We're up at 9, a Tokyo best, mostly because we have to be out of the room by 11. There's something about a deadline that, a la Michael's Law(?), makes you pad out time to leave the room dead on 11 rather than one hour earlier, say. We paid up and left the bags in lockup -- a green net and a numbered tie-line -- and headed out to Shinjuku again so Helen could post her films off. Naturally, I slip my films in on a free ride.
Looking at the map we can shortcut to Shinjuku by taking the JR rather than multiple hops on the metro. All the JR lines are named differently and I start off badly by following the signs for the wrong line. Back on the right line we face a similar set of ticket machines and maps as for the metro. Sadly all in Japanese. We go into the ticket office and get our tickets and some instructions. We smile and say Yes.
Luckily, not only did we get the right platform but it was an express straight through to Shinjuku.
Seven minutes later we're outside the train station in Shinjuku with little clue as to where the FedEx office is. The `location' maps strangely don't feature them. A nice woman in the Takashimaya store gives us a new map and circles our target. Fifteen minutes later we're stood where we walked the other day and descend in to the shopping mall at the foot of one of the towers. Some time later the forms are filled in and goods packed. For some reason you now have to declare what's on your films and how long they run for. Contraband footage, maybe. We would have had some pasta for lunch over the way but for our indecision and the throng of hungry business people. We move on and have some simple fare nearer the station (my `hamburg steak' being a hamburger, despite the picture).
We head back to Ikebukuro and on Helen's suggestion go to the Metropolitan Art Space for the escalator(s). There is a large escalator in the foyer, rising four floors but is that any reason to come over here? No. We head off for the Toyota Amlux showroom, reputedly very large. On the way we stop in a very noisy shop for me to buy some headphones for the plane. The Toyota showroom is indeed very large, with displays from the F1 car to the latest Transit cum people carrier. I was rather taken by the Prado (with all the trimmings) even though you need a rope and tackle to get in. They had about five cars on show with outswinging seats for the eldery, infirm or just plain lazy. Some coming together of the two might be in order. I could go on but suffice it to say there were five floors each with room for nearly twenty cars to sit in and imagine you had some money.
The Amlux showroom is only two minutes from the bus stop but we had to pick up the bags from the hotel fifteen minutes away. The bus costs ¥3000 each and we had roughly ¥1000 so we started trying ATMs. To no avail. Even those claiming to be VISA friendly spat the card back out. Oh dear. I dumped my bags at the bus stop and ran off to find some cash. In a nearby mall I was given two sets of directions to a VISA compatible machine. Finding two in the basement and being rejected by both I headed back to find the bus waiting and Helen a bit on edge. I explained to the bus boy who took me inside to the `business centre' of the adjacent hotel where I explained again to find they only accepted yen and no credit cards. I had some US$ so we went to reception where they appeared to have to ask permission for a non-guest to change money. I handed over US$52 then they panicked [but didn't say what for a short while ] as I was ¥2 short. ¥2 is ¥2 (1p) but the transaction couldn't go ahead without it. I handed it over (¥1 are horrible aluminium things that leave your hands black) got the bus tickets and joined the bus -- they must have assumed I was able to pay as they'd put our bags on -- about five minutes after the nominal departure time. As we walked down the bus some old boy muttered Could do with some apology, been waiting here twenty minutes.
Miserable bastard.
An hour later, at Narita, for the second time with United our flight is nearly an hour earlier than our tickets say and there's no time for a drink or snack before boarding. Especially after the thorough bag search they seem to be invoking for everyone. The United flight isn't too bad, though. I choose to watch The Bourne Identity -- again, I'd forgotten the plot since the Emirates flight -- for which the sound drops out for about 50% of the film. Just my luck. I do manage to gurgle four mini bottles of wine. Thirsty work this flying.
Helen takes some pictures of the dawn before we land in Honolulu at 7am on the 16th, again. 
Following my Dad's advice, we've told Immigration a small untruth about our address in America, choosing a hotel at random from the Lonely Planet guide book. In fact we've no idea what we're [going to be] doing in Hawaii, it's poorly planned (shock) even down to how to get from island to island. We stop for a while to make a plan before deciding that Oahu, the current island, doens't require us to hire a car to get about as there is a good bus service. We reserve a room at a cheap hotel/condo affair and catch the Express bus into Honolulu/Waikiki.
Big Surf isn't a salubrious place but is functional and the old woman running reception seems unsure about us only wanting to stay one night on Oahu. At US$49 for the room this is one of the cheapest places and we don't want to get stuck in a dump and we also don't know what we're doing. We drop the bags and go to Starbucks for a 10:30 coffee to wake up and do some journal writing and trip planning.
Watching the world go by it's reminiscent of New Zealand. It's a pleasantly warm climate, most people in T-shirt and shorts (a bit blowy today), built up down here on the coast with a backdrop -- if we could still see it -- or verdant steep sided hills rising into clouds. It's a lot busier traffic wise, though. Ala Moana is a main drag so we can excuse its six lanes.
We venture out into Waikiki beach via the Hilton Village Resort (a clump of hotel skyscrapers and shops) including an inlet with a yellow finned porcupinefish swimming a couple of feet from the shore. The beach, which runs for maybe a mile to the dominant volcanic crater of Diamond Head, is full at this end increasing to packed at the far end. The only way to move on is to run the gauntlet of the incoming waves. The surf is ordinary here, I think it gets bigger in summer though nothing like the North Shore's famous winter Banzai Pipeline's 20 or 30 foot waves [Hawaiians measure a wave from the back, so double that figure].
We rest in the shade -- I've forgotten my hat and have burnt my head -- before ambling slowly back up the main street in search of a late lunch. Eventually we stop in a sports bar and order a burger and nachos. The barman checks that we're hungry before two huge plates of food appear and we struggle to make a dent. I recall now my parents saying that eating out was good, perhaps too good. The Longboard lager was pretty lousy, though. US$20 all in.
We stop at the room on the way further up the road and 40 winks becomes a couple of hours. Eventually we move on up to the Ala Moana Centre, the largest mall in the Pacific, they tell us proudly. Lots of expensive shops and a food court that closed at nine just as we were looking for something to eat. We head home still without a real plan of how to go forward -- there' sbeen no sign of travel agencies or airline offices.
Big Surf, Waikiki (just), Oahu N21.28672 W157.83966 Elev. -20m (and we're on the fourth floor too!)
29 October 2003 update: For a literal overview take a look at this picture taken from the International Space Station (Image courtesy of Earth Sciences and Image Analysis Laboratory, NASA Johnson Space Center) of Honolulu. If you go down from Bowl in Punch Bowl on the picture to a large rectangular grey/white patch by the ocean, that is the Ala Moana Centre. If you then follow the (not readily visible) road immediately below the Centre to the right, over the canal, the road then slopes down towards the bottom of the picture with larger white blobs (apartment blocks) below the road and smaller ones above, then Big Surf is one of the larger of these blocks above the road before the road hangs a left and heads back up the picture by a large sandy coloured blob, the Hilton Village Resort.
Copyright 2003 Ian Fitchet. All rights reserved.