Puna shows off The Big Island's charms

It’s ironic that “The Big Island” of Hawai’i is perhaps the least known of all the pieces of this archipelago, despite being, in many ways, the most Hawaiian. Most known for its still-active volcanoes, it also has lush rainforests, dramatic beaches and waterfalls, Kona coffee, acres of macadamia nuts and Polynesian culture. People flock to Oahu for the cosmopolitan delights of Honolulu and Waikiki, to Kuai for its landscape, to Maui for its beaches and whale watching. But it’s to The Big Island that I’d be most likely to return if I wanted to “go native”.

This, admittedly, isn’t the perception of just a day’s visit off a cruise ship. Hawai’i was the only one of these islands I’d visited before. I liked the whole feel of the place then, as I do now.

We elected to join a full-day tour organised through the cruise line called “Secrets of Puna”. Conducted by KapohoKine Tours, it did a fine job of giving us a taste of the diversity of the island and introducing us to local guides well versed in the culture. (I also have to give them a big commendation for being so accommodating to people with disabilities, making sure that my wheelchair-reliant mother sat up front, had the chair with her the whole day and got to participate in most of the excursions.)

Puna is a district obligingly close to the port of Hilo, so while we saw a lot we were never in the car for more than 40 minutes at a time. The company runs big 4-wheel drive vehicles with a built in video system for short explanatory films, accommodating up to seven guests at a time in relative comfort. Until you start off-roading on lava fields, over which no suspension can offer much ease.

We started at The Painted Church, a reminder of the influence western missionaries had on this island. The interior’s murals, however, have a distinctive island flavour, with the cast of the stations of the cross appearing as Polynesians, and other paintings dedicated to locals who’d been helped by more culturally sensitive missionaries. Still, there’s an understandable resentment amongst those with native blood toward the Imperialist past and its results, discussed openly and honestly by our guide. Both the native Hawaiian language and culture is experiencing a resurgence, and locals here are seeking many of the same protections that have been granted to Native American Indians. As the Polynesian history is one of the major things that makes these islands so unique, I can only hope that they succeed in maintaining and enriching that heritage.

The most interesting thing at the church, however, was our introduction to Noni, a fruit that grows wild across the island and is considered a bit of a cure-all by the natives. The church is, in fact, just across the street from a Noni refinery, and we saw locals harvesting the fruits (about the size and shape of a small mango) from plants on the roadside. Our guide split one open for us, exposing us to pale flesh and a remarkably awful smell. It’s no wonder that the juice is processed and sold in little sachets, as I can’t imagine anyone actually getting a bite of the fruit under their nose long enough to swallow it.

From there it was down to the coast to walk out onto a lava flow. Less than 20 years old, this particular stretch of black stone had filled in what was once an exquisite little bay. It’s easy to see where the old beach line was; a green margin at the edge of a half moon of dark, glittering moonscape. It was a partly cloudy day and still early, yet all that black rock was heating up like an oven. It wouldn’t have been a survivable walk on a summer’s afternoon. But it’s do-able at this time of year, and our efforts were rewarded by fascinating patterns in the rock (it looks like fudge that’s cooled as it’s been dumped out of a pan), fossils of fish caught in the flow and a dramatic black sand beach on the new coastline.

Next, a drive along the coast, where iron tree and palm forests swept down to beaches and cliffs pretty as any postcard. They were also wonderfully empty. Where other islands seemed dominated by resort hotels and sun-lounger crowded beaches, you get the impression that you could turn up in Hilo, find a nice B&B, rent a car and spend days wandering between ocean vistas you’d have all, or mostly, to yourself. Of course in the inevitable way of the world, the wealthy have discovered this fact and we passed plenty of impressive houses sharing the views. But on the whole, it was a drive of lovely and unspoiled natural beauty.

We stopped for lunch at Puna Girl Farms, a small macadamia nut grower (suppliers to the “Hawaiian Host” brand) with an open-sided dining pavilion on a hilltop with sweeping vistas. We’d transitioned from idyllic, palm-fringed beaches to rolling hills of forests and grasslands. The staff here were delightful and informed, there were copious local products to sample and they laid on a lunch of ribs that could compete with the best the Midwest has to offer. Probably a more satisfying and intimate experience than the Mauna Loa farm tour, the giant producer claiming most tourists. My only complaint? Discovering the next day on Oahu that I’d paid 30% over market price when buying from them directly. So, buyer beware: Purchasing direct at source does not guarantee the best deal here; go to the ubiquitous ABC stores (basically a Hawaiian Woolworths) for the best prices.

The landscape changed once again as we entered Lava Tree State Park, a primeval tropical paradise of ferns, foliage and flowers most of us only know from glass houses in botanical gardens. As magnificent as the foliage is, the real sight here is the collection of casts of trees made by a lava flow more than 200 years ago. Lava cascaded through a forest, surrounding its trees in an instant. Harder woods resisted the heat just long enough for the molten rock to start to solidify around their trunks. Unable to withstand the extreme temperatures, the wood ultimately turns to ash, leaving a cast of the tree behind. Intervening centuries wear down the lava, but peculiarities of the rock leave the lava tree moulds intact. Now they stand as otherworldly stone sentinels in an otherwise lush garden.

Yet another change of scene took us back to lava flows, but this time one of a totally different type of lava that splintered and mounded into sharp, fragmented piles rather than the sensuous candy cascades of the morning. This is where the 4-wheel drives came into their own, bumping us across the lunar landscape to a spectacular cliff above the Pacific. Here, the guides showed us how semi-precious stones could be found in, and picked out of, the lava; in this case, bits of tourmeline that resulted in green beaches elsewhere on the island. Black rock flecked with green, waves of a distinct greenish-blue glimmering under the sun before crashing into white surf against the dark cliffs … a wonderfully dramatic snapshot.

On a hot day, it would have been time for a swim. And that’s just what’s built into the end of the tour in a lagoon behind a breakwater within site of the dock in Hilo. (This is actually the beach signposted from the port and is in easy walking distance … about a mile … if you wanted to not stray far.) Unfortunately, it had never been blazing that day, and by late afternoon the clouds and wind had rolled into Hilo, the rainiest town in the United States.

One brave soul plunged into the rough, chilly surf, but I contented myself with taking pictures of the rolling breakers. I was hoping for gentler, warmer waves ahead. I was disappointed. I was never to find that combination of sun, sand and heat to allow for a peaceful swim. But plenty of other adventures were still to come…

Hawai’i vs. The Caribbean: Pleasant battlegrounds for tropical supremacy

After my fourth cruise, I think I can confidently embrace the word “veteran” when it comes to this style of vacation. It’s still not my personal preference, lacking the local colour and off-the-beaten-track charm I usually seek out. But if you’re catering to older and less agile relatives, or if you’re looking to control costs with a package that includes lodging and food, it’s not a bad option.

The novelty this year is not the cruise (we’re on Princess once again) but the destination: Hawaii. The 14-day journey departs Los Angeles, spending four days crossing the Pacific before reaching America’s distant 50th state. The next four days are spent visiting the chain’s four most popular islands: Hawai’i (aka “the Big Island”), Oahu, Kauai and Maui. Then it’s a four-day crossing back to Mexico, because American shipping regulations mysteriously require a foreign stop (for this cruise, at Ensenada) before returning to Los Angeles on day 14. It’s quite a different experience, in many ways, from the Caribbean option. How do they stack up? Let’s look at a side by comparison.

Beaches: As one of the most isolated bits of land on the planet, there’s a lot of ocean for waves to build across before hitting the Hawaiian coast. This generates the surf for which the islands are famous, and it is fun to watch the kids on the boards. The volcanic origin of the land makes a wide range of colours of beaches, from classic pale sand to black or green. Pretty and dramatic. But not great swimming beaches. This is the Pacific, and it’s cold. From almost every Caribbean island you can walk across flour-fine sand into tepid, gentle surf glimmering with various blues, so clear and calm you can often snorkel off the beach. We didn’t see a single beach of this quality in Hawai’i. The Caribbean is the stand out winner here.

Culture: The Caribbean is a microcosm of European culture, filtered by former empires and given a dark edge by a brutal history of slavery. But these days the dominant cultural element seems to be the golden age of piracy, never far from a boat trip, dinner or walking tour near you. Hawai’i has its own distinctly Polynesian culture, which flourished for a thousand years and had about a century of recorded history under local monarchs before commercial pressures saw it sucked into the United States. Today there’s an active movement to resurrect the native culture, from hula and luau to a deep respect for the land very much in tune with modern society. For its uniqueness, rather than being such a derivative of other cultures, a narrow advantage goes to Hawai’i.

Weather: I’m writing this swaddled in a jacket, sheltered behind the ship’s windscreens, looking out at cloudy skies. All four of our days in Hawai’i featured clouds, on two days the skies never turned blue. Hilo, the residents inform tourists with a gentle irony, is the wettest city in the United States. Not even a contest. If you want guaranteed heat and sun, go to the Caribbean.

The locals: Both places depend on tourists for their livelihoods, and the natives work hard to make you feel welcome. But in the Caribbean, as this blog has attested in past entries, it’s not unusual to come across the stroppy girl who can’t be bothered or the gruff local who resents the foreigners. Given issues with drug trafficking, there’s a rough element on some of the islands about which you need to be wary. Hawai’i, on the other hand, could teach the rest of the world how to do tourism. You get the feeling every local wants to hug you, drape a lei around your neck and take you home for a bit of poi and spam. (Of that, more later.) This is a culture that has an extreme esteem for hospitality, and it’s obvious. Not only from the natives. Plenty of white folk … obvious immigrants from the mainland … are chatty and helpful. Every time we appeared to be lost or perplexed, some local popped up to offer advice on buses, the best beaches, where to eat, etc. Hawaiians win, hands down.

The Food: Both fusion cultures, one mixing the tastes of Asia and Polynesia, the other a mélange of Europe and Africa. Both are blessed with a profusion of fresh fruits and seafood. Both have bartenders skilled at creating wicked concoctions with fruit juice, coconut milk and deceptively tasteless alcohol. Although only in Hawai’i are they served in gloriously tacky Tiki god heads. The vast variety of Hawaiian food is impressive, especially if you’re up for sushi, Thai, Chinese or any kind of tropical fruit. (My most exotic foray was a Durian smoothie. This legendary fruit of Southeast Asia smells vile but tastes of creamy vanilla. Not sure I’ll go out of my way to have one again, but exciting to sample.) Classically Hawaiian food is, truth be told, a bit odd. It’s a carb-heavy culture where a “plate lunch” of meat, a scoop of rice and another of macaroni salad is a staple, and Spam is favourite consumed in mass quantities. You’re probably more familiar with the Caribbean staples: red beans and rice, jerked meats, callalou, washed down with a Red Stripe. The Caribbean also has the advantage of growing many of its own spices, most notably cinnamon, nutmeg, pepper and vanilla. I’m a happy omnivore and have to call a tie here.

The music: Little Grass Shack, Aloha Oe and the gentle sound of steel guitar or ukulele are instantly evocative of hula girls, surfing natives and Pacific sunsets. Hawai’i has a lovely, evocative soundtrack that wraps itself around you while you’re here. But once home, where do they feature on the iPod playlist? This stuff just doesn’t have the staying power of Bob Marley, Jimmy Buffett or UB40, all regularly heard beyond their native tropic zone. Advantage Caribbean.

Overall it’s close, but I give the edge to the Caribbean. (That’s probably also influenced by the fact that it’s a lot easier to get to.) Had the weather been better, the scales would have tipped in Hawai’i’s favour. I’m not going to turn down a free trip to either place, but when voting with my own vacation time and money, I’d rather be paddling off Virgin Gorda than Maui.

Hibiscus and Die Fledermaus the highlights of an indulgent week

It was an embarrassment of riches this week as I dined in three fine restaurants, had great seats at the opera, scored a series of successes at work and test drove a Jaguar. This, one can’t help suspecting, is the way life would be all the time if someone quadrupled my salary. The reality, however, was just a lucky intersection of events.

First, the restaurants.

We begin at the Oxo Tower, where I haven’t dined since before Harvey Nichols took over management. The department store folks are famous for their in-store restaurants, and they’ve successfully translated the formula to this Thames-side location. A classy bar with elegant cocktails delivered with precision and the proper chill (not always a given in London), brisk and efficient service and a cosmopolitan menu of classic, Continental cuisine served with a bit of flair. My foie gras starter was excellent, the sea bream on a bed of salsify that followed a light and healthy counterpoint. My French host took control of the wine list and approved of the Sancerre that soon made its way to us.

But the real appeal here is the view. Positioned between Waterloo and Blackfriars Bridges on the South Bank, the Oxo Tower boasts one of the best panoramas in London, enhanced by an outside wall that’s entirely glass. St. Pauls, magnificently illuminated, dominates the scene but is just one of the delights to drink in. There are no deals here and the a la carte menu is pricey. It’s not a place I would go on my own outside of expense accounts unless I wanted to impress a visitor with an iconic London experience. In that case, acknowledge that you’re paying a premium for the view and enjoy.

Next, to the Paternoster Chophouse. This outpost of the Conran empire is a dependable spot for a business lunch close to my office. Even closer is the London stock exchange, thus perhaps no surprise that the menu is unabashedly male. Lots of beef, a pie of the day, roasts of all sorts and traditional puddings. Everything a la carte, and you’ll need to dip into the list for vegetables because nothing comes with anything else. It’s boisterous, functional and expensive. While I enjoy getting taken here on business lunches, it’s not a place I in which would ever spend my own money, as there’s far better value and atmosphere to be had elsewhere.

One of those places being the soul-soothing Hibiscus. French chef Claude Bosi surprised the world when he first set up shop in Lludlow, a picturesque town on the Welsh borders. Make no mistake, while picture-postcard pretty, this is a backwater that hasn’t seen much by way of the world’s attention since Prince Arthur had the misfortune to die young within its castle, ceding his throne (and his new bride) to the younger brother who would become Henry VIII. Bosi turned the Lludlow Hibiscus into a two-Michelin starred phenomenon and triggered a foodie revolution that sparked a variety of gourmet imitators in the town and made it a culinary destination for Londoners looking for variety. The Northwestern Girls … aficionados of food, drink and travel that we are … had always meant to get there for a weekend. But before we got the chance, Bosi decided to move to London, and the Michelin people awarded the new location the same stars as the old.

While not as picturesque, the location just off Regent Street is a lot easier to get to. And thanks to a Top Table deal of four courses plus a glass of champagne for £48.50, falls into the decent value for money category. The dining room is a soothing, quiet haven of neutral tones, enlivened by some exquisite pieces of blown glass initially setting the tables. The staff whisks from table to table with calm and friendly efficiency, always taking the time to explain what you’re eating and where it’s sourced from, leaving you with the impression of a team that really cares about what’s coming out of the kitchen, and whether or not you’ll enjoy it.

The discount deal had us choosing of a very limited menu, but we were satisfied with the cauliflower volute, John Dory and two sweets. Even more satisfied when the promised courses were complemented with little extras. Ironically, it was these we remembered most. The hearty home-made bread studded with raisins, paired with organic Welsh butter light with salt. The amuse bouche of a creamy soup served in an emptied egg shell, thick at the bottom with a tahini paste laced with the flavours of North Africa. And, girls being girls, we were particularly impressed that the chocolates that arrived with our fresh mint tea were provided as a separate plate for each of us. No matter how close your friends, it’s good not to have to share chocolate. We all agreed that we’d happily return here, and we were each mightily tempted by the chef’s seasonal menu at for £70. But that will have to wait for another month, when the bank account is less in need of Top Table deals.

Best value for money of the week, however, must go to a production of Die Fledermaus at the Windsor Royal Theatre. I hadn’t been here for at least a decade, and should be embarrassed by the omission. One of the regional

theatres that often auditions shows contemplating a West End (London) run, it frequently features big

names in both revivals and original drama. It’s also a tiny place, with fewer than 30 rows on the main floor and just one balcony, meaning that you’re practically on top of the action.

The Opera della Luna company gave us a witty, funny and fast-paced reworking of Strauss’ operetta, translated into English and updated to fit easily into the 21^st century. Both acting and voices were strong, and at points I laughed so hard my sides ached. It was a great way to spend a Saturday afternoon. And considering that the most expensive tickets in the house were £30 (as opposed to around £40 for the cheapest seats at the Royal Opera), I felt that I’d uncovered quite a bargain, too.

The Jaguar I’d been driven around in earlier in the weekend couldn’t be called a bargain. Probably not even value for money. But it sure had all the aura you expect of a luxury brand. I snuggled down in the leather seats, noted the elegant design of the dashboard and appreciated the smooth and powerful acceleration of the engine. Given that marketing is my trade, I perhaps appreciated even more the skill of the salesman and the way the whole experience at the dealership reinforced the ideas of sophistication, elegance and traditional Britishness.

I suspect that it will be quite a while before I’m a regular passenger in this car. Just as it will take some time before I rack up three luxury meals in under 48 hours again. But one can dream. If that EuroMillions lottery win ever comes through, I have the consolation of knowing that I will know how to spend it with grace and panache.