Consider the number of time zones -- not to mention the international date line -- that you cross flying between Asia and the United States. Allow me to put it in perspective: Abram and I departed from Singapore's Changi International Airport at 7AM, flew to Tokyo where we spent five hours and departed at 8PM. We then landed at Honolulu International Airport at 7:30AM... 30 minutes after we had left Singapore. We didn't feel any younger.

In fact, we felt downright grungy. It was probably the next day "somewhere" and we stepped off the plane into the thick breeze of the island. "Welcome back home guys!" the customs guard smiled and waved us through. Everyone was dressed in shorts with euphoric looks of contentment on their faces. The clouds and palm tree branches were waving hello as we jumped into the new Pontiac Bonneville from National (only $25 for the day!).

We were not only home, but venturing into America's Eden! Green vegetation sprouted out the ground. Look over there: a strip mall! And there's a Ford Taurus! But wait, there's Japanese people everywhere! Some Chinese over there! Let's call it a gradual reintroduction into Western society. We could drink the water -- that was good enough for me.

First stop: well, literally, Honolulu rush hour traffic. Second stop: Diamond Head, the old volcano that stared down over Waikiki. It took us about a half hour to scale the mountain. (From this Coloradoan's perspective, it was more like a hill, really.) Oahu's rich green vegetation was unlike anything I had ever seen before. It was reminiscent of Jurassic Park and I half expected to see the long necks of an Apatosaurus moving through the trees. The views from the top were rewarding but we were a bit fed up of being around tourists and scampered down after a few minutes on the crowded lookout tower.

When I travel, I'm all about local-yocal fare. We had heard that a Hawaiin speciality was "plate lunches" -- big, cheap boxes of meat served with macaroni salad. The Hawaiin favorite was Rainbow Drive-In, about a mile or so from the Diamond Head entrance. (We got lost at first, but then who cares -- mai pen lai! -- we're on vacation, we're in Hawaii, get over it, right?) The lunch disappeared faster than they took them to prepare it -- which is both a tribute to the taste of the food as much as it is to our hunger.

Our bellies sitting high, Abram and I slipped into our swimsuits and bee-lined for the beach. We did have to buy a towel at Macy's ($5), but we were not deterred from our mission to soak. Waikiki, we had heard, was over-crowded and over-tourist'ed, so our noses led us to Ala Moana Beach instead. In a jif, our towel was spread, eyes were closed and the sun's rays began to massage our skin. Every once in a while, I'd hear someone talking in the far distance and use that as a reminder to flip over. Then, with very languorous movements, I would heave my body into the ocean and flap around for a few moments before returning to the warm sand.

Of course, it rained. It always rains in Hawaii. Not the pouring sideways rain like in Indiana, or the hell-flooding torrents in Colorado mind you. In fact, there aren't any clouds to speak of. With the sun shining, a refreshing mist sneaks in. You almost don't even feel wet. The first time it started, I sat up, a little disconcerted -- I looked around to see if others were scurrying for shelter. The woman four meters away turned the page of her book and shifted her legs. Hrmk. I closed my eyes again.

This is the way to recover from jet-lag.