I am somewhere that, clearly, lots of people want to be. President Obama is eating dinner down the street, the streets are full of tourists in loud shirts, there is a lot of happiness out there. I hate it.
Waikiki, on the island of Oahu, is a magnet for tourists, yet is entirely artificial, with every hint of native Hawaiian beaten out of it. It is as though the gods of the Hawaiian people have decided upon a revenge for the sufferings of their people, the loss of sovereignty and freedom, by inflicting such a place upon Americans.
That's a pity, really, as the rest of the island is rather nice. We've explored a little, discovering small coastal communities that are far less scarred by mass tourism, some incredible scenery and we're rather taken by downtown Honolulu.
Waikiki, on the other hand, is packed with tall, characterless hotel blocks, restaurants that seem to believe that quantity will overcome a lack of quality, and more tacky faux-Hawaiiana than you can shake a stick at.
Tomorrow, we leave, in the hope of something better. Wish us luck...
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