Sunday, April 29, 2007
Tropical Fantasy Is Reality
I awoke before dawn to a riot of birdsong. They seemed to be urging me to go outside, to climb a mountain. Stepping out into the darkness, I found myself awash in a sea of wet, heavy air punctuated by fragrant flowering bushes and fig trees that their improbably massive silver boughs outward into the night sky. Oh, yeah. I’m in Hawaii.
I arrived yesterday afternoon, and immediately went back into my miserly tropical tourist mode (it must be that spending so much on airfare affects the fiscal centers in my brain – I’m not this cheap in New York), eschewing the taxis and tourist shuttles for the local bus, just as I am wont to do when arriving in Bangkok. I hiked up to my weekend housing on UH-Manoa campus from downtown Honolulu, and was amazed by my homing sense – I’m staying in the same building where my study abroad sangha lodged on our way home from Japan back in ’99, and I was able to find it without much hassle.
The flora here is as unbelievable as I remember – pretty much every tree or shrub has a beautiful blossom, a crazy seed pod, some killer broad leaves, wildly peeling bark, or some combination thereof. Birds of paradise outside of Burger King, and frangipani petals litter the sidewalks.
For those of you who don’t know, I got a good offer to spend two years pursuing a M.A. in Religion at the University of Hawaii – Manoa. For reasons to be elucidated elsewhere (one of my sixth graders used “elucidate” in her essay about global warming this week [incorrectly, but I appreciate her burgeoning lexicon]), I’ve felt a bit ambivalent about what is undeniably a fantastic opportunity. So I came out for a long weekend to make up my mind. After about eight waking hours on the island, I’m feeling pretty good about it. At this rate, I can’t imagine disliking the faculty (whom I meet tomorrow) to such an extent that I decide to stay in Brooklyn.
One of my reservations about coming here is that, after five years in New York, there wouldn’t be a whole lot of cultural events going on. On the bus ride into town, not only did we pass a $1 movie theater (currently showing 4-5 films that I’ve been wanting to see), but we became waylaid by traffic going into the SPAM Jam, of all things. Anyone who knew my middle school predilection for canned meat would be shocked to know that I did not attend this street festival in honor of Hormel’s tinned ham, but I was a bit weary, my pack was a bit heavy, and the crowd was a bit raucous. I know, I know. I’ll go next year.
Another misconception overturned: being spoiled by the mid-Atlantic beer renaissance, I was figuring that I’d have to basically brew my own to get good beer in the middle of the Pacific Ocean. I was wrong. A bar just off of campus has over a hundred taps, from all over the world, and mugs are three bucks or under. It’s also attached to a sushi bar (where I had ahi poke last night – a kind of Hawaiian teriyaki salad with big chunks of raw tuna – yum) and a decent pizzeria (& I’m a harsh critic when it comes to pizza).
Also, there is a ton of diversity here on campus, to the point where there’s a flyer up in the building in which I’m staying for students to “document” their languages before they disappear (I guess a lot of Pacific Islanders come here), and I overheard a conversation last night where a girl was saying how hard life was for people in her village. You don’t hear that in New York all the time. Plus, as evidence for the Asian population, an entire section of the open-air kitchen on each floor (yes, I said open-air kitchen -- the one on the 12th floor has killer views of Diamond Head and Manoa Valley) is dedicated to rice cookers. Finally, there is a type of gritty urban life here (despite the paradisiacal setting) which I was afraid I would miss – I saw neighborhoods downtown that had people chilling on the corner, with tags sprayed on the walls.
Yeah, I scared the crap out of a mongoose this morning. I haven’t met the faculty, or even been down to the beach yet, but I think I’m moving here.
[Side Note: I realize the title of this post won't mean anything to anyone, but it amuses me, so I guess I should write a footnote with the references. Tropical Fantasy is the name of the ghetto-ass soda / fruit drinks that my students insist on calling "juice" despite the fact that any self-respecting piece of fruit has never been near that bottle (a couple of whorish peices of produce were convinced to pose for the label). Fantasy Is Reality is a Parliament tune that I've never been that into, but it sure is catchy. I've quoted it twice in my last few blogs, which says something about its "stick-in-your-head"ness, but it really breaks up the flow of Motor Booty Affair. END TRANSMISSION.]
I arrived yesterday afternoon, and immediately went back into my miserly tropical tourist mode (it must be that spending so much on airfare affects the fiscal centers in my brain – I’m not this cheap in New York), eschewing the taxis and tourist shuttles for the local bus, just as I am wont to do when arriving in Bangkok. I hiked up to my weekend housing on UH-Manoa campus from downtown Honolulu, and was amazed by my homing sense – I’m staying in the same building where my study abroad sangha lodged on our way home from Japan back in ’99, and I was able to find it without much hassle.
The flora here is as unbelievable as I remember – pretty much every tree or shrub has a beautiful blossom, a crazy seed pod, some killer broad leaves, wildly peeling bark, or some combination thereof. Birds of paradise outside of Burger King, and frangipani petals litter the sidewalks.
For those of you who don’t know, I got a good offer to spend two years pursuing a M.A. in Religion at the University of Hawaii – Manoa. For reasons to be elucidated elsewhere (one of my sixth graders used “elucidate” in her essay about global warming this week [incorrectly, but I appreciate her burgeoning lexicon]), I’ve felt a bit ambivalent about what is undeniably a fantastic opportunity. So I came out for a long weekend to make up my mind. After about eight waking hours on the island, I’m feeling pretty good about it. At this rate, I can’t imagine disliking the faculty (whom I meet tomorrow) to such an extent that I decide to stay in Brooklyn.
One of my reservations about coming here is that, after five years in New York, there wouldn’t be a whole lot of cultural events going on. On the bus ride into town, not only did we pass a $1 movie theater (currently showing 4-5 films that I’ve been wanting to see), but we became waylaid by traffic going into the SPAM Jam, of all things. Anyone who knew my middle school predilection for canned meat would be shocked to know that I did not attend this street festival in honor of Hormel’s tinned ham, but I was a bit weary, my pack was a bit heavy, and the crowd was a bit raucous. I know, I know. I’ll go next year.
Another misconception overturned: being spoiled by the mid-Atlantic beer renaissance, I was figuring that I’d have to basically brew my own to get good beer in the middle of the Pacific Ocean. I was wrong. A bar just off of campus has over a hundred taps, from all over the world, and mugs are three bucks or under. It’s also attached to a sushi bar (where I had ahi poke last night – a kind of Hawaiian teriyaki salad with big chunks of raw tuna – yum) and a decent pizzeria (& I’m a harsh critic when it comes to pizza).
Also, there is a ton of diversity here on campus, to the point where there’s a flyer up in the building in which I’m staying for students to “document” their languages before they disappear (I guess a lot of Pacific Islanders come here), and I overheard a conversation last night where a girl was saying how hard life was for people in her village. You don’t hear that in New York all the time. Plus, as evidence for the Asian population, an entire section of the open-air kitchen on each floor (yes, I said open-air kitchen -- the one on the 12th floor has killer views of Diamond Head and Manoa Valley) is dedicated to rice cookers. Finally, there is a type of gritty urban life here (despite the paradisiacal setting) which I was afraid I would miss – I saw neighborhoods downtown that had people chilling on the corner, with tags sprayed on the walls.
Yeah, I scared the crap out of a mongoose this morning. I haven’t met the faculty, or even been down to the beach yet, but I think I’m moving here.
[Side Note: I realize the title of this post won't mean anything to anyone, but it amuses me, so I guess I should write a footnote with the references. Tropical Fantasy is the name of the ghetto-ass soda / fruit drinks that my students insist on calling "juice" despite the fact that any self-respecting piece of fruit has never been near that bottle (a couple of whorish peices of produce were convinced to pose for the label). Fantasy Is Reality is a Parliament tune that I've never been that into, but it sure is catchy. I've quoted it twice in my last few blogs, which says something about its "stick-in-your-head"ness, but it really breaks up the flow of Motor Booty Affair. END TRANSMISSION.]
