Day 9: Newfound respect for Food Courts!

There are few things that bring me to greater despair than being the captive audience of the food court at a mall. In the United States. The very sight of fast food cash registers and characterless counter tops doling out large portions of terrible food from the likes of Sbarro's, something or the other called 'Peking Wok', the atrocity that is the local 'Taste of India', and wait for it, McDonalds, is just hard on my food-loving soul.

But a food court in India... I'd be happy to buy some property and just settle down in one of those. Observe Exhibit A to the right - the food court at the Inox, Nariman Point. Observe, and weep. For this is what us phoren types are missing. Kabab Company, Bombay Blue, Simply Sizzlers, some place selling Indianized Lebanese food, Swati Snacks. Biryani, bhel puri, gelato. Under one crowded roof. I looked around jealously at the office crowd lunching there - suited I-bankers, traders, clerical staff, my mother!

As I shoveled down a 'Maharaja Chicken Sizzler' and some Bombay Blue chicken, I couldn't help but wonder what it would be like if I worked for say, a McKinsey at their Express Towers office, and walked over to Inox for lunch on a Friday. Now there's a thought. Bunty Mundra, you and your people listening?

This was also my last trip to SICOM, where the mother of mine has worked for 34 years. Or is it 32. After 30 it's just one big, unbelievable number anyway. But yeah, I'll miss visiting her there. So here's a commemorative picture of a financial curiosity she has in her office. Yes, it's a half-bull-half-bear. (I bet South Park would have an outrageous and creative term for this critter).

So, watched a movie at Regal, Colaba after possibly 10 years. Band Baaja Baarat. Strictly average movie. But it wasn't bad. And these days, 'wasn't bad' is the new 'I didn't totally hate myself for spending three hours in there'. But really, not bad. Entertaining. Liked the music. And the girl is cute. Does anyone know if she's single, and reads some of the less popular travel/food blogs, and wouldn't mind terribly moving to Ann Arbor? She can't dance though. Not very well anyway. Not without some dance lessons. Oh, wait, there's another idea.

I don't know how spending Rs. 250-300 on mediocre movies is justified. Rs. 70 at Regal is such a good deal. Also, if you know how I can use the new Rupee symbol in a blog instead of the dorky 'Rs.', let me know?

Day 8: Phoren for lunch, Konkani for dinner

The day started with the mandatory romp to FabIndia, Pali Hill. After the usual cursing about the selection, and expected sticker shock, I came away with one thing. But that's not important. What's important was that Pali Hill, Bandra is still as nice as it used to be. And it's amazing that I still remember all the lanes and shortcuts to get around. Guess that's because it's from a time in my life when I wasn't old and decrepit and didn't need a blog to help me remember fun stuff.

[The term 'phoren return' (pronounced exactly like that) carries with it a certain negative connotation, if only in a joking manner. And that term kinda applies to me. So I will embrace its use.]

A few of us phoren-return (you don't use the more appropriate plural form, because that would be err.. appropriate) met for lunch at a place called Yellow Tree near Pali Naka. Cute place. Phoren-sounding fare. Not really pretentious, which is good.

On the right is grilled rawas. With lemon coriander sauce. Not bad at all. Two things clearly stood out though: a guava juice mocktail, and grilled garlic prawns. If you go here, get both. Don't leave Yellow Tree without them. Here's a shot of Varun clearly delighted by the guava thingie. Chilli powder and spices in the mix, salt on the rim, refreshing guava flavour. Hits. The. Spot.

Of course, such a meal needed to be followed up by a cutting chai at a regulation filthy, roadside chai ki dukaan with Ryan and Chhab (who was  clearly too phoren to drink some), so we made that happen.

Dinner time? Konkan Kinaara with the mother. For those who have never been to a Konkani place and had the thali, you should take a minute of silence at your laptops, and repent. Seriously guys, especially if you've lived in Bombay. Make it happen.
Most places serve thalis (these aren't the unlimited kind, btw) that follow the format:
-Meat of choice in curry
-A wati (read: cute stainless steel bowl) of the same curry, sans meat
-Sol kadhi (what I will ask for as my last wish if I were to ever face a firing squad)
-Choice of chapati or wade (To order chapati instead of wade is to fail. Unless you know you have arterial blockage, in which case, you should not be reading anything I write)
-Rice

Here's my philosophy for ordering thalis at Konkani/Malwani restaurants in Bombay:
Fish thali - Will have the spiciest gravy (too spicy for most aliens), but the best meat
Mutton thali - Will have the best, most flavorful gravy, but the meat will be.. alright
Chicken thali - Will have milder gravy, and the meat will be.. why the HELL would you order chicken when there's fish and mutton and prawn and crab on offer? What were you thinking! Some people...
Crab thali - Curry falls between the muttony stuff and fishy stuff. Crab meat is clearly the best, but I'd rather have what my momma makes at home.
I recommend getting some kind of fish thali (fried or curried), but asking for a wati of mutton curry instead of spare fish curry, and getting wadas instead of chapati (order extras). And order up one or two extra watis of sol kadhi anyway, because, puns aside, it will quench your soul.

Day 5: Tibb's Frankie, Apoorva and Goregoan??

When the world is about to end and humanity is voting pairs of things onto an ark (this is one among several random end-of-world scenarios that I imagine up), I would urge you all to save one thing in particular: Tibbs Frankie.

When you start with a roti base that is already ensconced in egg, fill it up with with raw red onion, masala and tava chicken goodness, and then liberally apply amchur, you get.. divinity. Shivaji Park Tibbs Frankie is about as close as I've gotten to a religious experience. Your mileage may vary.

The Bearded One & I found our tava chicken frankies quite delightful.

Little known fact: (Until you Google it, that is) Tibbs was started by a certain Amarjit Singh Tibb, inspired by Lebanese food. Really?

Day 4: Newspapers, really bad wine, and Shivaji Park poker?

The following is HEAVILY paraphrased for umm.. brevity. Yeah, brevity. Let's go with that.
Ajay: "Tim! I'm back. What's cooking?"
Tim: "There's jive dancing at Bandra gymkhana, and is arranging a Big Band"
Ajay: "Live music and dancing with a bunch of Bandra macs on Christmas night? DONE!"

Unfortunately, it remained undone. Later that night we found out it was a ticketed event. And like anything popular in Bombay, it was impossible to get into at the last moment without some serious pull. And I don't even have light pull. Never mind.

Quick side note. Newspapers with chaha. Lots of 'em. I hope this never changes.

Packed agenda today. Romp around Kabootar Khana and Kirtikar market with the Mamma. I had ganneka ras (Sugarcane juice. Sigh. Ya'll better learn Hindi. You know who you are. Get on it right away. Don't make me type more than I already do?).. anyway, ganneka ka ras at a place that had NO flies. ZERO. None. I don't even know they did it. Sugarcane -> flies. That's nature. But there you have it, flie-less.

Hit up a place called Ivy in Worli. I wanted to try some more locally produced wine. See.. don't go there. The wine is by Indage. And it's no good for anything except a heavy buzz. The Shiraz we picked breathed like it was busy turning into acetone mid-consumption. On a phone call in the interim, the Bearded One chastizes me for even trying. Indage = bad he says. Sula > Indage he says. What's wrong with me, he says. Okay. Fine. I won't do it again. (I really won't)

Short stint at Worli seaface. If there is peace to be found amidst the crowd, there it is. Vies with parts of Bandra for my favourite spot in Bombay. So far on this trip, it's winning.

Met the gang over paani puri, shev batata puri, phenomenal chocolate cake, and some entirely forgettable Goan port wine at BuntyHetal's. Bunty - please throw that stuff out. Hetal - if there were any pictures of your lovely paani puri, could you please send them my way? I owe some people on Facebook a blow-by-blow documentary of "stuff I ate". And I realize now that's more work than I had imagined.

Day 3: Bombay breeze

Coming back to Bombay can feel as alien as it can feel familiar. You don't know what to expect - from the city, or from yourself. I can spend two years away, believing (and at times, rueing) that I'm not as connected to Bombay as I once was. And then I even start supposing it's true.

But all it takes is three days back in Bombay, a couple of rounds around a crowded Shivaji Park, and the feel of the familiar breeze at Worli seaface - for me to realize I that had no idea how I truly felt. And to see, very plainly, that this city has a hold on me that is probably permanent; that in some ways, I will always be more at home here than anywhere else. That I probably still do belong, even if for years at a stretch it feels like I don't.

It's like the air here still owns me.

Freaky.

[We're sure we'll resume being a travel blog tomorrow. Rukaavat ke liye khed hai.]

Day 2: Phoenix Mills, Sardar Pav Bhaji and Chai

So I find myself like I do once every year or two, in the Phoenix Mills mall-o-rama. CRAVING coffee. And not your lame triple-tall-non-fat-shot-of-organic-something-caramel-latte coffee. Nescafe - like those Rs. 10-15 cups of chickory-laden, regular, Indian coffee. But there's none to be found. Why? Because there's McDonalds coffee, and Barista coffee, and Costa coffee. But no regular coffee. And Sahil, you're no help, by the way. No help at all. Put down those Marks and Spencer trousers. You're not going to buy them anyway.

Oh yeah, we did emerge outta there having bought the same shirt. Great shirt, btw. Yes, I do say so. Myself. Yes.

Fast forward an hour or three. Siddharth (henceforth known as The Bearded One) and Lahar pick us up in a cab, and we spend what seems like an hour in a super heated cab, in horrid Bombay traffic, with the blazing hot WINTER Sun shining down upon us. The heat from the taxi's radiator makes it worse for the guy in the front seat. Me. Note. To. Self. Yet again.

Oh. Sardar Pau Bhaji. Done. Amul Butter Assimilation is now complete. Congratulations! You have moved six months closer to a massive myochardial infarction.

Saw a cool part of Bombay near Opera House. Khau galli + Diamond market. A crazy number of Gujju men, young and old, crowding the streets, just talking. Apparently that's what happens around 4pm when the markets closed. Don't recommend going there just to visit. If you do happen to be in the area... still, go see something else.

Dinner at Maami's house. Got to see Paul & Kavita again. Always good to see Maami.

Day 1: Home-cooked awesomeness, and Chinese at Shivaji Park

Mamma-cooked meal. Fish. Prawns. Mutton. Let the eating begin.

Lovely evening with Kavita & Paul (<- That's how their names will look on the wedding cards. Get used to it. Yo Kavita. Where's my wedding invitation, btw?). Gypsy Chinese + Natural's ice cream.

Natural's, I adore you. Besides the usual roasted almond, anjeer (fig, for the English-only types), chikoo and kesar pista, there was jackfruit. Mmmm.

Day ends with Bunty & Hetal showing up under my window. (<- And yes, that is how their names looked on their wedding invitiation). They've been visiting at that window for the better part of a decade. It surprises me each time, and I hope they never stop.

Bombay 2010 - Day 0 - Schipol is so cool

I understand that Europe is more stylish than America. But then you fly through it and you realise just how much! Schipol Airport in Amsterdam is just so cool. All the other airports should go hide behind their mothers out of shame.

An airport library? Gorgeous wood floor area with cool furniture that makes it look like someone's living room? Dutch-style cafe with European breakfast made to order (in front of you) and quality coffee? Schipol you don't have to try so hard. All the other airports are so behind. You should just relax and be beautiful.

Note to self: Delta isn't bad. It's just not good. Do with this information what you will. But that's just how it is.

Day 5: Kayaking for dolphins, Luauing for pigs

What makes a man wake up at 5:35 am while on vacation, head out while it’s still dark and paddle around in the ocean in a kayak even before he’s fully awake? Dolphins. Apparently, right after sunrise is a great time to see dolphins do whatever it is dolphins do – which shall remain a mystery to me, because unfortunately, we didn’t see any dolphins. So long and thanks for all the nothing, dolphins! However, we did see whales. There’s something about a humpback whale spouting off a jet of water a hundred yards from you that sends excitement and joy coursing through you. The ocean swells were higher than usual (often higher than our heads), making it harder to spot and follow the pod. But the sight of those enormous tail flippers swooping elegantly through the air before disappearing under water will remain with me (thanks in no small part to this blog which serves as a crutch for my abysmal memory).

Friday evening was luau time for us – a much-awaited occasion to sample (read: binge upon) vast quantities of island chow. The venue: Royal Kona Resort just off of Ali’I Drive, by the ocean side. Now, the first rule of Luau Club is – there will be lines. A line to get in, a line for the bar, a line for the food. You’ll also notice that there’s usually a way to circumvent at least some of those lines – a prepaid voucher will get you into the place without too much of a wait and having a reserved ‘travel company’ table will probably get you a seat closer to the stage, and perhaps the buffet table. I’m not making this experience sound very appetizing now, am I? Well, it gets better. You see, when you bring together hula/fire dancers + a 130 lbs roast pig + an open bar, it more than makes up for any inconvenience :)

So once the live band picked up the pace and the dancers were on the stage (and SEVERAL mai tais had been imbibed), that luau definitely picked up.

The pig or pua’a is roasted in an underground oven called an ‘imu’ for several hours before the event. The meat is wrapped in banana leaves and chicken wire – the latter seems necessary because at the end of that precious pig’s subterranean simmering, the meat is so tender that it simply falls apart. Best damned pulled pork I’d ever had. Also, I thought the two dudes unearthing the pig were somehow appropriately intense-looking.

The hula dancing was enjoyable. No, there were no hula hoops involved. The dancers depicted tales from Hawaiian and Polynesian history and represented traditions from Samoa, Tahiti and of course, the Hawaiian islands themselves. A word about how good-looking these dancer-folk were. The sight of those chiseled, impeccably sculpted Hawaiian/Samoan men made me want to put down my fork, stop stuffing myself, and see if my gym would let me back in. The sight of the hula dancing women made me want to cancel that last thought and just take one of them home instead. Yeah. Wait. I mentioned there were several mai tais, yeah? Okay, good. The most impressive part of the show however, was its finale – fire dancing. A very gifted chap spinning two torches which were lit at both ends, creating bright blazing circles against the night sky everywhere he moved. Quite impressive.

If I weren’t so incapacitated by my err.. modest dinner, I might have taken some more pictures. Favourite foods:
Poke (po-keh) - Diced cubes of raw, fresh fish (probably ahi), marinated in sesame oil, onions, spices. Surprising and delightful. I miss this already.
Ono fish - finally. Takes on the flavour of the marinade so well. Btw, 'ono' is also the Hawaiian word for 'tasty'. How apropo.
Lomilomi salmon - Diced tomatoes, onions and salmon come together to form something delicious that resembles Maharashtrian koshimbir. Shocking, yeah. But yummy.

What I did not like (Yes, it's true. There are certain food items in this world that I do not love.): Poi. Put simply, this is taro paste. And I do not get the point of it. Feels like industrial adhesive that somehow made its way to a buffet table.

Day 4: Dear Snorkeling. Where the hell have you been all my life?

I’ve never snorkeled before this. Were I to paraphrase my time snorkeling, I’d wind up typing “Ooooh. Aaaah. Look at all the pretty FISHIES” about twenty times; but for the benefit of all my one and a half readers out there, I’ll be a little more descriptive.

Thus far, what I had seen of the ocean floor and fish-life was limited to what the Discovery Channel showed me. I’m a terrible swimmer + I rarely vacation = > I rarely vacation under water. [My logic is flawless].

I assumed that activities such as snorkeling were beyond my ken. So the delight I felt while peering out these (oh so stylish) goggles at the world beneath was considerable.

We snorkeled off of a boat that brought us to Kealakekua Bay – a mile-wide bay blessed with calm waters and ensconced within steep cliff sides. The bay is also home to the Captain Cook Monument, erected to honour the English explorer who ‘discovered’ the Hawaiian islands, befriended the locals, and eventually.. died at their hands. Hmm. Guess that didn’t work out for him. Anyway. Ah yes, snorkeling.

The water is benevolent and warm in this part of the ocean, averaging in the upper seventies, Farhenheit-wise speaking. The visibility under water is great, and there’s plenty of fish to ogle at. Is it just me or does the coral look like giant, underwater cauliflower?

No points for guessing which one of these critters is not native to the Pacific.

Day 3: Hilo Farmers' Market & Waipi'o Valley

Do you know what a Loco Moco is? It is a very tasty stepping stone en route to a heart attack. I suggest you catch a plane to Hawaii and get one. A Loco Moco that is, not a heart attack. The one I got at Café 100 in Hilo town had a grilled mahi mahi steak on a bed of rice, topped with two eggs, gravy and Portuguese sausage. In other words, a perfect vacation breakfast. I’m glad I don’t have regular access to these things in Seattle. I’d be in a lot of trouble.

Through lucky happenstance, that day (Wednesday) was one of two days a week when the local farmers’/handicrafts market puts up. Through another, quirkier happenstance, I also became briefly employed at said farmers’ market – for about 5 minutes. Quite unintentionally of course. So there I was checking out the assortment of tropical fruit at a stand, when the fruit lady disappears behind some boxes and starts rummaging, while still talking to me. I hear “You.. you helping me move boxes.” To which I can only muster a confused “I am??” Apparently, standing around a Hilo fruit stand while feeling up bizarre looking fruit constitutes recruitment. I was a little more surprised by my compliance than her insistence, and I soon found myself hauling a couple of (rather heavy) boxes of papayas to the side of the footpath. My reward, and or payment was a ‘good deal’ – a free helping of longan in addition to the rambutan I was already buying. [These are actual names for fruit. I am not making them up. Take note of the photographic evidence.] I was absolutely delighted by the rambutan – such hilarious looking fruit. Didn’t know whether to eat them or put them under spot lights and sell tickets. Both were similar to lychees really, not bad. Oh, and I’d remiss if I didn’t mention the sublime coconut pudding we picked up. Cold, sweet and coconutty to the extreme. Spectacular.

[Just realized that a lot of my ‘adventuring’ centres quite squarely around food. Not that there’s anything wrong with it!]

Alright. It’s now time to introduce The Road. (That’s what I call it, local’s call it Waipi’o Valley Road). If you get off the North Westerly tip of Highway 19 onto State Road 240, you’ll get to it in a few miles. This almost mile-long road is a 25% grade. 25%. If you’re the kind that doesn’t understand the relevance of that number, let me use some meaningful words instead. It’s like totally, majorly, bodaciously steep. You can 4WD it or walk it. Of course, we walked it. Walking down – not very good for your knees. Walking up – not very good, period. But what that road leads to makes it all worth it. Running out of time here, so I’ll use more pictures than words.

View from the lookout at the top of the road

On the black sand beach down below

A 1450 foot high waterfall is it suddenly appears around a bend down below in the valley

Ridiculous looking spider dude we spent 15 minutes looking at

Day 2: Of papayas, coffee and lava

I left Seattle for Hawaii hankering after a thing called adventure – a vague, possibly unrealistic vision starring volcanoes, rainforests, maps, and flashlights. But god damn it, I wanted it. So Tuesday morning, Brian and I set out on a two-day romp to Volcanoes National Park, Hilo and Waipi’o Valley on the Eastern side of the island.

I am impressed with The Big Island in a way that I have never been with any other piece of land. This place offers an astounding range of topology, climate and vegetation that change drastically in as little as 50 miles. Kailua-Kona on the Western side of the island are sunny and mostly dry. Our route took us across the centre of the top of the island, through terrain that was a cross between a desert, rural California, and what could be the surface of a hot, arid neighbour planet. While the first picture itself may be interesting (old cinder cone in the foreground, shield volcano in the background), it is downright incredible when contrasted with the next one, taken less than 50 miles away, along the Eastern coast of the island. On that side, you see the Hawaii you’ve seen in pictures – a lush, tropical green skirted by blue ocean.

Cruising down Highway 19 we see a sign that says ‘Scenic Route’ and dart left onto a small road closer to the ocean, and a lot closer to the ISLAND. It was here that I met the tastiest papaya of my life - at a little wayside kitchen serving up smoothies, fresh-baked pineapple muffins and fruit straight from the farm. I realise I'm glorifying a freaking papaya, but something tells me it was probably the alphonso of the papaya clan. Also present were some big, burly avocados – the kind you don’t want to come across in a dark alley on your way home from the subway station. All in all, one of the best spur-of-the-moment pit stops I’ve made. The rewards of spontaneity can be oh so sweet.


After checking into a hostel in the Hilo, we headed to Volcanoes National Park. Before I get to the lava (or lack thereof), it would behoove me to record the quote of the day. So here’s the scene: I’m in a tiny bakery slash coffee shop in a small village outside the park, aptly named ‘Volcano’. I spend five indecisive minutes peering at the baked goods and finally order a solitary coffee. “Just coffee?” they ask me (clearly the lady behind the counter felt I should have more to show for those five minutes than a measly cup of coffee). “What goes well with coffee?” I ask. Without batting an eyelid, she says to me, “Life. Everything goes well with coffee.” I guess I don’t have to explain why that moment made me hella happy. I’ll go through thousands of coffee shops in my life, but I’ll always remember that one.

Volcanoes National Park is an amazing place. Nowhere else can one carouse with an active volcano, steam vents, lava tubes, calderas and craters aplenty, and (if you’re lucky) active lava flows. Unfortunately, most of the Crater Rim Road has been closed to the public since an explosion took out an observation platform and parts of the road two years ago. It didn't help that the 470 foot wide active vent was spewing forth copious amounts of poisonous gas. As I stared at the giant hole in the ground, the rising plume seemed to connect the Earth with the overcast skies above. You could be forgiven for imagining the volcano was basically busy manufacturing clouds. Returning to the overlook at Jaggar Museum around 10 pm that night presented an even cooler view. The overcast skies and haze stifled the moonlight, and the only light source was the plume of volcanic smoke, illuminated a bright orange by the lava lake within the vent. It was awe-inspiring to just stand there in the cold still of the night, buffeted by wind, watching the glow change in intensity, reflecting the level of the liquid lava underneath. I guess the awe I felt was because in that moment, I felt like I was privy to the Earth’s living, beating heart. It’s been pounding away since before we showed up, and will continue long after we’re gone. Up there at 4000 feet, on the crest of the world’s most active volcano is a place you won’t find people reaching stupidly for their phones or Nintendo DSes. If you have any sense at all, you’ll just stand and stare, and walk away wondering. Sounds like a sappy thing to say? Yeah well.. perhaps you ought to visit.

Alright. Moving on. While it was still light outside, we had taken a short trek through an old lava tube. Part of it was lighted, bust most of it wasn’t. It felt downright spooky to be walking gingerly down the pitch-black tunnel that had been created by flow after flow of lava, all those years ago. So glad we’d picked up LED flashlights outside Hilo. It was a little daunting to come across piles of rock and rubble, then to look up and see the cavernous recess above me from whence that rocky mass obviously fell. Shudder quotient 8, coolness factor 10. We turned back at the end where the lava tube pinched off. I was little sad to emerge back into the daylight. Our topside is like.. so uncool :)

Apparently, five weeks before we arrived, the surface lava flows had diminished, and had stopped running into the ocean. Disappointeded. But still, driving to the southern end of the island did present a view of the fresh (but sparse) lava that was ponderously moving down the hillside in the distance. These pictures look cooler than what we actually saw out there – long exposure night shots can do that for you :) But still, it was pretty cool.

All in all, a truly memorable day.

Day 1: Hello Kailua-Kona

7:45 am. Apparently, that’s when I wake up while on vacation. Whatever gene people have that lets them sleep in late, I obviously lack. Thought process while waking up: half a second of ‘God no I don’t want to go to work. Ahh this hurts’ followed by ten seconds of revelry because I realized I’m in Hawaii and I DON’T HAVE TO. Muhaha.

The day was spent exploring Kailua-Kona (Read: Walking around on the main drag shopping for the perfect pair of Hawaiian board shorts. Incidentally, it is now Day 3, and I still haven’t found these mythical perfect shorts. Something is so wrong with me). Kailua-Kona is for the lack of a better word, touristy. It’s pretty of course, bathed in sunshine, nuzzled by ocean views and serviced by breeze that clearly knows what it’s doing. But it’s primarily a tourist drag with shops, restaurants, and old couples driving Mustang convertibles. Plus, the Kailua-Kona side doesn’t get as much rain as the rest of the island, so it isn’t as green as one might hope.


Come lunchtime, I was dismayed to find that a great local food joint recommended by my revered guide book had shut down, citing ‘recent economic conditions’ as the cause of their demise. But where one door closes, another opens. Hungry, I turned to Bubba Gump at the recommendation of the Gish family. And I loved it. Yeah I know it’s a chain. But superbly grilled rilled Cajun Mahi Mahi (fresh caught) and shrimp in a spicy, creamy bourbon sauce accompanied by a badass Mai Tai cannot be argued with. All you mightily prejudiced people who write off chain restaurants (where’s that Ajay fellow?), may want to give them a chance once in a while. Who knows, it could be a meal that you’d remember fondly like I did.

Come evening time we headed to Costco for groceries. Yes, Costco. On the island. And I daresay it was the biggest Costco I have ever seen. A Costco to end all Costcos. Groceries aren’t exactly cheap on the island, so tourists and local families alike flock to this warehouse store mecca to do their grocery shopping. Incidentally, the Costco petrol pump (cheapest gas on the island) looked like the entry gates to the New Jersey turnpike. I guess everything’s just bigger on Le Big Island :)

Day 0: Aloha Big Island

The best airport building is no airport building. Until tonight, the nicest airport I had seen was Kathmandu, Nepal, where the airport consisted of one red-brick building, and that was it. You got off the plane, walked across the tarmac, passed through the building, and went home. Simple. Kailua-Kona was even better – a completely open air affair. It wasn’t so much as an airport building as a yard. When I walked through the ‘gate’ I didn’t know whether I had exited the place or was still in it :) Other airports should really learn from Kailua-Kona’s ‘that’s it you’re here, now go do what you what you came here to do’ approach. Dallas-Fortworth, you listening, you big behemoth of a public infrastructure you?

One of my favourite things on this planet is breeze. Beautiful, cooling, gentle breeze. And by breeze I mean the kind that Hawaii has, that Bombay has. Not the ‘it’s 43F and now I’m going to make it colder for you’ kind of breeze that is so abundant in winter in this country. That’s not breeze, that’s wind. Wind equals bad, breeze equals good. Anyway, the point is – Hawaii has gorgeous breeze. First check mark in the “I must immediately move here” column.

Oh and the stars. I haven’t seen this many stars in the sky since.. well, never. I swear it’s like looking at a gigantic, inverted, black-with-spangles granite countertop. Note to self: Everywhere you’ve lived has enough city glow to dim out all but the brightest of them stars – you really ought to live somewhere with zero city glow at least once in your life. All said and done, driving from the airport to Waikoloa village (where we were staying), while looking up at the sky firmly put checkmark #2 in the IMIMH column.

Canadia Ahoy

Thing's I'll remember about my first day in Ottawa
1. Thinking that Ryan Stiles' impression of a young Canadian man on Who's Line Is It Anyway wasn't too far off the mark. God, that airport bus driver just WOULD NOT cease to talk - while driving a 4 tonne bus, at 100 Kmh, in pouring rain, while chatting up three geriatric female passengers who just couldn't get enough of him. Yeah.

2. Seeing a magazine & cigarette store called 'Mags & Fags', and feeling good about being in a country again that doesn't take offence at a British term used the right way.

3. Realizing that the Victorian architecture the Brits left behind in South Bombay looks almost LAME compared to the buildings in Ottawa. The Parliament buildings including the library rotuda looked just spectacular.
4. Seeing an entire marching band with cadets and rifles parading down Elgin St, complete with the fuzzy black hats.