Before I get started showing you this last batch of Hawaii pictures, let's pour out a little of our aperitivi for Gourmet Magazine. It was announced today that after 68 years the mag will be ceasing publication with the November issue. LAME. I love Gourmet! Most insulting is the fact that Bon Appetit will live on, stumbling into the future with its gross gimmicky pictures and boring recipes. Poot.
And now, here's a rundown of my last few hours in Hawaii, which were, holy crap, almost a month ago. Oops. I REALLY need to get better at this realtime blogging if I have any hope of doing it when we take our big round the world trip.
After visiting the Pu'uhonua, our next stop was the southernmost point in the 50 United States. Because I'm a geography dork who always insists we visit places like the confluence of the Ohio and Mississippi rivers.
The southernmost point, called Ka Lae, is at the tip of a dry, windswept plain populated by rusting windmills and scrubby bushes blown completely sideways by the relentless blasts. These windmills are part of an array that was shut down in 2006 to make way for newer models that sit nearby.
The drive from the main road to the tip is several miles, and it's on a pretty narrow blacktop. There's a parking lot at the end, but if you're in a 4-wheel drive vehicle, you can pull almost up to the southern end of the United States. The edge is made up of some fairly intimidating cliffs.
There are these odd wooden structures set up hanging over the precipice. I'm not sure what their original purpose was, but some people were using them to dive into the water many feet below. It's a little hard to see in this shot, but there's a slippery metal ladder for jumpers to scramble back up.
I'm pretty sure Logan was moments from jumping. Lucky for me, the lack of a swimsuit held him back.
There were fishermen cliff-fishing, too! You can see a pair of them in this picture, next to their pickup truck on the left side of the frame.
What next but to have a drink at the southernmost bar in the US? It's a few miles back north of Ka Lae in the town of Na'alehu. The menu proudly proclaims Shaka's location as 19 degrees, 3 minutes, 35.7 seconds north and 155 degrees, 35 minutes, 19.9 seconds west. In case you're curious. Logan had a mai tai and, because we were peckish and the place had NO appetizers, we split a giant basket of fries and immediately regretted it. Tasty, but we had no idea where that whole basket went...
Unfortunately, it was time to get me back up to Kailua-Kona, because I had an overnight flight back to the mainland to catch. I was still kind of wanting a good green papaya salad, since the som tam at Royal Siam in Hilo really, really hadn't cut it. So we ended up at this restaurant named either Bangkok House or Bangkok Houses, depending on which of their menus or identifying information or online presence you believe.
We ordered some pretty good fried spring rolls,
that som tam that I really wanted, which was better than the one at Royal Siam, but still oddly vinegary (hey, at least this one had different textures going on),
and a gingery fish stirfry. This was really nice on my slightly upset stomach. Ginger is just so good for that.
The meal was fine. Honestly, I wasn't all the focused on it, because I was leaving momentarily and was sort of not happy about that - or at least the leaving Logan behind part of it.
If you want to check it out, Bangkok House(s) is at 75-5626 Kuakini Hwy., in the King Kamehameha Mall. Kailua-Kona. 808.329.7764.
And here's what Urbanspooners have to say about it.
And then, Logan dropped me off at the airport, where we said our goodbyes. At the time, I thought he'd be getting back to Austin within a couple of days, but it turned out to be over a week. Ah, film...
The Kona airport is open air, like a lot of Hawaiian airports, and nicely efficient. It was mostly shut up because of the lateness of my flight, but security still hummed along - i got to go through three separate checkpoints. One was the agriculture check on my checked bag, then the x-ray of my carryons and the shuffle through the metal detector, and then my carryon bag got another look-see in case I was carrying fresh fruit. I wasn't.
We boarded right on time for our overnight flight back to Phoenix. I hated it, but that's mostly because long flights are no fun by yourself and I can almost never sleep on planes. The young, newly married couple sitting next to me was really nice, even offering that I could turn on the overhead light so I could read my book after they saw me trying to read in almost pitch blackness.
No food on the 6 hour flight, unless I wanted a $3 ramen or an $8 snack box. Narrow seats. No seatback entertainment. Not even any terrible overhead movies. Not fun. A guy snored fit to beat the band three rows back, and another newly married couple in the row ahead of me had a pissy, hissing fight while the girl's seat reclined all the way into my lap.
Ah, well. After a plane switch in Phoenix, fueled by a grossly greasy Pizza Hut personal pizza, I got back to Austin and to my house, where I promptly stayed up until 3 the next morning. Bizarre jet lag, that. And repeated thanks to our wonderful friends, who came over daily to check on our little hellion kitties. I can't tell you how much you guys rock.
