A Lush, Aloha Week Filled with Accounting, Cheese Pies and Chickens

It’s easy to question reality when you’re discussing government contract labor hours at 4:50 a.m. and paddle boarding off Waikiki Beach in the late afternoon. But for a brief window of sunlight and light rain, from January 15th to the 24th, I worked in a tropical office, feet up on the desk at 2 pm. For context, my partner whisked me away to O’ahu to celebrate our two-year anniversary as a wonky couple. The island is home to Honolulu, Pearl Harbor, Waikiki and the infamous North Shore as well as foodie destinations like Dole Plantation and Matsumoto Shave Ice. It was a beautiful week of constant rainbows, mountainous jungles and volcanic beaches, the purplish shadow of Diamondhead rising like an ancient god.

Bringing my company-issued laptop to a dot in the Pacific Ocean was a gamble, especially considering the covid climate and 3 hour time difference to Phoenix (my home base). I boarded that Hawaiian Airlines flight with zero expectations and left a week later feeling fuller, happier and tanner than I had for a while. Going to Hawai’i is definitely a trite experience, a trip most adults experience in their lifetimes. But to me, my spontaneous journey turned into a historical mecca, all while clacking away on Excel in the wee hours of the morning. I wanted to write about this unusual bleep in my timespace fabric for a few reasons - 1) I felt the liberating power of remote work, 2) Hawai’i has a rich, sad history that I wanted to appreciate and explore more deeply, and 3) it was a kismet intersection of friends from college and silly loving.

Working Remotely? Go to Hawai’i

After I returned to Phoenix, I started preaching the gospel that “now is the best time to visit Hawai’i!” to everyone - my co-workers, HelloFresh customer service lady, and the casual bag boy at the grocery store. Because of the pandemic, the Hawaiian government has strict rules on how tourists can enter their state, even for United States residents. Nikhil and I had to get negative covid test results 72 hours before flying out and answer a detailed questionnaire about our medical history, travel plans and Airbnb location.

This barrier to entry was stressful, especially when Nikhil and I were sweating at the Hawaiian Airlines counter because their travel software froze. The friction was 1,000% worth it though - the streets of Waikiki, usually teeming with Terrace House fans, were deserted and we had ample leg room on the flight from San Francisco. Everyone, from the blissed out surfer dudes to the man peddling pineapple by the roadside, had masks strapped to their faces (which was a relief compared to the Phoenix cesspool I had just left). So guys, now is the time to travel to Hawai’i. I’ve traveled a fair amount during covid - from Long Beach to Zion National Forest and San Francisco - but as long as you take public health seriously and wear a mask, you’re okay.

We stayed in a cozy one-bedroom flat in the Hawaiian Monarch, which was half-hotel, half Airbnb units - the Wi-Fi was surprisingly speedy and the only taint was the faint smell of cigarette smoke that wafted around the front door. During the work week, I woke up at 4:50 a.m. like clockwork, logging onto my bright screen with an oily face and sleep stuck to my eyelashes. The worst morning was Thursday, when my co-worker scheduled a meeting to start at 8 a.m. (5 a.m. Hawaiian time) sharp; as a night owl, the time difference was the suckiest part but it wasn’t a deal breaker to enjoying Hawaii. The upsides to waking up at an ungodly hour were just beautiful enough to offset the Playtime iPhone alarm - the sunrises were gorgeous and I usually finished working by 2:30 p.m. Around 7 in the morning, a halo of pink and purple would tinge the horizon, lighting up Diamondhead from within. The sun would appear in a cloudy haze of celestial orange juice and bring warmth to my fingers, my now-washed face. The hours melted by and my brain wasn’t really there, languishing in VBA code - it was under the breaking waves, inside a 7-Eleven gas station sipping on white chocolate macadamia nut coffee. Hawaii was a wet drizzle and long hug, the kind where someone with impossibly firm hands rubs circles onto the small of your back - so comforting, like a heated blanket.

What did I actually accomplish work-wise? A substantial amount of accounting value, but I couldn’t tell you exactly what keys I pushed or what meetings I attended. I remember the afternoon walks on Waikiki shore and drooling over the pesto eggs that Nikhil would cook me at noontime. I also realized that with enough caution and planning (and a stellar partner that’s just as adventurous as I am), I could work from anywhere - Los Angeles, Tokyo, São Paulo, Andhra Pradesh. Remote work is paving the way for another generation of employees, people who crave flexibility and don’t mind missing the water-cooler conversations in Corporate Machine HQ.

Aloha Oe - Until We Meet Again

This latest escapade unlocked a new traveling mindset for me: learn about and research a place before flying there willy-nilly. A few weeks before setting sail, Nikhil bought me Unfamiliar Fishes, which was part essay, part history book that told the story of the Hawaiian islands in a roundabout way. The author was Sarah Vowell, a best-selling writer, former host on This American Life and most bizarrely, the voice of Violet on The Incredibles (man what the?!). A few pages into the chapter-less novel and I was hooked on Sarah’s casual but piercing writing style; she managed to combine fact with a first-person narrative about eating plate lunches at Rainbow Drive-In and “talking story”¹ with local tour guides.

I’m already an unabashed Ancient Roman history buff, so making the leap to the Hawaiian islands wasn’t unprecedented. I’m bewitched by the roots of people and their cultures and how the magnetic forces of history shape individual lives. Hawaii has one hell of a colonial tale that started when the British Captain Cook landed on the Big Island in 1779 and ended with the annexation of a crippled Hawaii to the United States. Unfamiliar Fishes intertwined this big picture story that included the American missionaries, whalers, the demise of the Hawaiian elite, the mass spread of literacy and the creeping influences of American culture with Sarah’s personal experiences. My novel was tattered and highlighted in blue, random bits of paper sticking out like needles in a bookstack.

Besides understanding Hawaii’s (recent) past, I was also able to craft an itinerary of non-touristy places to visit, such as Pu’u o mahuka heiau, Punchbowl Crater, Punahou School, Mission Houses Museum and Iolani Palace. Of course, we had to drop by the USS Arizona monument at Pearl Harbor (an eerie, solemn occasion) and wet our feet in the infamous North Shore waters. On our final day on O’ahu, Nikhil and I hiked the summit of Diamondhead crater and the view was unreal - the ocean fanned out to the horizon and was bluer than the lapis lazuli necklace hanging from my neck. The inside of the actual crater resembled an African Savannah, and we could see the crevices and geography of the whole island.

Maybe Hawaii fooled me, but it seemed so astronomically different than any mainland states - “talking story” was the default, their history was fresh and the natural elements were a fierce breed. Hawaii wasn’t even a state 100 years ago and they were influenced by chieftains/priests and an insular, island way of living for thousands of years before that. My mind wanders to Kamehameha, to the worming missionaries that bestowed literature and god on a population that didn’t ask for either. I think about Kalakaua being swindled by foreigners and drunk in his palace and his heir, Liliuokalani, imprisoned in a golden hell. The lyrics of Aloha Oe², the song composed by Liliuokalani during the American coup, sum up the tragedy perfectly:

Goodbye, goodbye The sweet and gentle one living in the distance One fond embrace I leave Until we meet again

Sucking down a Kona Tall Boy, Heels Dug into Volcanic Sand

I have sweet, happy memories from my week in Hawaii, especially the ones involving my friends who live on the island full-time. My boyfriend and I originally chose to travel to Hawaii for our anniversary because we knew ~six people who were traveling to/lived on the islands in the January-March timeframe. What were the odds?! The two friends we met up with were Chris, a robotics researcher at the University of Hawaii, and Kevin, a software engineer at Google who rented a house (mansion?) on Diamondhead with fellow Googlers. It was jarring seeing these Gainesville pals so completely out of context, but we had an amazing time with them gorging on Korean fried chicken and drinking Kona tall boys on Waikiki beach.

The Saturday before I left, the boys and I had a fabulous day of eating copious amounts of poke, lazing by 15 foot waves and exploring Pu’u o mahuka again. The afternoon began with a tour at the Mission Houses Museum Complex - and our tour guide was “Affable Mike” from Unfamiliar Fishes! Chris had originally recommended the book to Nikhil (who gave it to me), so we were fangirling in the bookshop at our exclusive celebrity tour. Mike was indeed friendly and thorough, giving us a tour that was a dead ringer for the one mentioned in Sarah’s book. Chris and I are both highly excitable people, so our energy was palpable and augmented by the caffeinated chocolate Clif Bars we were chewing on. We picked up Kevin after the tour and barreled down Kamehameha Highway towards North Shore, ending our evening with a boatload of garlic shrimp and a 10 p.m. run to the Target in Kailua.

Is this adulthood? Traveling to random cities throughout the world and drinking seltzers with friends from university? Nikhil and I also spent quality time together and squeezed adventures out of our free afternoons - we paddle boarded, clucked at the chickens littering Kalakaua Avenue, sucked down Ted’s Cheese Pies and ice creams from 7-Eleven and celebrated our anniversary at a fancy Hibachi restaurant. We also ate Zippy’s chili rice in a parking lot and tried to break into the University of Hawaii at Manoa and Punahou (sadly, both unsuccessful attempts in our 808 Smart Car). We are so silly and in love when we’re together, even when we’re fighting on Diamondhead or high on CBD gummies and soaked to the bone.

Hawaii might be a tourist trap for newlyweds and spring breakers, but it’s also a lush oasis of coffee farms and crumbling history during a pandemic. I only spent one week living and working from my perch on Ala Wai boulevard, but I absorbed love and knowledge at alarming rates. I’m flying down Diamondhead crater on my bike again, a few beers jiggling in my backpack as a black night races with us - past Kapiolani Park, past the rain pelting into our hairlines. I’m experiencing excellent poke and shrimp for the first time, my eyes widening as I realize seafood has lied to me my entire life. I’m sneaking around an ancient sacrificial temple way past my bedtime, Nikhil’s hands trailing down my floral dress. Hawai’i, until we meet again. 🌺