Tropical musings

Hawaii.

There is an apostrophe in there somewhere. There are apostrophes in almost every word.
I am staying on a road called Mo’okua street. It is a short street. With two churches. And because one of the churches is “ Seventh Day Adventists” they take the Saturday sabbath and give the Sunday over the “ Hope Christians” who stick with the other Sabbath, Sunday. So it is short street with three churches. There are loads of churches here in this small town of Kailua. Probably another apostrophe.
Lots of reasons why I am here. Most of them are as interesting as deciding whether to take the 4.10 or the 5.20 to Ruislip. So, let’s just say, I’m happily here.
Lots of Americans come on holiday. I understand why. There is a Walgreens and a Wholefoods. There are banks with drive-in tellers. There are many Starbucks and the police cars have blue lights. There are also mangoes hanging high in the trees and papayas sticking out like collars from straight trunks. And most things smell. The hibiscus don’t. They just overwhelm you with colour. But the plumeria and the tuberose whack it to round very corner.
I am on the windward side of the island of Oahu. The side that Barack Obama stays on when he comes here for Christmas. The bay of Kailua. If the ocean wasn’t so constantly moving , I could say that I have swum in the same water in which he he body-surfed. Which would make me related somehow. Which, in these strangest of times, would be comforting somehow.

I am staying with a very old friend who goes to work, so I am leading a silent life. Apart from the “good morning’s “ I throw out to the people I pass on the water’s edge as I walk by, I could be in a nunnery. A nunnery where I cut up the aforementioned mango and papaya for a late breakfast and  wander outside to the lanai ( that’s a deck) in a swimming costume and a sarong. Maybe that’s why there are so many churches here on Mo’Okua Street.

Mangoes hanging , just out of reach.

This morning, After my morning walk and my morning swim, I went on my turquoise bike to the farmers market. The proper farmer’s market. I went to another one on Sunday but I am assured it is now bent toward the tourists with it’s many stands of prepared food and angel jewelry and CBD oils. This farmers market was for just one hour behind the police station. It had six stalls. And the local farmers brought only what they had in their fields. Nothing fancy.
I bought sweet onions, spinach, peas, apple bananas, papaya, mangoes, small peppers, lettuce, aubergine, coriander, lemons, limes and some tropical flowers.

 I carried it all back on my turquoise bike and luckily the cars were very tolerant of my weaving.

The cars behave here a little like trams....when they spot you on the side of the road, they assume you want to cross and they stop.  Traffic jams are three cars in a row. Going fast is over 25 mph.
Warmth allows you to turn off the busy bit of your brain. It lets you put on the same pair of pink striped shorts day after day, let’s you look at clouds long enough to see in which direction they are traveling, allows you to take half an hour to eat a papaya.

When Barack was here for those holidays, I am sure he had a lot of phone calls and e-mails. But, even though we are distantly related by the same ocean waves, my world is very quiet.
I have A.A.Gill to remind me what brilliant writing is. I have Jojoba oil in my hair. And Kiehl’s sunscreen on my skin.

Mangoes, papayas. Waves.....

... that’ll do me.