* * * * *
The following year
though – 1988 – my Honolulu layovers vastly improved. SIA listened to the pilots’ bitching about
their lack of sleep, and moved us to the Ilikai Hotel at 1777 Ala Moana Blvd. A five-star hotel having richly appointed
rooms generally with a panorama of the yachts in the Ala Wai Boat Harbor, and a
better class of clientele. Hence no more
fights or parties; allowing us poor airline pilots a decent night’s rest.
In fact, dear reader, for you TV buffs, it was an Ilikai balcony where actor Jack Lord (playing Detective Captain Steve McGarrett) stood during the opening credits for the original “Hawaii Five-0.”
During the ensuing four
years, I’d do a Honolulu four-day layover once every three months, on average,
and this was the drill:
On arrival, by nine A.M.,
I’d have checked in, showered and changed into casual civvies, and then popped
over to the adjacent Waikikian. This was
a gem of a low rise hotel built in 1956, with an open-air, tropical, tiki-lined
garden that wound its way, down the hotel’s center, between two-story, bamboo
lined, bungalows on each side. This last
vestige of Hawaiian tropical paradise on Waikiki, was sandwiched in
between two concrete, glass and plastic high rise hotels.
The tiki garden path ended at the hotel’s pool, bordered by coconut palms, within sight of the Kahanamoku Lagoon, plus the endless Pacific beyond.
An open-air
restaurant, The Tahitian Lanai, was also located here. And, as was my custom, I’d plop myself down
at a poolside, coconut palm-shaded table. Then start off with a Bloody Mary;
followed by Kona coffee (harvested from the slopes of the Mauna Loa Volcano); climaxing
with the best Eggs Benedict I’ve ever experienced.
And, for a change of pace, sometimes I’d have a short-stack of
macadamia-nut pancakes, topped with coconut syrup, along with a side of
charcoal-burnt bacon. Aloha body!
This was the old Hawaii, dear reader, the one the locals hung-out at. And on Friday nights, they all gathered round a grand piano at the Tiki Bar, and sang all the traditional Hawaiian songs – both in English and Hawaiian.
In the future this will all disappear – being knocked flat and replaced
with condos. I thank the winged, aviator’s
God, I was lucky to have enjoyed the Waikikian before its extinction.
For dinner, I’d usually pop over to the Chart House Waikiki, at the yacht harbor, and order a chilled bottle of Chablis, along with a delicious mahimahi or orange roughy. While I enjoyed a mind-blowing sunset, as the sun’s hot-gold disc sank behind a forest of yachts’ masts.
Afterwards it was
usually off to “Platinum,” an upmarket strip club in downtown. It wasn’t as great as the O’Farrell Theater,
but I must admit it came in as a close second; the dancers were that gorgeous.
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