Another beautiful day dawned over Waikiki, full of promise. Options were plentiful, and I decided on a trip to Hanauma Bay Nature Reserve to do some snorkeling. The catch? Petra was training for the Honolulu Marathon, and she'd be running the ten miles out there. I was still feeling the effects of my short sprint around Kailua airport so I declined the running shoes in favour of cycling cleats. We hit the road late in the morning.

Our route was less than idyllic, winding along highways and past strip malls before hitting a busy road running parallel to the beach. The air was warm and muggy, the sky was clear, and riding my bicycle at a steady six miles per hour was slowly driving me crazy.

Honolulu has a strange way of appearing incredibly wealthy and incredibly destitute at the same time. The houses we passed were prime beachfront property, the envy of every yuppie in North America, but many were small, hastily constructed boxes that suffered from little maintenance. Lush greenery bordered on drab cement drainage canals. Throughout my entire stay in Honolulu, I got the sense that it was a city whose time had come and gone.

Hanauma Bay is a popular destination, especially on a Saturday, and there was a long line waiting to get in. The entry fee was $2 for me (free for Petra, a resident of Hawai'i) and we walked down to the beach.

We found a relatively uncrowded stretch of sand, donned our snorkels and masks, and waded into the water. Snorkeling is an incredibly peaceful activity. I sometimes have dreams where I can breathe underwater, and to be able to live those dreams is wonderful. I occasionally tried to dive deeper, to swim with the fishes, but the salt water conspired with my built-in layer of winter insulation to keep me at the top.

After 45 minutes of floating with the fish I made like a whale and beached myself on the sand. Petra and I stayed for another hour while I desperately tried to make myself look like I hadn't just stepped off a plane from Canada. Alas, the sun soon hid itself behind the cliffs and we packed up for the return.

The original plan had been to take the bus back to the University but Petra still had lots of energy so she decided she'd run instead. The bike ride was pretty easy so I hopped on my saddle and we started back. One and a half hours (and many, many, red lights) later we were back at the University.

That evening I joined various members of the University Tennis Team at a restaurant in downtown Honolulu. Even though several people had cars, my companions insisted on cramming nine people into a decrepit station wagon. Ah, college life...

The restaurant we chose was Mexican and had an impressive collection of fine tequilas. I tried several, some of them rather pricey, but the best of the bunch turned out to be the rather modest Herradura Gold. I tried this one on the recommendation of Antonio, a tennis player formerly from Mexico City. Togther, we spent a good half an hour proclaiming to the rest of our compadres how wonderful Mexico is. We all made plans to meet at a sleepy little ocean town called San Carlos in six months.

After the restaurant we drove into Waikiki in search of a bar. A few people were underage, though, so we gave up on the bar scene and returned to the dorms for more videos. Around 2 am I stumbled into bed for two hours of dizzy sleep before catching my flight to Kaua'i.