Once upon a time there lived a pair of shoes. Shiny, red patent leather, opened toed, sling back, three inch cork heeled (no wedge) very well loved shoes.
Last night, as H and I walked to downtown Waikiki, the right very well loved shoe broke. Actually, it cracked, so that as I walked, it sort of buckled under the arch of my foot. I didn’t fall or get hurt, but my favorite shoes were suddenly clearly hazardous. So I hobbled back to the hotel, kissed them goodbye, buried my reds at the bottom of my suitcase and slipped on flip flops.
After indulging in birthday margaritas and conversing with a South Philly combat technician sporting a yellow tank top and more chest hair than a German Shepard, a ton of government contractors, a marine with scary war stories, a guy who ran away from his tiny hometown in Washington and moved to Maui, a dude who couldn’t remember the name of the town he lived in and a bartender who told REALLY bad jokes, we headed back to the hotel.
As we began our walk, I noticed that the flip flops were giving me blisters. I once again mourned my reds, since they never hurt my feet, and then I flipped off my flops. The slate sidewalks were warm and immaculately clean. We saw one cigarette butt on our half mile walk. No plastic bags, bottles, gum or garbage of any sort.
H kicked off her shoes too. We discussed how we’d never walk barefoot in Hollywood. I hate to bash my city, but in comparison to Waikiki’s lickable sidewalks, my city is filthy.
Earlier in the night when we waded out into the turquoise ocean and stared up at the birthday stars to make wishes, I admired Diamond Head in the distance and the glowing city lights along the shoreline. But being comfortable enough to walk barefoot on the way home really boosted Waikiki’s stock.
What are some qualities about the places you’ve visited that made them extra impressive to you?
3 years ago