OAHU PC CANOE PARADE

Once the traditional playground for Hawaiian royalty, Waikiki continues to provide a range of island entertainment. So we readily and enthusiastically embrace Polynesian shows as part of our beach activities.

It’s a short walk from our condo to Kapiolani Park, where free concerts occur at a bandstand surrounded by gigantic century-old monkey pod trees. Every Sunday afternoon, the Royal Hawaiian Band performs; in July, a series of shows feature top Hawaiian uke entertainers, part of an ensemble of the world’s finest ukulele players.

An August festival celebrates traditional island dance with Queen Liliuokalani Keiki Hula Competition and Hawaii’s best slack-key guitarists performing all over Oahu. From mid-September to October, the Aloha Festivals present an array of activities, including parades and street parties.

Waikiki’s nightlife jumps with energy along its main drive. Several free performances occur along the beach at sunset. On an evening stroll, we attend one of these events in the garden of the Royal Hawaiian Hotel. On Mondays, this famous pink beach hotel holds its big luau. Some consider it the best on Oahu. Across the street, Jimmy Buffett, taking over Don Ho’s famous venue, plays at the Beachcomber Hotel. Jimmy sings distinctive favorites with his Coral Reefer Band, which now includes several talented locals. However, an extraordinary Hawaiian production awaits us next door.

The Magic of Polynesia is amazing! Sights and sounds of Polynesia surround us as a cast of twenty performers impart extraordinary mystery and power through rituals, chants and dance. A volcano erupts right on stage. When renowned illusionist John Hirokawa dramatically arrives, he waves his wand: objects appear and disappear; people vanish and suddenly reappear somewhere else entirely! Interspersed with knife and fire dances, John smiles, waves his wand again: a shiny sports car appears! Placed in what seems like inescapable traps, this magical master and Hawaiian cohorts escape and transform. Astounding pyrotechnics and lasers add to the total wonderment! John grins again, taps his wand and now a helicopter appears! Some objects evolve into something wondrously new. Casting spells, John’s assistant floats, a table takes flight and opening a box, a butterfly flutters upward and mysteriously dissolves…

The biggest luau show takes place at the Polynesian Cultural Center on Oahu’s north shore. Arriving by chartered bus, we immediately experience warm island hospitality in huts, meeting houses and amid grassy commons of six replicated villages. While others stick on tattoos, weave baskets and throw spears, we go native: playing Fijian rhythm instruments, joining an exuberant Maori Haka ceremony and sampling Tahitian soda bread. We also watch Hawaiian hulas, vigorous Tahitian huras, Tongan drumming techniques and comedic Samoans gathering and husking coconuts.

Emerging from these edifying entertainments spread over 42 lush acres, all gather to behold Rainbows of Paradise, an outrigger parade that winds along the picturesque waterway. Our own restful canoe ride retraces the route of this musical extravaganza. Disembarking, we enjoy a cultural overview of the Polynesian islands in the IMAX Theater. Wedding customs shown in this engaging production prepare us for that evening’s performance.

PCC - HA-MAORI-HAKA

The center’s lu’au proves fit for a King! Beginning with a reenactment of royal court pageantry, we feast on poi, mahi mahi, pineapple, purple sweet potatoes and coconut pudding before heading for ‘Ha, Breath of Life.’ This new theatrical spectacle provides an action-packed journey through Polynesia in an elaborate series of haunting, flamboyant and fiery dances. In island fashion, it’s also a saga showing the main character developing into manhood, meeting the perfect mate, wooing this lovely wahine, marrying and beginning a new family.

Oahu’s lilting melodies, enchanting dances and magical moments live on in our hearts.

I joined a group of 20 at the Prazky Kulinarsky Institut(Prague Culinary Institute) where Co-owner Roman Vanek, Chefs Vaclav Fric, David Izak and Apprentice Barbara Simunkova taught us how to cook with wine and plum brandy, and sometimes, we did put it in the food! The Prague Culinary Institute, began in 2008, and offers a huge range of courses for the general public, professionals and personal chefs for diplomats etc.

Radek Kasparek, Lenora Hayman, Valentina Dzombakova, Martin Schwarz at Ola Kala Culinary School

We created a crème soup with a lost egg. After cracking an egg, it was dropped into potato vinegar causing the white to surround the yolk which was then lightly boiled and dropped into cold water to stop further cooking. The yolk was nicely lost inside its white cover. On gently cutting the egg on top of the soup, the yellow yolk drizzled over the soup. We also helped to prepare sirloin of beef with Karlsbad dumplings and roasted duck with red cabbage and potato dumplings. Dumplings in all their varieties are popular. The food is not light but rich with cream and delicious.

The following morning, 6 friends and I, headed for Michal Nikodem’s Ola Kala Culinary School. Martin Schwarz, the sommelier, paired our wines. Chef Radek Kasparak guided us in the cooking of a moist pheasant with fresh nettle and shallot gravy and Valentina Dzombakova spoiled us by constantly washing our utensils. We stuffed plums with chocolate mousse and made a sweet dumpling to accompany our personally churned poppy seed ice-cream topped with Slivovice plum brandy sauce.

Now that I had proved to my friends, that I could cook as well as eat, I took a 2 day tour south to Moravia. Traveling, on the SuperCity Pendolino train, 250 kms from Prague, took only 2 hours, to begin our walking-tour of Olomouc, the cultural capital of Moravia, on the confluence of the Moravia and Bystrice rivers. Olomouc is the home of the Palacky University.

The Neo-Gothic St. Wenceslas (Vaclava) Cathedral on Wenceslas Square has the 2nd highest church tower in the Czech Republic. Next door is the Presbytery where in 1767 Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart (1756-1791) lived, after fleeing Vienna, due to a small pox epidemic

A plaque honours Mozart, who as an 11 year old in Olomouc composed the 6th symphony in F Major!

In 2001, the 35 metre high Baroque Holy Trinity Column (1716-1754), in the main square, became a UNESCO World Heritage site and was completed, 20 years after its local architect/stonemason and sponsor Vaclav Render died. The Archangel Michael with sword and shield, the dove representing the Holy Spirit and God the Father and Christ with a cross sitting on a globe, grace the pinnacle of the column.

The Astronomical Clock on the Olomouc town hall dates back to the 15th century. During the years of communism, it was updated with a dial display of the birthdays of Lenin and Stalin. An astronomical clock displays not only the hour and minutes, but the day of the week, month and phase of the moon and stars, the 4 seasons and signs of the zodiac. The communist vacations are highlighted in red, including in 1953, the deaths of Stalin and 2 weeks later Klement Gottwala the first Communist President of Czechoslovakia.

The Arion Fountain (2002) in the upper square depicts the story of a Greek poet being saved by a dolphin from drowning. It completes the set of 7 Olomouc Baroque fountains.

Our lunch, of cabbage soup and pork with rosehip sauce and apple dumpling was on the main square at the Moravska restaurant, beautifully decorated with dried flowers and painted vases.

Forty-five kms S.E. of Olomouc is Kromeriz and the Kromeriz Archiepiscopal Chateau and Kromeriz Gardens, listed since 1998, as UNESCO World Natural and Cultural Heritage sites.

Kromeriz UNESCO Flower Gardens & Rotunda

The Kromeriz Chateau, built in 1110, was from 1646-1947, the summer home of the Olomouc bishops. Photos are prohibited inside the archiepiscopal castle on whose walls hang breathtaking European 15-18th century paintings by Tizian, Jan Breughel etc. The film Amadeus had a scene in the room with 22 chandeliers.

The Kromeriz Gardens, encompass 64 hectares, and include 3 lakes, a pendulum in the octagonal rotunda with lovely murals, Pompeian and Colloredo Colonnades lined with Greek statues and magnificent, sculptured, baroque, flower gardens.

I spent a wonderful and interesting night in the Kromeriz Octarna Hotel and Restaurant. Formerly a Franciscan Monastery, the rooms are luxuriously furnished without loosing their former ambiance. The monks would have loved the modern, heated swimming pool, sauna and spa treatments. Their historical Max Svabinsky hall with warm, red furnishings and portraits of monks looking benevolently over us was the setting for the gala evening featuring local food paired with Moravian wine, served by Restaurant Manager Vladimir Valouch and his knowledgeable staff. The Marecek Dulcimer group entertained us while dining on smoked beef tongue with horseradish sauce and grilled caraway bread, beef broth with liver dumplings, and pork accompanied with Znovin Znojmo wines. Their sauvignon blancs are reminiscent of those in New Zealand with peach, grass and nettle overtones. The sweet, late harvest Palava, a crossbreed of Muller-Thurgau and spicy Traminer is intensely aromatic with hints of grapefruit and lemon.

The next morning we visited the Olomoucke Tvarusky museum in Lostice to learn how the founder Alois Wessels, in 1876, made genuine Olomouc cakes of cheese. They are semi-soft, without fat, in 6 different shapes and “prepared according to the 120 recipes in the Cookery Book of Unusual Scent”! Great cheeses! No wonder their store was crowded!

When you go: Czech Tourism Website. www.czechtourism.com

Mildred McDonald

The Kitchen Window

By Mildred McDonald

The long weekend had begun rather badly those fifty odd years ago. I had been following a jumbo-sized moving van which had completely obscured the left-turn signal accessing the Georgia Street viaduct in downtown Vancouver one afternoon, and when it had turned, I followed closely – missing the light. At least that was what the officer had explained when he caught up with my husband’s ’55 Plymouth sedan that I was driving. Among other pertinent questions that he asked me, one was, “Where do you live?” When I replied, “Langley” he said, “Well, I know they don’t have these kind of signals in Langley, so this time I’ll just give you a warning.”

He then strode back to his cruiser, and I sped on towards Horseshoe Bay where I hoped to board the Black Ball ferry to Nanaimo. Hopefully, my husband would arrive by bus from an up-island logging camp in time to meet me for supper at the Talley-Ho hotel.

The trip across the water was speedy, and almost before I knew it I was nicely settled into a comfortable room on the second floor of the hotel – with a wide-angle view of the parking lot. As I was checking out the scene below, the telephone rang. It was my good man calling, and announcing his arrival at the Bus Depot; and also wondering if I could locate it in the unfamiliar territory. I quickly asked directions at the front desk and set off down the main thoroughfare, and within a few blocks had recognized him standing on the curb, hovering over his old club-bag and an unwieldy ‘cookhouse’ Gladstone. We stowed his belongings into the trunk, and he slid into the driver’s seat and headed back to the Talley-Ho for our suppers.

Later, we had scouted about the town for awhile before the day waned. As my husband was feeling the strain of overtime in the machine-shop where he worked many long hours every day – and evening, at dusk we had returned to the hotel. Since our room overlooked the well-lit parking lot, he backed his Plymouth into a slot directly below the window. As well, it was conveniently near a side entrance door to the hotel, to which I had been given a key upon checking in.

Even as early as the ’50’s, we had been hearing reports of automobiles being hi-jacked, trashed, chop-shopped or sold ‘down east’. However the matter didn’t concern us a lot, as it seemed to be happening mainly to other people – in other places. Little did we know.

It happened just as I was dozing off that I became aware of a bit of a ruckus outside. I crept across the room to the window, and there, rambling jubilantly across the parking lot in no particular order, were several young men making their way towards the side door. From their swaggering approach I was suspicious that they may have been homeward bound from a nearby pub.

As I kept my eyes peeled on the activity below me, I noticed one fellow squat behind a station wagon that was parked next to our own car, and with a little click he had neatly snapped off the rear license plate and slipped it beneath his jacket. I thought I was seeing things – but then he stood up, moved nearer and squatted behind the Plymouth sedan, little knowing that I had a ring-side seat a few feet above him. Even though my husband was sleeping soundly in his ‘purring rack’, in a panic I bawled, “Joe! Joe! – Call the police. Someone is stealing our license plate!” That alerted the thief, who sidled swiftly into the side entrance.

The ‘phone was not direct dial, and the night-clerk at the front desk seemed completely thick-witted when I babbled out my urgent alarm to him. Seeing that he didn’t seem to ‘get it’, I flung my dressing gown about my shoulders, and with hair curlers pinned down and night cap askew, I scuttled down the stairs and hied along the long corridor to the front desk. By that time I could sense that the rest of the accomplices might be closing in behind me. The night clerk still didn’t ‘get it’. I begged him to call the police, but he said he would do it when he had time. I could almost hear him thinking, “What kind of a crazy lady is this!”

All was quiet the following morning when my hubby and I walked downstairs into the bustling dining room for our breakfast. As we sat enjoying our ‘loggers’ fare and coffee, all of a sudden my ears detected the obviously British accent that I’d noticed in the parking lot the night before. I cautiously turned my head for a quick glance, and there they were! Five well-dressed, professional looking young men were seated at a round table and ordering their breakfasts. (So, that night clerk had not had time to alert the police, after all). They were still seated and chatting leisurely among themselves as my hubby and I scurried up the stairs to gather our gear for a hasty departure.

He wished no part of searching for the police station, as his idea of a long weekend did not entail sitting in a line-up there. We settled ourselves in our vehicle (with license plate intact) – and headed out towards the Black Ball ferry, and home. To this very day I occasionally feel a guilt pang that we had not further pursued the incident – and at least reported it to the authorities.

*Cookhouse Gladstone: a sturdy cardboard box borrowed from the camp cookhouse – and cinched together with a rope or heavy cord, used mainly for toting greasy overalls and shirts home to be laundered.