No nolulu, no cry.

The next few days are all the same. Get up, have breakfast, somehow pass the day until the evening and party until you drop again that night. There are cultural highlights such as “Waterfall” (everyone in a group of 20 has to drink until the person in front stops) and boozy football on the beach at night. I can’t remember any names. Nothing happens. I work a lot and it’s easy.

On Monday, I take the bus to the biggest shopping centre in Hawaii, Ala Moana. Unbelievable. Higher luxury density than on 5th Avenue New York. The top 50 designers in a never-ending row. I can’t find a pair of normal walking shoes anywhere, and a naughty girl stole my flip-flops the night before.

The best thing I’ve done in Honolulu so far was an excursion into the jungle: I take a bus up a valley into the mountains on the outskirts of Honolulu. First I wander through the Lyon Arboretum (Hawaiian Plant Conservatory). Then off into the rainforest along a steep muddy trail. Bamboo forests, wild flowers, hundreds of thousands of mosquitoes and 90% humidity. I even like the latter two things. After two hours of sweating like a waterfall, I feel very clean again. The sweat on my arms smells of vodka, on my stomach (where else?) of beer. Mosquitoes fall staggering to the ground after biting me. At the end of the trail are the Moana Falls. No match for my own waterfall. But the trail was beautiful.

I urgently need a break and stop for a drink. What happens is to be expected: Montezuma hits me hard with a truncheon without any stomach disinfectant. Exhausted, I surf the internet. I want to get out of here. After an hour or two, I find a beautiful flat in Kailua, right on the beach and, judging by the pictures, an absolute dream. Large balcony, deluxe kitchen, three other flatmates. One room is empty for a month, I get it from tomorrow for $40 a day. The hire car is booked, the things are packed. No nolulu, no cry.