Returning to Northern Arizona

Three Trips. Three Decades. One Landscape Woven into Our Family Story.

There are some places we visit once and remember fondly.

Then there are the places we return to, again and again, each visit becoming part of our story.

For me, northern Arizona is one of those places.

This past January, Tim and I traded an Ontario winter where we were buried under snow for a week of sunshine in Phoenix.

Early morning as we left for the airport. The snow banks were even bigger when we returned.

We planned the trip around sunshine, saguaros, and the Sonoran Desert, but before long we found ourselves driving north toward Sedona and the Grand Canyon—not simply to revisit beautiful places, but to revisit earlier chapters of our lives.

The Beginning

The first time I visited Sedona, I was expecting our daughter, Tessa.

My parents had recently retired and were spending an extended stretch exploring the American Southwest. They invited me to join them while Tim stayed home for work and to paint the nursery.

Tessa ultimately arrived six weeks early, so that Arizona trip turned out to be just a month before she was born. It's a good thing Tim had that uninterrupted time to finish getting everything ready for her arrival.

Because I was in the final weeks of pregnancy, we stayed around Sedona rather than venturing up to the Grand Canyon. I remember wandering through Tlaquepaque Arts & Shopping Village, with its shaded courtyards, fountains, archways, and towering sycamore trees. 

Here I am, about 30 weeks pregnant, with my mother at Tlaquepaque.

I fell in love with the red rock landscape and hoped that someday I would return with Tim.

At the time, I couldn't have imagined what a special part of our family's story northern Arizona would become. With each return came a different season of our lives—and another layer of memories.

Family Memories

Four years later, I returned with Tim, Tessa, and baby Willem.

This time we stayed in the Sedona timeshare my parents had purchased after that first visit. They shared it with my aunt, and it became the setting for one of those special family vacations that stay with you forever.

Tessa, who had adored pigs since she was barely a year old, was enchanted by the painted javelina statues scattered throughout Tlaquepaque. She knew perfectly well they weren't pigs—we had read Don't Call Me Pig so many times that she could have explained the difference to anyone who asked—but to her they were close enough to inspire hours of delighted searching and countless photographs.

Looking back now, I realize that what I remember most isn't the shopping village itself.

It was watching Tessa discover it.

When Tim and I returned this January, the memories came flooding back.

We took a walk through the grounds of the timeshare where we had stayed, and my parents’ unit looked exactly as we remembered it. Within moments we were laughing about the neighbours downstairs who had asked to be moved because of the mysterious clunking overhead. The culprit had been one-year-old Willem, happily commando-crawling across the floor with a toy car in his hand.

At Tlaquepaque, the javelinas were gone.

For a moment I mourned that happy little chapter of Tessa's childhood.

Then a shopkeeper smiled when I mentioned them.

He remembered the fundraiser that had brought the statues to the village all those years ago. Businesses had sponsored artists to decorate them before they were auctioned off. Then he added, almost as an afterthought, "There's still one over by Pink Jeep Tours."

We drove over immediately.

There it was.

A bright pink mother javelina with her bright pink baby.

We laughed, took a picture, and immediately sent it to Tessa, who remembered both the statues and Don't Call Me Pig as vividly as we did.

That sculpture was enough to bring an entire childhood rushing back.

Before leaving Sedona, we took a short walk on the Airport Mesa Loop Trail. It was the perfect way to soak in the red rock scenery before continuing north.

Returning to the Canyon

On my first Arizona trip, pregnancy had kept us from visiting the Grand Canyon.

The second time, we made it there together as a family.

This January, Tim and I returned again, just the two of us.

As we approached the South Rim, we found ourselves trying to remember exactly where we'd stood twenty years earlier with my parents, Tessa, and Willem. Eventually we found ourselves standing at what we think was the same overlook.

Some places seem almost unchanged.

Others change just enough to remind us that time has passed.

Either way, the memories remain.

Bright Angel Lodge and the Rim Trail

Like many travellers, we're usually careful with our travel budget. My parents were too. But they also believed that every so often, a place was worth stretching for—not because it was luxurious, but because staying there was part of truly experiencing it.

That's why we looked into staying at Bright Angel Lodge.

To our surprise, an off-season visit made it affordable, and suddenly we found ourselves spending the night right on the edge of one of the world's greatest natural wonders.

Arriving at the lodge

The Rim Trail immediately behind the lodge

The impressive fire place in the reception area

After dinner, as it was beginning to get dark, we stepped right out the back door of the lodge onto the Rim Trail where the lights of El Tovar, further up the Rim Trail, glowed invitingly.

El Tovar, perched on the edge of the canyon, at dusk

We wandered over to look around and made a reservation for lunch the following day—another lesson borrowed from my parents. They had discovered long ago that lunch in a grand historic dining room offered much the same experience as dinner, often at a much friendlier price. They happily made exceptions for truly special occasions, though, which is exactly why Willem celebrated his first birthday there twenty years earlier.

All lit up as darkness falls

By the time we headed back to Bright Angel Lodge, night had fallen and we were alone on the trail. 

I was intensely aware that an immense space lay just beyond the darkness, yet I couldn't really see it. Tim walked confidently toward the stone wall to peer over the edge. I stayed well back, content to feel the vastness in the dark.

The next morning, we woke before sunrise and enjoyed a hearty breakfast before setting off on a hike as the first light began to spill across the canyon walls.

Our window from the booth in the lodge dining room looked out toward the rim.

One of my strongest memories from that first family visit is actually from the Bright Angel Trail.

My mom stayed behind with Tessa and Willem while my dad, Tim, and I walked partway into the canyon together.

Even now I can picture his jaunty black beret disappearing down the trail ahead of us, and I can hear the excitement in his voice as we descended into one of the world's great landscapes.

Another memory from that time at the canyon has become part of the family lore.

At one lookout, my father wandered just a little beyond the marked path for a better view. Tessa, who was almost four and took rules very seriously, was deeply concerned because of the posted warning signs to stay on the trail.

She summed my dad up perfectly with loving exasperation.

"Grandpa is just like Curious George."

She wasn't criticizing him.

She was explaining him.

Curious enough to wander.

Loved enough that everyone wanted to keep him safe.

El Tovar

One of the highlights of that family trip was celebrating Willem's first birthday at El Tovar.

Of course my dad wanted a first birthday to be celebrated somewhere memorable.

It was a wonderful evening—and a very real one.

Willem, who, along with Tessa, had been diagnosed with an ear infection earlier that day, did remarkably well through dinner before finally growing tired and swatting at his sore ear. Tessa worked hard to entertain him with his new boardbook and toy vehicle. My parents were delighted to be celebrating with the four of us.

Twenty years later, Tim and I returned for lunch.

The same dining room felt completely different.

The meal was quiet, unhurried, and wonderfully relaxing.

Not better than the birthday dinner.

Just a different season of life.

Looking Ahead

After lunch we wandered over to visit the mule paddock.

I stood there, watching the mules and imagining what it would be like to ride down into the canyon and stay overnight at Phantom Ranch, just as the Brady Bunch had done in one of their most memorable episodes.

Before one trip was even over, I was already dreaming about the next.

This time, I wasn't imagining another trip for myself.

I was imagining returning with Tessa and Willem.

Some habits are learned so naturally that we don't even notice them becoming part of us.

My father always seemed to be thinking about the next adventure before the current one had ended. My mother still laughs that I'm exactly the same.

Standing beside those mules, already picturing another journey with the people I love most, I had to admit she was right.

That’s one of the greatest gifts he passed on to me.

Not simply a love of travel.

A way of travelling.

Stories Along the Way

Long before I ever visited the Grand Canyon, I loved Marguerite Henry's Misty books. Discovering Brighty of the Grand Canyon in the gift shop felt like finding a forgotten piece of my childhood. We bought a copy and then listened to the audiobook on the drive back to Phoenix, letting the story extend our time at the canyon.

Tim's curiosity took a different direction. After we returned home, he picked up Kevin Fedarko's A Walk in the Park, the remarkable story of hikers who traversed the entire length of the Grand Canyon. Before long, we were talking about the canyon all over again—and imagining future adventures of our own.

My childhood copy of Misty next to my new copy of Brighty.

The Invitation I Almost Declined

Some weekends unfold exactly as planned.

Others begin with one itinerary and end with an entirely different story.

When my husband and I headed into Toronto on Saturday, our plans were simple. We'd gotten tickets to see one of our favourite podcasts, Stuff You Should Know, being recorded live at Massey Hall. We were looking forward to an evening out with friends who live in the city before staying overnight with a friend I’ve known since first grade.

Sunday promised to be relaxing. We planned to linger over brunch, wander wherever the day took us, and perhaps soak up a little of the FIFA excitement if we happened to stumble across one of the watch parties while Canada played that afternoon.

Then, somewhere along Highway 401, my phone buzzed.

A friend had texted me a link to a CBC article about an invitation-only gathering for women named Janice. Drake was hosting what he called an apology party after his hit song Janice STFU thrust the name Janice into the spotlight, making it the subject of countless jokes and memes. Until that moment, I hadn't even heard the song—or realized there was anything to apologize for.

I'm certainly not a Drake listener, though like most Canadians, I knew exactly who he was. More importantly, I'm not someone who naturally gravitates toward parties—especially parties where I don't know a single person.

Still, something about the invitation felt too wonderfully unexpected to ignore. Or perhaps my son's favourite Yes Theory mantra—Seek Discomfort—had lodged somewhere in the back of my mind. If ever there was a low-risk opportunity to step outside my comfort zone, this was it.

I sent off my RSVP.

It appeared that if you could prove your first name was Janice and responded in time, there was a good chance you'd receive an invitation.

A few hours later, the confirmation email arrived.

I was in.

My husband couldn't believe I was actually considering attending.

My children were equally surprised.

My longtime friends were shocked.

Even the friend who had sent me the article couldn't believe I'd gone for it.

Apparently, I’d earned quite a reputation for avoiding exactly this sort of thing.

The next afternoon my husband walked with me to Cactus Club Cafe.

Joining that lineup by myself was intimidating. To make matters worse, I'd packed for a weekend of podcasts, brunch, and hanging out with old friends—not a stylish downtown Toronto gathering. In my Quince T-shirt and favourite black Lululemon pants, I  felt more than a little underdressed beside women who looked effortlessly polished.

I was reassured by the presence of my husband, who along with a few other spouses and partners, lingered nearby as we Janices cautiously began introducing ourselves to others in line.

The woman standing behind me asked where I'd come from. When I explained that we'd actually travelled to Toronto to see Stuff You Should Know, her eyes widened.

"Wait... Josh and Chuck are in town? I LOVE that podcast!"

Just like that, I exhaled.

Maybe I wasn't as out of place as I'd feared.

A selfie as we approached the entrance, with the men gradually fading into the background.

Before my husband headed off to do his own thing, he sent a selfie to our family group chat. In the foreground, he was grinning. In the background, an arrow pointed toward me as I walked into the restaurant with the women I'd just met.

His caption read:

"It's like the Kindergarten drop-off. She's not looking back at me anymore. I can leave."

He wasn’t wrong.

As the line began to move and our IDs and confirmation emails were checked, it became clear that not everyone who had made the trip would be able to get in. Many women had heard about the event on the radio and assumed that proving their first name was Janice would be enough. They hadn't realized they also needed a confirmation email.

Those of us whose invitations included a "plus one named Janice" immediately started looking for women we could bring in with us.

I offered to bring in the woman standing behind me in line. She had completed the RSVP process, but her confirmation looked different from most of ours, and she wasn't sure it would be accepted.

Then the organizers couldn't find my name on the guest list.

Her name, it turned out, was there all along.

Before long, she was walking me in as her plus one instead.

It was an amusing mix-up, but somehow it also captured the spirit of the afternoon. Before we'd even stepped inside, Janices were already looking after one another.

As we entered, each of us was handed a Peach Bellini.

We looked around at one another, still laughing at the wonderfully absurd situation we had somehow found ourselves in, and raised our glasses.

I don't usually drink alcohol. It's not because I'm opposed to it—it simply isn't something I particularly enjoy. I admitted as much to the younger woman sitting beside me.

"Oh," she smiled, pointing to the menu, "they have lots of zero-proof drinks."

It was such a small kindness, but it immediately made me feel at home.

Soon I was happily sipping a ginger mocktail. Bread, seafood, salads, steak, chicken, and desserts arrived family style, with far more food than any of us could finish.

Somewhere between the conversation and the shared meal, I realized I was actually enjoying myself. I'd already chatted with the women beside me in line. Now we were simply sharing lunch together. There were no awkward introductions. No names to remember. No games. Just conversation. The uneasiness I'd been carrying since I RSVP'd quietly disappeared.

A couple of hours later I realized something had been missing from the afternoon. I’d missed my daily tea time. Anyone who knows me won't find it surprising that I noticed this.

Although tea wasn't listed on the menu, I asked for it anyway. A few minutes later a server appeared carrying a silver teapot, a white china cup, and loose-leaf tea on a little tray.

I laughed and confessed to the women at my table that my family would find it hilariously appropriate that, with an open bar courtesy of Drake, I'd ordered afternoon tea.

Instead of teasing me, they immediately reached for their phones. "Let’s get pictures of this!"

It struck me then that nobody expected anyone else to fit a particular mold. They simply delighted in each person's quirks.

And somehow, in the middle of one of the most unexpected afternoons of my life, I realized I didn't have to be anyone other than myself.

There were funny moments all afternoon. Whenever someone called out "Janice!" dozens of heads instinctively turned. At one point the emcee began explaining the raffle. "I'll call a name..." She paused."...No—not your name! A number!" The room erupted in laughter. After all, every ticket belonged to someone with exactly the same name.

Ironically, the only time I felt nervous all afternoon came during the raffle itself. After the first few winners went up to collect envelopes filled with cash while over 150 Janices chanted, “Janice! Janice! Janice!”, I quietly hoped my number wouldn't be called. I was relieved when my ticket stayed safely tucked under my water glass.

Most of the women I met lived in the Greater Toronto Area, but one woman at my table had flown from Vancouver after seeing the invitation online. She decided it was the perfect excuse to finally visit Toronto. I loved that. What had started as an internet curiosity had become someone else's travel story.

Almost everyone admitted they had been nervous about arriving alone. Everyone had come anyway. 

In the end, it wasn't Drake who made the afternoon memorable. It was the Janices.

During the party, the organizers invited us to scan a QR code to join a group chat. Within minutes, photos and videos from every corner of the restaurant began  appearing.

Several days later, the conversation is still going. People are sharing favourite memories, expressing gratitude, joking that June 28 should officially become "Janice Day," and wondering whether we should meet again next year. Some have even floated the idea of travelling together or starting a book club.

We'll see.

A screen shot of the group chat the evening after the party. As someone noted, “This is the most hilarious group member list.”

When I met my husband outside after the party, he could tell I'd had a great time before I said a word.

"I'm so glad you went," he said.

So am I.

Oahu: Between the City and the Sea

Arrival: Crossing the Pacific and First Impressions

There was something especially exciting about finally flying to Hawaii. My interest in the islands began years earlier, when my husband told me stories about the several years his parents lived on the Big Island and the visits he made while they were there. By the time we started dating, his parents were in the process of moving back to the East Coast, so Hawaii remained a place I knew only through his memories. Now, after years of imagining it, I was finally on my way.

The trip felt even more special because I was sharing it with my two grown children and my daughter's boyfriend, who was about to complete his goal of visiting all fifty states.

The journey itself underscored just how distant the islands really are. We first flew across Canada and parts of the northern United States from Toronto to the West Coast. From Vancouver, we then flew west over the Pacific for hours without seeing land, suspended above an endless ocean in the dark below. It created a quiet, slightly disorienting sense of scale unlike anything I'd experienced on previous long-haul flights to Europe.

We arrived after dark, and the first sight of Oahu was the glow of city lights emerging from the darkness. By the time we made our way through the airport and into Waikiki, it was difficult to get a clear sense of where we were in relation to the beach or coastline. Everything felt close, but also slightly abstract in the nighttime city grid.

It wasn’t until the next morning that the setting became fully clear.

Waikiki as Our Base: The Value of Staying in One Place

That first morning revealed Waikiki as our base for the week.

We stayed in a timeshare unit within the Royal Kuhio condo tower, but the building also contains a mix of full-time residents and vacation renters. The location turned out to be one of the most practical parts of the trip—right in the heart of Waikiki, within walking distance of the beach, shops, and restaurants, but set back from the busiest beachfront strip.

The Royal Kuhio, our Waikiki home for the week

Because we were traveling as an extended family, we also found separate nearby accommodation for our daughter and her boyfriend at a hostel within walking distance of our hotel. Having two nearby bases gave us flexibility while still keeping everyone close enough to easily meet up throughout the day. It also reflected the way different travel styles can coexist within the same trip—some of us preferring more private space, others opting for a simpler, more budget-friendly setup.

Honu Waikiki, a budget-friendly, well-reviewed hostel with a variety of shared or private room options

Most of our day trips were within easy driving distance, yet returning to Waikiki each evening gave the week a sense of rhythm. We could park the car and immediately slip into a walkable world of restaurants, shops, and the beach.

By the end of our stay, Waikiki had become familiar enough that I felt comfortable setting out on my own while the rest of the group went snorkelling. I walked to the beachfront statue of Hawaii’s legendary surfer and Olympic gold-medal swimmer, Duke Kahanamoku. He stood surrounded by palm trees and draped in leis. After taking my photos, I wandered into the shaded labyrinth of a magnificent banyan tree nearby and paused in the relative coolness to people-watch for a while.

Banyan trees send roots down from their branches, creating new trunks as they grow. This tree’s sprawling canopy created a huge patch of shade from the Hawaiian sun.

I enjoyed finding my way through the city, navigating the unusual all-way pedestrian intersections, sampling cookies at the Honolulu Cookie Company, and picking up a few groceries before heading back to the Royal Kuhio.

I arrived at the condo just in time to settle into the rocking chairs at the front of the building and hear about the others' snorkelling adventures.

It was a small moment, but one that captured what I appreciate about staying in a single place. Travel isn't always about discovering new destinations. Sometimes it's also about returning to the same place each day and gradually feeling less like a visitor.

Urban Energy at the Edge of the Ocean

As we got up each day, Waikiki was already in motion.

Tourists in search of their morning coffee and surfers carrying their boards to and from the beach created a steady flow between city and shoreline.

Just a few blocks from our hotel, we found a narrow alley lined with surfboards leaning against walls, a kind of hidden passage between tall buildings that opened directly toward the water.

What I thought was a display of surfboards turned out to be storage space for local surfers.

It felt like a threshold between two worlds: one of high-rise city streets and one of open ocean framed by Diamond Head, the volcanic crater that anchors the skyline above Waikiki.

Waikiki Beach itself was beautiful and instantly recognizable, but also small and very crowded. It wasn’t a place for solitude so much as shared experience—people swimming, surfing, watching, photographing, and drifting in and out of the water.

We joined the throngs on the stone breakwater one evening to watch the sunset, amused by the cameras all pointed seaward and then the sudden collective turn as everyone headed back to the beach the moment the sun slipped below the horizon

We didn’t know about the green flash—a brief optical phenomenon—until after this sunset, but later we wondered how many others were watching for it.

Diamond Head at Sunrise: Shared Views and Post-Hike Malasadas

We did the famous Diamond Head hike early in the trip, and while it was undeniably beautiful, it was more crowded than I expected—even at sunrise. A steady flow of people moved up the path in the early light.

At the top, the views stretched in both directions along the coastline. It wasn’t a quiet moment, but it was a memorable one, shaped as much by the shared effort of the climb as by the view itself.

Afterward, we sampled the renowned malasadas from Leonard’s Bakery, a famous Honolulu spot for Portuguese treats. It was a slightly chaotic experience to buy them, despite employees directing both car and foot traffic. After pausing for photos with the pink box in front of the iconic sign, we drove to the nearby canal and ate them in the sun, happily away from the crowds.

Waikiki Tea: A Pause in the Middle of the City

One of my favourite pauses in Waikiki was a visit to Waikiki Tea House.

Although it was only a short walk from the shoreline, the afternoon tea service felt like a deliberate change of pace.

They served my Earl Grey and my son’s Chai in an assortment of vintage cups alongside beautifully layered Mille Crêpes cakes, a quiet moment of stillness in the middle of our days exploring the island.

An Evening at ʻAuana

For our last night in Oahu, we went to see ʻAuana, Cirque du Soleil’s resident Hawaiian production in Waikiki. It was an easy walk from our hotel, which made it feel like a natural way to close out the trip rather than a major planned excursion.

I had never been to a Cirque du Soleil show before, though I had always wanted to go. My husband agreed to this one partly because it had a specifically Hawaiian theme, rather than something more abstract or generic. The young adults in our group were also excited about ending the trip with a shared night out together.

The setting surprised me most—it was much more intimate than I had imagined, and the stage felt close and immediate rather than distant or theatrical. I especially liked the clever opening, which began with what appeared to be someone from the audience confidently making his way onto the stage, blurring the line between performance and arrival.

The acrobatics were, of course, extraordinary, but what stood out most was how the storytelling incorporated surfing culture, beach life, and Hawaiian themes in a way that felt playful rather than literal. There was a lightness to it that suited the island.

Earlier in the trip, we had also attended an evening show at the Polynesian Cultural Center, which included fire dancing and a more traditional stage presentation of Polynesian culture. That performance felt larger in scale and more formal, while ʻAuana felt more intimate and contemporary. The two complemented each other well, and I’m glad we experienced both.

Kualoa Ranch: Seeing Oahu from the Saddle

Kualoa Ranch was our first day trip out of Waikiki. We booked an 8am horseback riding tour so we could avoid the crowds and the heat of the day. In general, we took advantage of our East Coast body clocks to get up early, which helped us make the most of the mornings before things got busy. I’m so glad we did, because it almost felt like we had the place to ourselves.

The drive there was beautiful—winding along the coast with sweeping ocean views and lush green mountains rising inland. At one point we drove a section of the most expensive highway per mile ever built in the United States.

This highway was shaped by environmental protections, where tunnels and viaducts preserve the mountains it passes through.

When we arrived at the ranch, we had time to relax, pat the friendly horses in the corral, and take in the verdant green cliffs behind us.

The two-hour ride was perfect for our group. Some had more riding experience than others, but everyone felt comfortable. Our guide was excellent, and thoughtfully arranged the group so that our daughter’s boyfriend often rode at the front, while she rode at the back with two less-experienced riders who weren’t part of our family.

The ride took us through working cattle ranch fields, along stretches of coastal road with brilliant blue water, and through the iconic valley landscape with cliffs rising all around—instantly recognizable from multiple films. Kualoa offers a variety of experiences, including tours focused specifically on filming locations, but we were glad we chose this more relaxed ride. We still saw enough familiar scenery to feel satisfied, and we especially enjoyed the small group and unhurried pace.

After the ride, we crossed the road to a local food truck and ordered açaí bowls. We ate them under a tree, overlooking the ocean, with Chinaman's Hat (Mokoliʻi Island) rising just offshore. After a morning on horseback, it was a perfect place to linger for a few minutes and take in the view before continuing toward the North Shore.

The North Shore: Two Days of Surfing, Snorkelling, and Shoulder Season Calm

Although we had originally planned to spend a single full day on the North Shore, it quickly became clear that there was too much we wanted to see and do to fit it all into one visit. Instead, we ended up spending time there on two separate days—something that felt far more relaxed and allowed us to experience it without rushing. It also meant we got to enjoy Matsumoto’s Shave Ice in Haleiwa twice, which no one complained about.

Our first visit after our morning at Kualoa Ranch focused on exploring the coastline around Haleiwa and the quieter beaches beyond it. We first stopped at Kawela Bay, used as the tropical saltwater setting for the arena in The Hunger Games: Catching Fire.

Instead of the cinematic tension of the film, we found a peaceful shoreline where a couple sat comfortably beneath an umbrella near Turtle Bay Resort, completely at ease in the stillness of the afternoon.

Filmmakers chose this secluded, crescent-shaped bay because it resembled the arena described in book.

From there, we continued to Papaʻiloa Beach, where my husband and I set out to find the filming location for the survivors beach camp from Lost.

The Lost survivors’ filming site can be seen in the background beyond the rocks.

While it was satisfying to recognize the familiar stretch of coastline, the unexpected highlight was the number of honu—Hawaiian green sea turtles—we encountered along the shore. In the warmth of the sun, the tide brought them closer and closer to the shallow rocks, where they fed on algae just offshore. The young adults in our group, equipped with good cameras and lenses, were able to capture some beautiful photos of them in their natural environment.

The algae is visible in the turtle’s mouth here.

By the time we reached Haleiwa, we were ready for something sweet, so we stopped at Matsumoto’s Shave Ice. We had already tried shave ice in Waikiki earlier in the trip, but this felt like a different experience entirely. The line wound through the shop, giving us time to study the menu and debate flavour combinations, toppings, and additions like ice cream, mochi, or sweetened condensed milk. After placing our orders, we watched the ice being shaved and the syrups poured with practiced flair before sitting together in the shaded courtyard to enjoy them.

On another day, we returned to the North Shore with a plan to try out snorkelling and surfing. We started at Shark’s Cove, where shallow tide pools formed among lava rock made it easy to spot schools of fish and other marine life, even without snorkelling gear. It was an idyllic place to explore, though some in our group were already thinking ahead to a more open-water snorkelling experience later in the week.

From there, we continued along the coast to Ali’i Beach Park to watch the three young adults go surfing with rented boards. Despite growing up far from the ocean, our daughter had always been drawn to surfing, and this was something she had been especially looking forward to in Hawaii. The waves were more challenging than anything they had attempted before, and getting beyond the break required persistence. There were moments of frustration and moments of breakthrough, and by the end they had all managed to catch waves and return to shore exhilarated.

My son helping his sister spot the right wave to catch.

Mission accomplished—all three got up on their boards

From the beach, we also watched local families already completely at ease in the water. Even the littlest children were comfortable being buffeted by the waves at the shoreline, while older kids paddled out on surfboards with an easy confidence that came from growing up with the ocean.

Afterwards, we returned to Matsumoto’s. It felt familiar by now—the same line, the same anticipation, the same colourful choices—but somehow even better on a second visit. We carried our bowls out to the courtyard and sat watching all the activity around us.

At one of the picnic tables nearby, a mother hen sat sheltering a brood of chicks beneath her wings, completely unfazed by the movement of families around her. It was a small but striking moment, one that seemed to belong entirely to the rhythm of the place. This was only one of many chicken sightings on the island—chickens and roosters were everywhere, from the gas stations and streets in the heart of the city to the parking lots and beaches of the North Shore.

Before leaving the North Shore for the final time, I bought a locally designed Matsumoto T-shirt featuring shave ice, surfing, and sea turtles. It felt like a perfect souvenir—something that would bring the special memories of those two days back to mind long after we had returned home.

Seeing Oahu Through Local Eyes

One of the greatest gifts of this trip was spending time with my husband's cousin and his family, who live on Oahu. Throughout the week, they introduced us to places and experiences we might never have discovered on our own—from Rainbow Drive-In where we had our first Hawaiian “plate lunch” to a beach on the windward side of the island where I tried boogie boarding for the first time.

My husband’s cousin had extra boogie boards for us to use.

My daughter was a natural at catching the waves.

I’ve not spent much time in the ocean and was surprised at the strength of the waves.

Our final evening together was spent over dinner, sharing stories from the week and reflecting on all we had seen. Their generosity helped us experience Oahu not just as visitors, but as guests.

This was our family’s first experience at a Japanese restaurant, and we were so happy for the introduction!

Stillness in the Valley of the Temples

On our last morning in Hawaii, we visited Byodo-In Temple in the Valley of the Temples, choosing a quieter outing before our late-night flight home.

The temple is a replica of a 900-year-old temple in Japan, built in 1968 to commemorate the first Japanese immigrants to Hawaii.

The temple grounds were serene, with koi ponds, still water, and steep green cliffs rising behind the buildings. After a week of movement and exploration, it felt like a natural pause.

The young adults lingered by the ponds, photographing the koi and the ducks and other birds resting quietly along the paths and gardens.

Stories Along the Way

In the weeks leading up to the trip, and even during the journey itself, we watched a mix of films and a TV series set in or filmed around Oahu. It added another layer of connection to the places we were about to see, deepening the experience and making it both more fun and more meaningful once we arrived.

The most memorable were the films shot at Kualoa Ranch—especially Jurassic Park and Jurassic World—where the landscape later felt instantly familiar in person. We also watched 50 First Dates, which captures a softer side of island life, and Blue Crush, with its vivid portrayal of North Shore competitive surf culture. Lost and Finding ‘Ohana rounded out the island viewing, while films like Jumanji and Godzilla didn’t quite make the cut before departure. Pearl Harbor added historical context that deepened our visit to the National Historic Site.

I had intended to read Moloka‘i during the journey, but only opened it on the flight home—and then couldn’t put it down. The novel follows a young Hawaiian girl sent to the isolated settlement at Kalaupapa after contracting Hansen’s disease (formerly known as leprosy) and introduced me to a chapter of Hawaiian history I knew very little about.

Sometimes travel doesn’t end when you return home. Sometimes it continues in the stories you carry with you afterward.