The last time Alan and I were in Hawaii was on our honeymoon fifteen years ago. Back then, at the launches of our new romance, we had the crazy idea to spend some time in a paradise camp. It wasn’t a terrible idea, and we certainly got to see some of the islands most spectacular attractions from scratch. However, we didn’t quite do it in the slums; we still had enough sense to rent a car, although I do remember some hairy moments at the car rental place when they asked for our hotel address. It took some serious negotiations and an outpouring of tears for the 2,000-star hotel in Weimea Canyon to pass the test.

Now we were descending out of a flawless blue sky with our children Adam, Erica and Alfie getting their first excited look at what would be our tropical sanctuary for the next week.
Having little trouble with our direction this time around, it wasn’t long before we were heading to our hotel in Waikiki in our extremely comfortable rental Chevy Tahoe LTZ with leis of flowers around our necks and Lau hooked on our hearts. Of course, it didn’t hurt that the hotel was conveniently located at the intersection of seventh heaven and cloud nine.

This was actually our first time in Honolulu, having opted for the smaller islands of Kauai and Maui on our previous visit. We were in our bathing suits before you could say Papahnaumokukea, and the next thing Alan and I were drinking mai tais on Waikiki beach while our hyperactive pup discharged her batteries in the unbelievably turquoise ocean. There is nothing wrong with this image, let me say without fear of contradiction. Especially considering it was mid-December and we were unlikely to be in dire need of ice picks, snow tires, or balaclavas.

By the time the gloriously warm night rolled around, we had taken leisure to new levels and single-handedly redefined what relaxation meant. With the kids in a coma from their repeated attempts to imitate the relentless movement of the Energizer bunny, we were left alone and found ourselves reacquainting ourselves with the ghosts of honeymoons past.

The next morning, after a breakfast fit for Hawaiian royalty, we jumped into the Tahoe. With the mesmerizing sounds of the Kelele Brothers and their lulling ukuleles blaring from the sublime Bose premium audio system, we headed to shore on a sacred mission to pay homage to Hawaii’s surf gods on the North Shore. I admit that the last characterization is entirely my own. Not yet true believers, my two older sons were most impressed to find out that their favorite TV show LOST is filmed on the North Shore, while little Alfie was delighted to find out that this area was the inspiration for the beach. fictional character in the animated classic, Surf’s Up.

While we did our fair share of exploring in our perfect week, including a trip to spectacular Diamond Head, a shopping expedition in Honolulu, and a visit to Pearl Harbor, for the most part it was simply a case of eat, sleep, swim. , relax – repeat at will. When we handed over the keys to our trusty Chevrolet Tahoe and boarded the plane to our winter wonderland in St. Paul, we were staunch devotees of the Hawaiian lifestyle and truly grateful to have spent a week in one of the world’s most unique places. Destinations