Seeing Hawaii on the Cheap

Tamara Woods writes a guest post today.  She is a blogger, poet and writer from Honolulu by way of West Virginia. Her first collection of poetry: The Shaping of an “Angry” Black Woman will be on sale at your favorite ebook seller. She is also the Sex and Relationships Honolulu Examiner and writes her blog PenPaperPad. 

Hawaii is a beautiful place. The people are friendly, the scenery gorgeous and the food is tasty. However, paradise does come with a big price tag. How can you afford to enjoy what Hawaii has to offer on a budget?  I’ll be concentrating on the island I know best, O’ahu, which has the most known tourist spots, Waikiki and Honolulu.

First and foremost: Plan ahead. It may be more adventurous and fun to kind of fly by the seat of your pants, but the island is in the middle of the Pacific, and as such it’s not as easy to get some assistance if you run into a hard spot from family and friends. Try to figure out how much money you can safely spend without being in total debt after the trip. 

Second: Lodging: Finding a place to stay can break the bank. My suggestion is if you're going to be here for a full week or longer, hotel accommodations outside of Waikiki are best maybe in Ala Moana. You can also stay at a hostel or camp on the beach. Remember it’s not legal to camp on every beach. Check out the Honolulu Camping site first. You can sign up for a camping site for free. You sign up for the camping spot two weeks in advance at 5 pm Hawaii Standard Time. You have to be quick to get a site. There's a description of the area, and accessibility is pretty easy. Either beaches or more in the mountains, which is where I like to camp when I'm missing home a bit and want to be around more trees. This service and camping is free. Remember most places have camping available from Wednesday to Sunday, so you have to make other arrangements for the rest of the week.

Couch surfing is also a possibility, but as with anything else involving strangers, be careful and use your best judgment. Couchsurfing.org is the best spot to go about it.   

Third: Yelp is your best friend. You can find out where all the good cheap eats are, hiking, even where to buy stuff. Also, sign up for Groupon and LivingSocial to get deals on things to do. And of course, there’s Meetup.com where you can find some group activities for the week you’ll be around. I’ve been living here for a few years, and I still use these methods to find cheap things to do and places to eat. 

Fourth: Traveling around the island. Many people walk to places, especially in the Waikiki, Honolulu area. Things are near to your fingers. Another good one is using TheBus system. It’s $1.50 one way and you can get a transfer ticket to use on the way back. If you have a SmartPhone, Google Maps will give you specific details on getting from point A to point B. 

FYI: If you want to travel from island to island, you can’t just boat. You have to fly, which is an added expense. 

You can definitely enjoy what Hawaii has to offer on a budget with a little planning and creativity. Aloha!

Thanks Tamara for the travel tips!  Check out her blog PenPaperPad. Follow her on Twitter, like her on Facebook or circle her on Google+. 

Ziplining in Peru

 

Since we were always looking for things to do in Peru, our travels on this particular day had taken us to Lunahuana, a quiet little town a few hours south of Lima.  The little pocket of civilization flanked a roaring river, and as a result of this fortuitous location, Lunahuana was also a popular destination for white-water rafting in Peru.

In fact, we had just finished a two hour white water rafting trip through class-four rapids, and had just regrouped at our adventure guide headquarters.

Two ziplines stretched across the raging river, anchored to the huge mountain just across from us.  Our guides offered a longer tour of several hours, but we didn’t have the time today.  Since none of us had been ziplining before, this was an obvious place to start.  Just across the river and back – it couldn’t be that bad.

We paid our money, less than the cost of a few cocktails, and were told to wait near the harnesses, and someone would help us get geared up.

I kept looking around, until I realized that “someone” was an eight-year-old boy who spoke no English.

I’m pretty sure that there should be some sort of law or regulation or something, but I thought back to something our river guide said, as we were rafting:

If someone gets hurt or dies, it’s bad for business.

Okay, so we were going to let the free market decide this one, but honestly, the kid knew what he was doing, and it wasn’t the first time we had gotten ourselves into a ludicrous situation.  Within a few minutes, my whole family was geared up, and we stood in line on the launch platform.

Probably the scariest part was the climb up the cliff on the opposite side.  Steel rungs had been driven into the rocks for a thirty-foot climb to the return platform.

A video is worth a thousand kilobytes:

Read about some of our other adventures, and give them a +1 or a like/share if you enjoyed them:

Train from Lima to Huancayo, the second highest in theworld

Island of sea lions near Paracas, Peru.

Islas Ballestas near Paracas, Peru

In the next chapter of our continuing adventures, our heroes (that’s me, my wife, and two of my daughters) journey out into the sea to visit a great monument built in tribute of fertilizer.

We boarded a van at the hotel, and found ourselves at the waterfront in Paracas, Peru.  A short time later, at a cost of about $22 USD/person, we sped out of the bay, aboard a boat called “Penguino 4.”

For a three hour tour, a three hour tour.

The weather started getting rough, and the tiny ship was tossed…no really, the water was pretty calm, and we sped out into the bay, bound for Islas Ballestas, which is Spanish for, “islands made entirely out of seagull poo.”

After about a half hour on the water, we reached a mystic place called “The Candelabra.”  This is the only geoglyph near Nazca that is visible from the ocean, and while not officially part of the Nazca lines, is said to point to them.  It turns out it's 183 meters long, just like several of the others.  This makes sense, because any aliens flying in over the water would need to know where they should land.  If the Nazca tribe had worn their tin-foil hats, we wouldn’t have nearly the troubles we have now with Congress.  But I digress, there's nothing we can do about it now.

We continued the trip to Gullpoo island, which turned out to be quite a treat.  At any given time, the rocks are covered with thousands of sea lions, all eager to deliver their state-of-the-union addresses to us.  Other wildlife include massive starfish, a few hundred penguins, and a gazillion seagulls.

A few man-made buildings accent the island, since the Peruvians perform some seasonal mining there, the poo so rich in nitrogen that it is used for fertilizer and explosives.

Seeing so many sea lions in their natural habitat was an amazing experience, but even more so was the sound they made.  The island consisted of a number of caves and inlets, and the wailing sound of the animals sounded almost human.  That is, a human possessed by the spirits of an angry sea lion.  I can see, however, how a ship full of sailors, either drunk or dehydrated, sailing into the coves in the fog, might invent all sorts of stories about how the demons of the sea just didn't want them to land there.  Any of them brave enough to do so anyway got mated by an 800-pound sea lion bull, and told even taller tales to their shipmates.  By a taller tale, I mean demons, evil spirits, monsters, or anything else that would explain lots of bruises and loud noises in the fog, but would at no time mention that the sailor was mated by an 800-pound sea lion bull.

After a time, though, we returned to the bay on Penguin 4.  I was really glad that I didn’t have to spend years filming a hokey television series stranded on that island making all my modern conveniences out of bamboo.  Anyway, I hadn’t seen any.

When we returned, we told the van driver to just leave us, since we wanted to wander along the waterfront.  A handful of great traditional restaurants were there, as well as shops selling touristy things.  Since the area was geared more toward the Peruvian tourist, prices were pretty reasonable.  We ate at a seafood place, where I tried fish head soup (I was disappointed, as there weren’t any actually fish heads in it) and we were able to stuff ourselves to the gills with fresh seafood drowned in curry sauce and a few other strange Peruvian flavors.  We spent about $35 USD on the meal, and left enough food on the table to feed an extra person.  It sure beat the meal we had had the day before, courtesy of Paris Hilton.

We spent the rest of the afternoon just wandering the waterfront, enjoying local food and flavor just like we belonged here.  I never once saw Mary Ann or Ginger. 

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Sandboarding Near Paracas, Peru

Sometimes it’s easy to forget that most of the coastal area of Peru is a desert.  

In our quest to get out of the city for a while, we headed south of Lima by bus, to a tourist settlement called “Paracas,” which is a word from the ancient language of the Incas.  It means, “Charge double for everything if your customer is a white guy.”

This applies to hotel rooms and buffet meals, as mentioned in the previous installment, but honestly, the pricing structure of things to do is pretty reasonable, in the case of the below-mentioned activity, about $30 each.

We all piled into a van outside the hotel, where the driver romped on the gas like he had just stolen a family of Americans.  It seemed like none of the other cars on the road were going fast enough for this guy, and no-passing zones here are like…wait, there aren’t any, so I can’t compare them to anything else in some bright flash of literary simile.

After twenty minutes of a thirty minute drive, we arrived at our destination. 

A small building, with a covered pavilion, sat next to a structure which looked like a giant white beehive.  I speculated that a miniature Jabba the Hutt lived inside, and I guessed that he wore a sombrero and only spoke Spanish.  “Que pasa grin goh…ha ha ha haaaa…” 

Out to the horizon was a sea of sand dunes that gave me a flashback of Camp Beuhring, Kuwait, without the camels.  Our van driver handed us goggles, and we strapped ourselves into a dune buggy.  Mr. Fast and Furious climbed into the driver’s seat.  That explained a lot.

Within minutes, we were speeding across the sand, and up and down the dunes.  There was no rhyme or reason to our route, the purpose of which seemed to be only to instill my wife with terror.

“I’m gonna throw up!” yelled my older daughter.

“That’s why you’re in the back!” I answered back.

Finally we came to a stop at the top of one of the taller dunes, the driver shut off the engine, and we disincorporated ourselves from the buggy.

I seized a teaching moment.  “Your great grandma did this about six months ago.  She’s 87.  If she can hack it, so can you.”

“But I’ve got my whole life ahead of me!” answered my teenager.

At that point, personal responsibility went off the chain.  The second part of our activity consisted of riding a sand-board to the bottom of the dune in question.  It’s probably most similar to sledding, except hot, dry, incredibly fast, and with a much greater chance of open fracture.

Which of course meant my youngest and I were all for it, while middle-child and spouse would agree to participate if we didn’t die in our attempt.

After checking to be sure there wasn’t a Sarlacc pit at the bottom, I planted my tush onto this thing and hung on for dear life.  The total distance of the slide was maybe a hundred yards, and a pretty fun ride.

What wasn’t fun was the walk back up the dune in loose sand.  If you have a place like this in your back yard, there’s no reason to waste your money on a Stair-master.

After a few trips down the hill in this manner, the whole family was tired of walking back up.  One more trip down, and the driver would pick us up.

As we climbed back into our buggy for the trip back, I assessed the value of today’s activity.

“Did you guys have fun?” I asked my daughters.

“I’ve got SAND in my teeth,” the older said.

“If that’s the only place you’ve got sand, you’re doing all right.”

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The Beach near Paracas, Peru

I was irritated.

 

My family of four had just sat down to a mediocre buffet lunch at the Hilton DoubleTree in Paracas, Peru.  If their defense, we were all stuffed, read: buffet.  The meal had cost me 132 of my hard earned United States dollars, and did not contain any traceable amounts of puffer fish, caviar, or other expensive raw materials.

I decided to sit down in one of the 30-dollar Chinese-made beach chairs which were free.  Well, they were included in the room price, which wasn’t cheap, either.  At least the heavy beach umbrella shaded me from the equatorial sun as I relaxed.  I don’t see how Paris Hilton could expect me to relax after she just pulled such a grand heist.

That’s when I noticed the red button.

Right there on the shaft of the umbrella, there was a clear plastic housing, which contained an oversized red button.  One would have to raise the plastic cover to press it, so I expected that this was actually the nuclear launch button.

Doesn’t that make sense?  If you were going to hide the button that, when pressed, was sure to bring about flaming Armageddon, wouldn’t you hide it in a place that no one would expect?

Admit it, that is the last thing you would expect on the side of a beach umbrella near a stupidly overpriced hotel on the beach in Paracas, Peru.  This is the logic I used, to determine that this must indeed be it.

So, irritated at having been ripped off for lunch, and knowing there was no way the Republicans were going to win the Presidency, I lifted the cover, anxious to end it all in a great blast of radioactive fire.  So long, world.

Instead, there were three smaller buttons: a diagram of a zombie with a stick, something that looked like a credit card, and a large X.  What could this mean?  Could I really apply for a credit card right here on the beach?

This was confusing - the big "X" inspired hopes that it would bring about global destruction, while the first one was obviously what to push in the event of a zombie apocalypse. I wanted to push this "X" button and wait for the mushroom cloud, but I had the feeling that the only thing that would vaporize would be more of my cash.  It was a brutal marketing technique to sell substandard margaritas.

My youngest daughter was trying to get my attention, she had spotted something near the water while she was wading.

It turned out to be another small scouting force of other-worldly creatures.  The size of dinner plates, a half dozen stingrays lurked in the shallow water. 

“Do you know what the buttons do?”

They didn’t answer.

“Which one of you is in charge?”

Again, silence.  So I picked up a rock and plunked it at one of them.

Lesson learned – never, ever, plunk an invading alien with a rock, especially an armed one. This thing was so fast, it just jerked and moved almost three feet, like a little underwater UFO.  Fortunately, its path was straight forward, so it swam away from me, but I had had enough.  Anything tough enough to kill Steve Irwin was not something I wanted to mess with, and my superior interrogation skills weren’t yielding anything.

I went back to my beach chair to ponder how I would defeat the fascists and the aliens.  Eventually, both would come, and I intended to be ready.


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Pachamanca, Peruvian Cooking Pit

Food entries are essential for travel writing, and Peru is becoming famous for its cuisine.  This is partly due to famous TV chefs like Gaston Acurio, but for centuries, the Quechua have cooked food in pits of stones.

Called Pachamanca (Quechua meaning "Earth pot") this style of cooking would be too labor intensive for a dinner for two, but for a few dozen, it seems to be worth the time.

A pit three feet wide and about as deep, lined with bricks, is used to build a fire -  round stones of black granite are used to cover the coals.  When the stones become hot, about half of them are placed aside, and various cuts of pork and quartered chicken, along with whole potatoes, are placed directly onto the remaining stones.  The rest of the hot rocks are then put back, and they start to char the food right away.

Loading the Pachamanca pit

On this day, our gourmet Quechua chefs covered this hottest layer with little packets - I don't know what else to call them.  The husks of the Choclo (corn, but with giant white kernels) was used as the wrapper for a mash of corn meal and cinnamon, making neat little tamale-like packages of goodness.

The final layer was a giant sack of Lima beans, still in the shells, which completely covered the other layers.  Apparently, the order of the food is important in the process, as the flavors of the searing meat rise to permeate the vegetables, and the juices work their way into the surrounding potatoes. In order to seal in all the flavors, the whole pit was then covered with burlap-like cloth and sealed with heavy brown-paper sacks.  The last few stones held it all down.

Here it is when it's done. Yum!

For those who preferred something other than Pachamanca, there was an abuelita (little grandma) cooking trout on the grill and deep-frying cuy (guinea pig) in a big pot of oil - everything fueled by a wood fire.

The fifty-or-so Peruvians who were waiting for lunch had seen the process before, but they weren't wasting time.  A boisterous game of volleyball was ongoing, as were games of sapo.  Sapo, or "frog" is like Peruvian beer-pong.  Heavy brass tokens are tossed at a specially made box, about the size of a nightstand.  If one of the tokens lands in one of 16 holes in the top of the box, it is worth points.  The greatest number of points is earned if the player can land a token in the mouth of the brass frog bolted to the top of the box.  It seems to be played by all ages, although it looks to be the most fun when alcohol is involved.

Our outdoor "restaurant."  The Pachamanca pit can be seen on the far right near the white chair.

Our hosts started bringing out the Pachamanca about a half-hour later.  We sat on wooden picnic tables under thatch roofs and drank Cusqueña malt beer.  Moments like this are among the perfect ones in life, with a warm sun and gentle breeze, nature's silence broken only by the laughter of people, and some of the best food I have ever tasted.

Sorry, Gaston, you're #2.



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Redneck Diplomat in Huancayo

OR

Our adventure continues in the Suburbs of Huancayo

OR

Read about how we got here, by riding the train from Lima to Huancayo, the second highest in the world.

Because we were so thrilled with his service, I am going to insert a shameless plug here for our guide, IncasdelPeru, who set the whole thing up for us.  They offer train packages, but will tailor a custom tour for your family, native arts and crafts instruction, and even treks through the jungle, depending on what you would like to see in or around Huancayo.  Ask for Lucho.

Aliens Invade near Paracas, Peru

Those of you who are my friends, or who have been following me for a while, know that I love a good adventure almost as much as telling the story that follows.  When I grow up, I want to be the Dos Equis guy.

Over the long weekend, my family and I had decided to head to Paracas, a tiny coastal town about three hours south of Lima.  We looked forward to spending some time on the ocean, but the primary goal was escaping the hustle of the city.

Without a clear plan of activities, we headed straight down to the beach behind the hotel, to walk along and enjoy the ocean.

That was when we discovered the first signs of alien invasion.

A half-dozen orange jellyfish, or malaguas (It means “bad water” in Spanish), were waiting for me just a few feet into the shallow water.  They obviously had some way to communicate with the others, who had told them that I would be coming, and to send reinforcements.  I should clarify that I am not talking about the wispy cute little jellies that you see in the zoo.  These had heads about two feet across, with tentacles between four and six feet long.  This is what the invading force had sent for me.

Part of my obsession with this particular species of alien is my quest for payback.  In late December, when I first tried surfing with my family, I encountered one of these evil beings while paddling out to catch the next wave.  I basically stuck my hand in the middle of the thing, and was stung mildly on the left hand.  It hurt a bit for a few hours, but served to teach me that I didn’t want to get wrapped up in one of these things.

Since one definition of “sense of adventure” is the lack of the ability to leave dangerous stuff alone, I began searching for a stick, and found a piece of plastic pipe about two feet long.  My children and I approached one of the beasts with caution.  The tentacles swirled around it with the current, so timing would be important, I didn’t want to step on one of those.

As the slow, almost invisible wave turned the jelly’s weapons away from us, I stepped forward and poked it with the stick, jumping back immediately, since I wasn’t sure what kind of psychic abilities it might have to sense my location in the water.

It did nothing, so I poked it again, and dragged it a few feet to the very edge of the water, so I could stand on the sand and torment it further.

Still it did nothing, which made me suspicious, and I looked around for signs of reinforcements.  Once it was out of the water a few inches, I poked it again, and even lifted one of the tentacles with my stick, er…I mean my war club.

I had tried to pick it up with said war club, but there were two things that prevented that.  First, the lack of solid structure meant that its body would either not be supported, or it might tear.  These things look exactly like jello that is cooked just a bit too long and has gotten a little rubbery.  Secondly, they are heavy, and you wouldn’t think so, but I estimate this one weighed about 10-12 pounds, more than a full eight-pound jug of milk.

Enter the real villain in this story – a little girl.  She was the child of one of the guests at the hotel, and spoke Spanish and English with equal precision.  Obviously, she was a trained operative.

This little girl walked right up to the alien and almost stepped on it.  I blocked her with my stick, and told her to be careful.  She stepped around my stick and slapped the alien on top of its head.  Splat.

I again to her to be careful and not to touch the tentacles.  She then said something to me in Spanish which I’m pretty sure meant “stop acting like such a little girl.”

She then lifted one of the tentacles with her bare hand, lifting almost to her shoulder height before the weight and the sliminess of it pulled it from her grasp.  She obviously had some kind of peace treaty with the aliens, and this was a trick to get me to touch it.  I looked closely at her eyes - they looked so real.  Their technology was amazing.

“It’s dead.  It can’t sting you if it’s dead, silly.”  (In little girl language, “silly” means “stupid *$#@% idiot.”)

I still don’t know how she knew, but I expect this is all part of a broader conspiracy.  I am sure the aliens will be back for me.

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