As much as you’d likely love for me to jump right in and review the restroom for this hip, happenin’ Hawaiian café, I feel it somewhat necessary to first comment on the circumstances leading up to my unexpected, unwanted, and altogether unforgettable voyage across the Pacific to this purportedly must-see paradise.

Don’t worry. I know we’re living in a post-literate society, so I made sure to take some pictures to plop in between these weird, foreign looking chunks with letters (a.k.a “paragraphs”).

Enjoy.

Everyone is always talking about how great Hawaii is. They’re always saying things like: “Hawaii is so beautiful, it’s beyond description. Ridiculously gorgeous. Nay, resplendently gorgeous. Nay, inexplicably re-phlemulently gorgeous. Gor-ticious, really.”

If they’re not boasting about about their own overblown island vacations, they’re trying to convince you that a visit to the Aloha State is some essential rite of passage. “You don’t want to end up shrivelled up, alone and regretful on your death bed that you never tried an island-grown, organic papaya, do you?” Or “At our last resort, you could pick organic papayas directly out of the waiter’s ass. Simply divine.“

_{Also: What’s up with the dating scene here?}

It’s even worse when these winter-break-blowhards feel compelled to outline the complete itinerary of their trip: “We just got back from Hawaii and I came in my pants on an hourly basis.” They always seem to have the photos to prove their point, too. (And sometimes even the pants).

Well, I can’t speak for all of Hawaii–but Maui has pretty much all the same shit you’d find at any other tropical paradise.

Except for this guy. Sadly, I think there’s only one of him.

Sure, I got to experience some “breathtaking beaches,” but it’s not like I haven’t been constantly exposed to this crap on every version of Microsoft Windows for the past 30 odd years anyway. My sad, sheltered life in the dark has seen a surprising amount of ocean sunsets, compliments of Bill Gates and Steve Jobs.

As a result, I hope you’ll understand that most of these “Maui moments” didn’t have much of a major impact on me. (Especially since a majority of them were taken shoulder to shoulder with a crowd of amateur photographers and preteens posing for predator-friendly TikTok content).

For anyone curious, swipe left to see my own amateur collection of Hawaii hogwash.

Perhaps my perspective is skewed due to circumstance. I mean, it’s not very often that you have to go to Hawaii. That’s right. An emergency trip. Can you believe that? (At least I hope the E.I. claims department does. Here’s a photo of me in Memorial Medical Centre in Kahului, just in case. Aloha, Government of Canada!)

Actually, here’s another photo — because the view from the emergency ward was quite lovely. For anyone who was expecting a postcard, I hope this will suffice.

_{Maybe you think it’s in pretty poor taste for me to be making light of such a serious situation. Well, this is a bathroom review blog. Everything here is in poor taste.}

As you can probably tell by now, I never truly had any desire to go to this bloated-ass island with its weird, expensive butter and bikini-clad trees.

All I ever really knew about Hawaii was from television and movies: Grass skirts, cutesy ukulele’s, surfer babes, and that Nicholas Cage movie where Sarah Jessica Parker practically cucks him with some rich old guy.

Disappointingly, I didn’t see any of those things on my little trip. Nope. Not even Nicholas Cage. What a crock. I didn’t even get “lei’d” when I got off the airplane, which I’m pretty sure is criminal negligence on the airline’s part (according to Hawaii State Law).

After my skull-throbbing 7-hour flight surrounded by 4 insufferable squealing babies (and their children), the only “official greeting” I received was the sound of more squealing babies at the baggage claim.

In the end, I’m grateful to say everything turned out fine. By the third day of my little trip, the situation at the hospital was looking a bit better, so I finally made some time for myself. And boy did I need it. Even Panda Express could tell I was about to crack:

Just to clarify, the Panda Express wasn’t mine. That’s the difference between my elder sibling and I. When I travel, I usually aim to check out some local shit. When he travels, the only shit he seems to want is the liquid hot kind.

Anyway, I took the fortune cookies advice and went for a walk, but instead of immediately hitting the beach like most Canadian ‘Berta boys would most definitely do–I decided to buy myself some lunch and check out a bathroom at the weirdest looking establishment I could find: The Café O’Lei in Kihei.

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Mele Kalikimaka at the Café O’Lei

First of all, what’s up with this building? It looks like a giant Lego set or something. It’s almost as if someone couldn’t decide where to put their weird Christmas gift after assembling it and eventually opted to drop it in a random parking lot.

This Café O’Lei place has a lot of stairs. Bold move. I guess they want me to work up an appetite and some sweat. That’s fine by me. I walked here, so I’m already hot, hungry, and grumpier than usual for anyone visiting Hawaii.

My lustrous forehead, furrowed brows, and damp t-shirt will be part of my attire for lunch no matter how many obstacles you throw in my way. Here’s hoping they’ll give me extra napkins I can dab my pits with.

There’s a menu posted at the top of the stairwell, which is a pretty clever decision. Even if I don’t like what I see, my legs are practically rubber by now. There’s no way I won’t want to sit my frumpy, fatigued fanny down to at least catch my breath. And when I’m done panting, I might just be in a good enough mood from my “runner’s high” that I’ll cave and fork out the cash for some Kihei Cuisine.

Or maybe I’ll just use their bathroom to vomit from heat stroke. Either way, it’s a win / win for everyone.

As I enter the Lego lobby, I’m kind of expecting to be greeted by a giant plastic figurine who’ll silently gesture me toward some blocky, brick-like furniture.

Thankfully, my hostess appears to be a fully functioning human being, complete with flesh, multiple facial expressions, and something resembling a personality.

After I catch my breath and compose myself I can’t help but take a look around. There is a notable lack of Christmas crap displayed for a restaurant during December, which is probably not such a horrible thing. This place is already decorated quite..appropriately. You certainly won’t forget you’re in Hawaii, anyway.

I can also see that I may have been wrong about the “random parking lot” comment. This parking lot has considerably more prestige than one you’d find at a JC Penny’s. I stand corrected.

In fact, the Cafe O’Lei is almost in an amazing spot. It’s right across the road from the beach, which would be fantastic for touristy types if you could actually see the ocean from the dining hall. Unfortunately, the windows aren’t quite facing the right direction, but so what? I’m more than happy with the scenic view of rental cars.

On the other hand, I’m a little more than irritated to discover this establishment has no free public Wi-Fi. I can’t help but notice that they do have a surplus of networks for their own use. All of which are essential, I’m sure.

Come on. I can’t be the only tourist in this place who can’t afford a roaming plan. I guess people here in Kihei really want you to do some genuine roaming, hey? I almost feel like roaming to another restaurant. Well, you know what they say…”When in Roam.” _{Not digging these “roaming” jokes? Fine.}

Maybe I’m just grumpy because my stomach has been acting unpredictably since I landed on this island. I’m sure some questionable seafood will help.

I decide to try out today’s Special: “Panko crusted Ono,” which sort of sounds like it could have been one of John Lennon’s weirder solo albums from the 70’s.

All kidding aside, I’m a little underwhelmed with the presentation–but what do I know? I’m not the fucking Michelin Man. Besides, this butter sauce is delicious. And as a recovering alcoholic who’s recently come off a ketogenic diet, I have more than enough experience with butter and sauce.

The Ono is pretty tasty, too. I ask the server if it was caught today. She says:

“Yes! Well, maybe yesterday-ish?” I look puzzled. “Well, the fisherman doesn’t really get here bright and early,” she admits.

At least I think that’s an admission, although I’m not exactly sure what it means. A tardy fisherman? This is an island. How far do they really have to go? Are they sailing out to the Arctic or something?

Maybe I should just ask the chef.

On second thought, it’s probably time to check out the restroom. I’m not in the mood to learn Hawaiian.

Here’s Part No. 2