Snorkeling in Hawaii

The best thing Hawaii has to offer is its natural beauty. The nightlife and posh resorts are nice, but that experience can be had just about anywhere.

No trip is really complete without getting an up-close view of the myriad tropical fish.

There are, literally, hundreds of places to snorkel on the islands, but one of the easiest to reach for most visitors in Hanauma Bay, on Oahu's eastern shore about 10 miles from Waikiki.The best advice I can give for a trip to Hanauma Bay is to get there early. The nature preserve is invariably crowded during its open hours, and the more people out kicking through the water, the more sand gets stirred up, obscuring your view.

After paying $1 to park and $7.50 per person to enter, there is a mandatory video before visitors can descend to the beach, either on foot or by tram.

I've been to Hanauma Bay several times, and despite snorkeling opportunities elsewhere, it is still worth the cost.

I brought my own snorkeling gear, but there are numerous places to rent it in Waikiki, as well as at the bay itself. The benefit to renting in Waikiki is that you can take it to other parts of the island once you're done with Hanauma Bay.

On my last trip, I swam along the surface as I snorkeled - something it takes some people a while to get used to, as breathing underwater just isn't natural.

With the narrow inlet to the bay, there is really no danger of being swept out to sea as long as you stay close to shore, and the water is shallow enough to stand up in if you get tired.

The fish you'll see the most of are schools of unimpressive silver fish, but they are exciting at first.

After about 10 minutes in the water, I spotted several angelfish, with their tall, narrow bodies slicing through the water as they scurried for cover. I also notices several rainbow-spotted fish, a number of skinny trumpetfish that resemble eels and dozens of other sea creatures.

After about two hours at the beach, the cars and buses brought more and more people, and I decided to head out to another part of the island and get on with the trip.

For more information about Hanauma Bay, visit the official site here.

Photo of the Week: Sea Turtle

Napili Bay on Maui, Hawaii, has two reefs, making it a great place to spot sea turtles. This one was eating off some rocks near the point.

Photo of the week: Hawaiian Sunset

I like to think this is a classic, "I wish I was there..." photo. It was taken from the town of Lahaina on Maui, and I liked the sunset with the tiki torches. The island in the background is either Molokai or Lanai.

Photo of the Week: Chinaman's Hat

The aptly named Chinaman's Hat is an island off Oahu's windward coast. It's a great spot for pictures and relaxing (on those days that aren't windy). The island's real name is Mokolii, which in Hawaiian means "Little Lizard," but the locals all know it as Chinaman's Hat.

The Taste of Travel: Hawaiian Delight

Tucked away in a quiet corner of Honolulu, Leonard’s Bakery is the home to a food that has enjoyed a culinary version of the American Dream.

Not unlike donuts, malasadas are deep-fried pastry puffs coated in cinnamon and sugar or stuffed with tasty fillings. Originally part of the traditional Portuguese celebration of Shrove Tuesday (Fat Tuesday), malasadas immigrated to Hawaii in the early 1950s, when Leonard DoRego opened his bakery, and were an instant success.

It took me seven trips to Hawaii before a local turned me on to the small establishment off the beaten tourist path. I’m not much for breakfast – usually preferring more sleep – but he convinced me over ahi tuna steaks and margaritas that it was something I simply couldn’t miss.

When I walked up to the front of the innocuous building the following morning, it had the look and feel of a local favorite. The workers greeted me and my family with an enthusiastic “Aloha” and let us look over the selection. They had the whole pastry spectrum covered, from Danish tea cakes to run-of-the-mill glazed donuts, but I was there for malasadas.

I don’t remember exactly how much they were, but it was something like 40 cents each. I went for the standard sugar-coated one and one with a cream filling. My parents and sister each got a couple, and we decided to eat them in the car on the way to climb Diamond Head.

I picked up one of the fresh-baked malasadas, feeling the warmth in my hand as we passed palm trees and beaches with Diamond Head looming in the distance. I took my first bite, and was instantly hooked. The plain one wasn’t too heavy, with a nice airy taste to it as it melted in my mouth. The cream-filled one was also excellent, but the original one was better. They were, in a word, delicious. They rival even the best French croissant.

After returning home, malasadas joined the sandy beaches and pristine big-sky feel of Hawaii in the corridors of memory. I had never seen them on the mainland, and didn’t expect to. It was, therefore, a surprise earlier this week when I was eating at an L&L Hawaiian Barbecue restaurant to hear that I could order them less than a quarter of a mile from home.

From a Portuguese tradition to a Hawaiian favorite, malasadas now grace the mainland, and I couldn’t be happier.