one primary concern: Dont get sued! And so the signs there read: "We accept no responsibility for lost children, in fact we shall ignore them to prevent an damage or injury..." and so forth. Everything on the North Shore seems a little worn down as well. Which is probably why people arent so concerned with protecting their property. On our way home we had shrimp at the most famours shrimp place on The North Shore: Giovannis. As you can tell by the pictures its been a while since the good people of the Michelin Guide came by, but the shrimp was awesome! Big nasty garlicky bastards. And the place was definitely something else. Check it out:




Until next time: Please kokua.

Acquaintances made on Thebus

You know how they say that every stranger is merely a friend you havn't met yet? And you know how thats complete bullshit? Most strangers are either complete a-holes, or simply people you wouldnt get along with anyway. Thing in Hawaii, though, is that people talk to you on the street or on Thebus whether you want them to or not. In Denmark you get the impression that its more or less considered a capital crime to talk to the person next to you on the bus. Just look straight ahead and be quiet. That way you wont bother anyone, and you wont be bothered. In Hawaii the person next to you on the bus almost always greets you with a "howsit?" (Which im pretty sure means "how is it?" meaning "How is it going?" - people usually seem content with the answer "fine thanks" so im sticking to my interpretation for now) and you always end up talking to some stranger. As mentioned above this is not always a blessing. People are weird. End of story. But from time to time you really do get to meet really interesting people you almost certainly would not otherwise have run into.

This sunday as I was heading for my Kokohead-hike, I ran into a guy who traveled across the states from farm to farm to learn organic farming first hand. He didnt bring any money so he simply contacted a near by farm of interest, and worked as long as it took him to understand their system, and make enough money for the next flight. This time however he had worked for an ex-marine turned farmer in Waimanalo, and hadnt much liked it. So he was moving on with no plan and no money. He was however very eager to talk about what he had learned. The ex-marine ran an aquaponics farm, which basically consists of a closed system of water and plants that you perpetuately enrich and clean in order to produce zero-waste and food. The system requires power but apart from that is clean. Absurdely Hawaii imports incredible amounts of fruit and vegetables. Meat for instance is much cheaper overhere than bananas. Bananas are grown in large amounts in Hawaii, but most of them are exported, so they have to import fresh ones from the mainland to meet demand... This is the way it has always been, and therefore this absurd system is still in operation. The organic farmers of Hawaii cant sell their products because they cant compete with the GMO fruit (genetically modified organisms) coming from the mainland. Furtunately the organic Hawaiian farmer are organizing, and trying to get a political voice. Job opportunity? Quite possibly.

When the hell is the train coming?

One of the unforseen consequences of hawaiian lifestyle is that it slowly turns you into a outdoor-person. You know one of those people who insist on wearing hiking boots and Fjällräven clothing even though they are just going to the grocery store. If you confront them with their silly choise of clothing, they cheerily answer; "Always be prepared my boy, always be prepared" whilst giving you the boyscout salute. Now I still wear my flip flops to the grocery store, which I suppose indicates im not yet a true convert, but it obvious im heading straight for hippiedom. No two ways about it. This weekend my outdoor-fix came in the shape of the Kokohead trail close to Hawaii Kai. The trail is an old railway that used to bring supplies to the outlook bunker on top of the Kokohead mountain. The view is truly impressive, and you almost dont regret going all the way up. The bunker used to serve as an American lookout designed to give first warning if the Japanese attacked. Turns out though that when the Japanese actually did come knocking, they came from THE OTHER side of the island and went completely undetected. Sneaky bastards.The good thing about the Kokohead trail is that it is very compact. 1042 steps I think it is. Its insanely steep though, and really just kicks your ass if youre not in shape. One of the Americans by the name of Owen earned my eternal respect by climbing the mountain hungover out of his mind. He spilled his guts 9 times on the way up, and went straight to sleep as we reached the summit. Just before he passed out he looked down the rails and whispered: "When the hell is the train coming?".






After hiking back down we went to the legendary Sandy Beach. Sandy is very popular among both tourists and locals. The tourists love it because of its wide and white sands. The locals love it beacause of its killer beach surf. The waves at Sandy are huge, and they break right on the shore meaning you'll get catapulted straight into the ground from 3 meters up. No water, no mercy. Quite a few people have broken their necks on the Sandy surf. Soon as I went in I noticed that the underwater currents at Sandy are no joke. When they want to go out you are coming with them and vice verca. The game then consists of catching a wave with your body, much as you would do with a surfboard, and then "bodysurfing" the wave into the tube. I tried and it felt like being in a tumble dryer for 30 seconds. You have no idea whats up and down, and I was real happy that I had my arms straightened as I came tumbeling head first into the sand. The pictures unfortunately dont do the surf justice, but take my word for it. It was scary.