Hawaii: The lei of the land...
As far as Interstates go, H3 is the most memorable I've seen so far. It follows its way up a lush, verdant valley until it reaches the eastern range of Oahu, point at which it juts into a tunnel with an entryway worthy of a 1960s science fiction movie. The other side of the interstate hangs onto the side of the range that separates the windward side of the island from the rest of Oahu and gives it a completely different climate. It ends in and area of the island called Kailua. Dylan describes it as a commuter suburb, but it is unlike any suburb I've ever seen. It looks very much like the small towns that dot the countryside in Costa Rica and Colombia. In fact, all that I saw of the state reminds me a lot of the places in which I grew up.
Southish of Kailua lies Waimanalo, inspiration for a semi-famous Hawaiian melody, Waimanalo Blues. The town lies along an expansive stretch of a white sandy beach, lapped, sometimes angrily, by the cold Pacific ocean. Local ordinances, which require that people be half-Hawaiian in order to own property in
Waimanalo, seem to have prevented the building of the hotels and resorts that the authors of Waimanalo Blues feared would destroy its unique charm. Amongst other sources of fame, it also boasts of the McDonald's where Clinton stopped twice on two different Hawaii tours. Waimanalo is, without a question, my favorite part of Oahu.
Dylan grew up, and his parents live, in the southeasternmost corner of the island, in a section called Hawaii Kai. They own a very cozy, chalet-style house on the side of the southermost hill of Kalama Valley, with a view of the ocean where it meets Sandy Beach, a wave-intensive piece of waterfront frequented mostly by locals and daredevil tourists. On clear days, we could see Moloka'i and Maui from the Williams' second-story balcony.