I got to the North Shore (Pupukea to be precise) having forgotten what uncommercial beaches could be like. Waikiki is entirely man-made (they shipped in loads of sand at some point) and at all times is full of people. It was nice to see this isn’t the case up north.
The North Shore is a total surfer’s haunt, and Pupukea itself is basically a small stretch of road, with 2 parts of the same hostel on it and a supermarket. It is literally steps to the beach though, and the only place to stay near the hella famous Waimea Bay, which is strangely bereft of accommodation.
I’ve got myself own to one meal a day, because its too hot to eat and I’m desperately trying to save some cash (this consists of a mid-day binge usually bookended by 2 ridiculously cheap coffees to start or end my day – not my healthiest eating plan, I’ll admit, but certainly my thriftiest) and have been exploiting the Honolulu Cookie company’s ‘come in and try every flavour’ madness policy to full effect, but by the time I got to the north I was starving.
After an orzo salad, a huge slice of carrot cake and an apple ($12, thank you very much) I headed west, or ‘windward’ in Hawaii speak*, for a walk along the beach to find some good waves and a surf hire shop.
2 hrs of walking face-to-the-burning-sun later, I had covered Shark Cove and Three Tables and reached, passed or failed to find Waimea Bay. I swear to God it was only 3 bus stops prior to where I got off for the hostel, but nowhere seemed to be the world-famous surf spot. In fact, for the most part of the 2 hours I’d been walking along deserted beach ankle-deep in the cold waters.
Let’s just take a second to imagine how soul-shakingly glorious that was. Yes, it was that good.
Anyway, my legs were caning and I’d started to get a bit thirsty, having drained my water bottle with dinner, so I decided to head back up to the road that I thought was running parallel to the beach. Problem is, most of the beach at this point with lined with houses, which is delightful when old people are waving to your from their nulti-million dollar abodes (and every one of them does wave and smile) but it is a bit of a pain when you just want to buy a can of coke. Just in case you ever do find yourself in this situation, don’t freak out that you’re trespassing on private beaches and are soon to be arrested – it’s illegal to deny public access to any part of any Hawaiian coast, which I like a lot.
I eventually found what I thought was a path (after a lovely chat with a 40 year old life guard which somehow ended in my trying to explain both Russell Brand and dubstep to him) but in fact turned out to be an old woman’s garden. I only realized this once I was already in, and she was sat watching me. I’d already committed so I just kept on walking, unbuckled her front gate and kept on walking, but not before I’d found a pager on the lawn and handed it over to her as she incredulously watched me. Smooth, you might think – no, because beyond the house was nothing but a scrap heap and I had to walk back through the garden with her eyes boring through me to get back to the beach.
After half an hour more I was spitting feathers so miraculously got back on to the road and started walking back the way I came. I went down a driveway to what I thought was a drinks stand, but yet again it was just someone’s house. Thankfully this woman was amazing, laughing off my drinks-stand hypothesis and filling up my water bottle from her house.
“It’s perfectly fine to ask some water, honey.”
“Yes Jula, but I am English, and forgot that strangers can be nice”
We had a nice chat, during which, like all Americans I’d met in Hawaii, she asked about my travels and life, including the much-asked quandary “You’re not traveling on your own, are you?!” I’ve been asked this with surprise in Singapore, Malaysia, Australia, New Zealand and America now, and I don’t know whether the surprise is because travelling in mostly Western, mostly English-speaking countries holds many major hazards of which I am unaware, or because I look like a 14 year old who can’t look after herself. Perhaps, as I’ve actually got lost and confused in all those countries listed above, its actually the latter.
*Interestingly enough, this is about the only Hawaii-speak you will actually hear, apart from ‘Aloha’and ‘mahalo’, which are almost anagrams of each other.
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