Hawaii really is paradise — because my son’s there

As much as everyone has always sung its praises and chided me for never going, I’d never really had any desire to go to the tropics. I was sure it was beautiful and moist, but I have seen beauty. Beauty is in the striations of the desert, massive crags of the mountain ranges, in our own coastal bluffs – places I can drive to. But, where my sons go, I visit. Miles once went to Austin, Texas, for a year. Now, Zachary is in Honolulu, Hawaii. I went.

His 23rd birthday was this month, so it offered a good occasion to center the trip around. My traveling buddy, Bambi, decided she should not let me suffer the voyage alone and so was able to join me. Way, way fun. Hawaii — the land of vowels, ink and trash. And homeless.

I realize a city is a city no matter where on earth it is, but Honolulu seemed to have an issue with the last two items. Digging my feet into the white coral sands, I hooked a plastic bottle tab around my big toe. The Banyan trees are one of the most fascinating plants I’ve ever seen — and they were shelter, storage and hiding places for the large number of wayward souls in the city.

How does that happen? On the mainland, some people hitchhike or walk across thousands of miles of territory to one opportunity or another. But this is an island! You can’t walk here! I asked and was told, many may have spent their lives here but have mental illness or fallen on hard times. Others showed up but fell into meth or other problems. Just like everywhere else.

It probably is sacrilegious to focus on the darker side of such a popular, luscious paradise not to mention unfair as there are certainly other areas than the city that were/would be more to my liking (as in, not-a-city). Well, even North Shore, while funkier in overall appearance, was incredibly crowded. But, it all helped me put into perspective this new place to explore.

Being confined to a landmass that takes less time to get around than it takes me to drive to Los Angeles trips me out. And everything there is so expensive. Except gasoline: $2.50 per gallon. Huh.

But unless you are independently wealthy, you either spend all your time working to live or you wind up under a banyan tree. Which, back up in the hills, with mangoes and bananas and all, might not be so bad. I could consider it myself.

What is the point of all this? The point is, here is yet another place that is gorgeous, more-or-less self-supporting, that people fall in love with, bring buckets of money over to overdevelop and exploit (we bought only things “made in Hawaii,” but we questioned how much sweatshop labor was being employed to provide such reasonable prices).

The city traffic (top speed limit is only 45 mph, which I like) never ceases. Out my window there were two little houses surrounded by 20-plus story buildings. Good for them. Hold out. It was just a reminder – I am no longer a city girl.

Lest you think I’m only going to bag on Honolulu, know that I look forward to going back to get into the hills, eating more delicious fruits, learning the new-to-me flora and fauna, to see the other Hawaiian islands, to participate in the activities that make people never want to leave, like snorkeling, and most importantly, to see my son again.

The people here were all extremely friendly and helpful, my son’s friends are all bright and welcoming, and his girlfriend laughs easily and sweetly (they are all natives).

He is happy. That is all that matters. To that end, I love Hawaii.

This story was originally published January 27, 2016 at 11:19 AM with the headline "Hawaii really is paradise — because my son’s there."