No, that’s not a dish on the pupu platter – it’s the Hawaiian name for their state fish. “Humuhumu” is much easier to pronounce, though locals are happy to give lessons on correct pronunciation of the full name for anyone interested in listening.
Andrew Doughty of OAHU REVEALEDexplains “At first glance it seems like a nightmare. But if you read the word slowly, it is pronounced just as it looks. Humu (hoo-moo) is pronounced twice. Nuku (noo-koo) is pronounced twice. A (ah) is pronounced once. Pu is pronounced once. A’a (ah-ah) is pronounced twice. Now wasn’t that easy?”
We had the pleasure of seeing these beautiful Picasso Triggerfish up close last weekend snorkeling at Hanauma Bay Nature Preserve. The amazing array of colors on this fish – blue lips, red fins, and a golden triangle at the rear of the body – make you wonder if Picasso didn’t have a hand in this design.
Now we can pronounce at least one Hawaiian word – and we know what to look for while out in the bay with our head under the water scouting for fish!
It’s been just over a week since we moved into our Oahu condo, home for the next eight months. A place I’d never dreamed we’d be living (Hawaii’s incredibly low real estate market definitely was to our advantage). The view is amazing! We walk around in wide-eyed wonder most of the time.
View from my desk!
There is so much to get used to, living in a high rise. Things I’d really not thought about before – navigating groceries through the elevators for one. Bringing loaded shopping bags in from the parking garage requires pulling into a “drop-off” spot, signing in the car (thirty minutes max), grabbing a grocery cart (or two), filling it up and heading for the elevator.
It can be quite embarrassing when someone else is going up at the same time as it seems to be a natural instinct to peruse what’s in the baskets. Typical conversation goes something like this, “Nice breeze today, isn’t it?”
“Yes, very nice. I see you prefer Northern brand over Charmin. Is it for the softness or the strength?”
By the time we get to the 35th floor, I’ve learned way more than I need to about our neighbor’s toilet tissue preferences. We say goodbye and now the real fun begins.
The elevator doors pop open and silent, wide, carpeted corridors await. I push out first, shooting headlong down the hallway with Cheryl in hot pursuit tagging my heels with tips of asparagus jutting out from the bottom of her cart. We race toward our door – carts tipping precariously, tomatoes rolling, milk sloshing, threatening to dump an entire afternoon’s shopping on the white carpet.
The RACE TRACK!
In minutes we reach our door at the end of the hallway – Cheryl usually wins by blocking my cart just as we round the corner (or as she tells it, she wins because I can’t keep mine from careening off the walls on the turn). We tumble into the condo in fits of laughter over our VERY serious competition – because whoever gets in last has to put away the groceries! We’ve discovered the lost art of cart racing and if a few melons get bruised in the process, we think it’s a small enough price to pay.