There are photos from our younger years that do not only show how we looked. They also show who we were trying to become.
This one is such a photo.
There I am, standing on the rocks somewhere on Oahu in March 1993, surrounded by the Pacific Ocean, wearing shorts, flip-flops, sunglasses, a hat, a camera around my neck — and, most importantly, a red Hawaii shirt.
Not just any Hawaii shirt.
This shirt was from the Tom Selleck Collection. Yes, really. It was one of the designs he wore in Magnum, P.I., and because I was young, inspired, and maybe a little ridiculous, I paid 75 US dollars for it.
That was not a shirt. That was an investment in a dream.
Of course, Tom Selleck’s shorts were shorter. His moustache was more impressive. His Ferrari was missing from my life completely. And I am sure he did not walk around Hawaii with white socks like a German tourist who had just escaped Munich. But still, I tried.
And honestly, when I look at the photo today, I have to say: I really tried.
Honolulu — The Word Alone Sounded Like Paradise
Before I ever went there, Hawaii already lived in my head.
The word itself had magic.
Honolulu.
It sounded warm. Exotic. Far away. A little unreal. Like a place from television, travel brochures, and dreams that were probably printed on glossy paper.
For me, Hawaii was of course connected to the 1980s television series Magnum, P.I. I had watched Tom Selleck driving around Oahu in that red Ferrari, wearing flower shirts, looking relaxed, sun-tanned, and somehow always busy solving crimes in paradise. For a young man sitting in Germany, this looked like another planet.
Germany had offices, grey skies, paperwork, and people who took life very seriously.
Hawaii had palm trees, beaches, ocean waves, and people who said “Aloha.”
So in March 1993, I packed my things and went to Frankfurt am Main to fly to Hawaii. It was my first trip to the United States at all. Not New York. Not Los Angeles. Not San Francisco.
No, my first America was Hawaii.
Which is maybe not the most typical way to enter the United States, but it suited the fantasy very well.
The night before my flight, I had a dream. In that dream, my airplane took off, I looked out of the window, and there was my suitcase, standing alone on the runway.
Very dramatic.
Very symbolic.
Very stupid.
But also very me.
Frankfurt, Los Angeles, Honolulu — And a Lot of Cigarette Smoke
I flew from Frankfurt with Air New Zealand via Los Angeles to Honolulu.
Today, memories from 33 years ago are not as sharp as they once were. They are more like old postcards. Some corners are faded, some colors are still surprisingly bright, and some details are missing completely. But a few scenes are still very clear.
I remember the transit lounge in Los Angeles.
It was full of cigarette smoke.
Not a little smoke. Not “someone in the corner had a cigarette” smoke. More like the entire room had decided to become one large ashtray. This was the early 1990s, when people still smoked in places where today you would probably set off seven alarms and cause a security incident.
Then came the smaller airplane to Honolulu. The flight was bumpy, but honestly, I was already too excited to care. Somewhere out there in the dark was Hawaii. The Hawaii. My Hawaii. The television Hawaii. The dream Hawaii.
And then, after landing, a woman greeted me and put a lei around my neck.
Now, to be clear: it was not the kind of movie scene where a half-naked woman in a grass skirt appears in slow motion with tropical music in the background. No. She was just a casual-looking woman in a shirt, jeans, and sneakers.
But she said “Aloha.”
And I had a lei around my neck.
So yes, the dream had officially started.
The First Night in Waikiki — “No, I’m Hungry”
A black car took me through the night of Honolulu to my hotel in Waikiki Beach.
It was late, but I was not tired. My body was still somewhere between Germany and the Pacific Ocean, confused but fully awake. Back home, because of the time difference, it was only afternoon. And I do not usually sleep in the afternoon. Especially not when I had just arrived in Honolulu.
But I was hungry.
So I asked at the hotel reception where I could buy something to eat. The receptionist told me there was a 24-hour supermarket one block behind the hotel.
A supermarket open 24 hours.
For someone coming from Germany in the early 1990s, this was already a cultural shock. In Germany, shops closed when they felt like it, and if you were hungry at the wrong hour, that was your personal problem.
So I left the hotel in search of food.
The first people I met outside were not exactly Hawaiian dancers or friendly tour guides.
They were prostitutes.
They approached me and asked if I wanted some fun.
I answered very honestly: “No, I’m hungry.”
Which was true. Maybe not romantic. Maybe not very Magnum. But practical.
A little later, a red pickup truck crossed my way. On the back of it sat a group of women, slightly drunk, laughing, with loud music coming from the car. It looked wild, free, American, and completely different from anything I would have seen at 3 a.m. in Munich.
And I remember thinking: Cool! But is this really Hawaii?
A few minutes later, I found the supermarket.
It was large, bright, almost empty, and open at 3 a.m. There was only me and one person at the counter. I bought something to eat — probably sandwiches and Coke, because that sounds exactly like something I would have bought at that time — and went back to my hotel.
Around 4 a.m., I sat on the balcony of my room in Waikiki, eating my very American night meal and looking into the warm Hawaiian darkness.
No, I was still not tired.
Only a few hours later, I saw myself in the hotel restaurant enjoying my first ever American breakfast.
I do not remember exactly what was on the plate, but I remember the feeling: everything was bigger, sweeter, louder, and somehow more confident than in Germany.
Even breakfast had self-esteem.
Waikiki — Paradise With Shopping Bags
My first walk along the beach promenade in Waikiki was exciting, but also a little confusing.
This was Hawaii, yes. But it was also America. A lot of America. Hotels, shops, restaurants, traffic, signs, tourists, shopping centers. Waikiki was not exactly the untouched paradise I had carried in my imagination.
It was more like paradise with credit card machines.
Still, I was impressed. The light was different. The air was different. The ocean was right there. Diamond Head rose in the distance like a postcard that had become real. People wore shorts and flip-flops as if life had finally understood what clothing should be.
And I went shopping.
Of course I did.
The dollar was cheap at that time, which made shopping in America feel like a sport with financial benefits. I came back with several bags, and in one of them was the legendary red Tom Selleck shirt.
I was proud.
Very proud.
Probably too proud for a man who had just spent a small fortune on a flower shirt.
But this shirt was not clothing. It was identity. It said: “I have arrived in Hawaii, and if Magnum needs a distant German cousin, I am ready.”
Oahu — Around the Island and Into the Real Hawaii
Of course, I had not come all the way to Hawaii only for shopping and sandwiches at 3 a.m. I wanted to see the islands.
Oahu was the first island to explore, and an island round trip was the perfect way to escape the hotel-and-shopping version of Waikiki.
Once you leave Waikiki, Oahu changes quickly. The city fades, the mountains come closer, and suddenly the Hawaii from the imagination begins to appear.
There was the dramatic coastline with black rocks and white waves. The Pacific crashed against the shore with a power that made it clear: this ocean does not care about tourists, hotel brochures, or men wearing Tom Selleck shirts.
Places like Hanauma Bay showed the softer side of Oahu — a curved volcanic bay, clear water, coral reefs, and fish that probably had seen more German tourists than I had seen palm trees. Even if one only looks at it from above, Hanauma Bay has that perfect tropical shape, as if nature had designed it for postcards.
Then there were places like the Halona Blowhole, where the sea pushes water through lava rock and suddenly shoots it into the air. It is one of those sights where everyone stands there waiting for nature to perform like a circus act. And when the water finally explodes upward, everyone is happy, as if we personally encouraged the ocean to do it.
Further along the coast, the landscape became rougher and more open. Sandy Beach and the area around Makapuu had that wild, windy feeling — waves, cliffs, sunlight, and the endless blue of the Pacific. This was not the polished Waikiki version of Hawaii. This was the island showing muscles.
The Pali Lookout was another unforgettable place. High above the island, the wind can be so strong that you feel personally attacked by the atmosphere. From there, you look down over the green windward side of Oahu, and the view is spectacular. It is also a historic place. In 1795, King Kamehameha I fought the Battle of Nuuanu there, one of the decisive battles in his campaign to unite the Hawaiian Islands. Warriors were pushed over the cliffs, and the place still carries something powerful and serious beneath the tourist photos.
That is one thing Hawaii does very well: beauty and history stand side by side. You look at a breathtaking view, and then you learn that something dramatic happened there.
The island tour also led toward the North Shore, a name that sounds relaxed but in winter becomes one of the most famous surfing regions in the world. Places like Waimea Bay, Sunset Beach, and the Banzai Pipeline are legendary. Even if you are not a surfer, you understand immediately that the waves there are not decoration. They are serious business.
Standing on a beach and watching the surf roll in, I could understand why Hawaii became the spiritual home of surfing. The ancient Hawaiians already practiced he‘e nalu, wave sliding, long before surfing became a global lifestyle with brands, competitions, and people pretending to be more relaxed than they are.
And somewhere between pineapple fields, coastal roads, and little towns, Oahu became more than Waikiki. It became an island with layers.
A Little Hawaiian History Between Palm Trees
Before Europeans arrived, Hawaii was a Polynesian kingdom with its own culture, language, chiefs, religion, navigation skills, and traditions. The first Polynesian settlers crossed enormous distances of the Pacific in canoes, guided by stars, currents, birds, and knowledge passed down through generations. When you think about it, this is almost unbelievable.
I had trouble trusting that my suitcase would arrive from Frankfurt.
They crossed the Pacific Ocean without GPS.
In 1778, Captain James Cook arrived in Hawaii, and after that the islands became increasingly connected to the outside world — for better and for worse. Trade, missionaries, whaling ships, disease, politics, and foreign influence changed Hawaiian society deeply.
King Kamehameha I united the islands by 1810 and created the Kingdom of Hawaii. Later, Honolulu became an important center in the Pacific. In 1893, the Hawaiian monarchy was overthrown with the support of American business interests and US forces. Hawaii was annexed by the United States in 1898 and became the 50th US state in 1959.
So yes, Hawaii is paradise in many imaginations. But it is also a place with a complicated history. Behind the leis, beaches, and aloha smiles, there is a story of a kingdom, loss, adaptation, and cultural survival.
At 22? No, by 1993 I was already older than that- 24 still- but still young enough to arrive mostly with dreams in my head. I did not understand all of this deeply then. I was busy being impressed by the sun, the ocean, the food, the language, the friendliness, and, naturally, my shirt.
But even then, I felt Hawaii was more than a holiday destination. It had a soul.
Pearl Harbor — History Suddenly Becomes Real
Oahu is also home to Pearl Harbor, one of the most significant historical sites in the United States.
The Japanese attack on Pearl Harbor on December 7, 1941, brought the United States into World War II. For many visitors, especially those from America, this place is almost sacred ground. For a German visitor, it has another layer too, because World War II is never just “history” for us. It is part of the shadow we grow up with.
The USS Arizona Memorial, floating above the sunken battleship, is quiet and moving. Oil still rises from the wreck in small drops, often called the “tears of the Arizona.” It is one of those places where tourists become silent without anyone needing to ask.
Hawaii can do that. One moment you are thinking about beach life and sunglasses; the next moment you are standing in front of history.
Maui — The South Seas Feeling I Had Been Searching For
After Oahu, I visited Maui. And Maui gave me more of the South Seas feeling I had imagined before the trip.
Waikiki was exciting, but Maui felt softer, quieter, more relaxed. Less city. More island.
Maui in 1993 still had that easy tropical rhythm. The roads were slower, the air felt lighter, and the landscapes changed constantly — beaches, sugar cane fields, dry lava slopes, green valleys, and the mighty volcanic presence of Haleakala.
Haleakala means “House of the Sun,” and it is one of the great sights of Maui. The crater landscape at the top feels almost like another planet. It is not the lush, green Hawaii of postcards. It is wide, silent, volcanic, and almost lunar. You stand there above the clouds and suddenly Hawaii becomes bigger than beaches.
If you go up early for sunrise, it can be freezing cold — a funny detail for an island associated with tropical warmth. People arrive wrapped in jackets, blankets, and whatever else they found in their luggage, waiting for the sun like pilgrims who underestimated the weather.
The Road to Hana is another Maui legend. It is not just a road; it is a patience test with waterfalls. The road winds along the coast through rainforest, over bridges, past cliffs, beaches, bamboo, and countless curves. It is beautiful, but also the kind of road where a German driver may begin to question his relationship with motion sickness.
Every few minutes there seems to be another waterfall, another viewpoint, another place where you think, “Yes, this must be the final perfect place,” and then the island says, “No, wait, I have another one.”
Hana itself is quiet and remote, and that is its charm. It feels far away from the world, even though it is still on the same island as the resort beaches.
Then there was Iao Valley, green and mystical, with the famous Iao Needle rising from the valley floor. This was another important historical place. In 1790, the Battle of Kepaniwai took place there, again connected with Kamehameha’s campaign to unite the islands. The valley is beautiful, but like the Pali Lookout on Oahu, it carries history beneath the greenery.
Maui also had beaches that felt closer to the tropical fantasy than Waikiki. Places like Kaanapali, Kihei, or Wailea offered golden sand, calm evenings, and sunsets that looked almost suspiciously perfect. You begin to understand why people come to Maui and then start calculating whether they really need to return to their old life.
I certainly asked myself that question.
Unfortunately, my old life in Munich was waiting.
And it had no palm trees.
Lahaina Before Everything Changed
One of the places many visitors loved on Maui was Lahaina.
In the 19th century, Lahaina was an important whaling town and even served as the capital of the Hawaiian Kingdom before Honolulu took over that role. By the 1990s, it had become a lively historic town with wooden buildings, shops, galleries, restaurants, and the famous banyan tree.
It had charm, history, and a relaxed seaside atmosphere. Looking back today, after the terrible fire of 2023, Lahaina’s memories feel even more precious. Sometimes we visit places without knowing that one day they will exist only in memory, photographs, and the stories people tell.
That is one reason I like writing these things down now. Memory is not perfect, but it keeps something alive.
Big Island — Volcanoes, Black Lava, and the Feeling of Creation
The Island of Hawaii, usually called the Big Island, was another world again.
The name is accurate. It is big. Much bigger than the other islands, and geologically it feels young, raw, and unfinished. If Oahu has the city, and Maui has the romance, Big Island has the power.
This is where you really understand that Hawaii was born from fire.
The island is home to some of the world’s most impressive volcanoes, including Mauna Loa, Mauna Kea, and Kilauea. In Hawaii Volcanoes National Park, the landscape can feel both dead and alive at the same time. Black lava fields stretch across the land like frozen rivers. Steam rises from vents. The earth itself seems to breathe.
For someone from Germany, where landscapes usually behave in a more predictable way, this was astonishing. In Germany, if the ground smokes, something is probably wrong. In Hawaii, it may simply be the planet working.
The Chain of Craters Road leads through lava fields down toward the sea, showing how eruptions shaped and reshaped the island. Roads have been covered by lava. Forests have been swallowed. New land has been created. It is both destructive and creative.
That is the strange beauty of volcanic Hawaii: it reminds you that paradise is not gentle by nature. It was made by explosions.
The Hilo side of the Big Island was completely different from the dry Kona side. Around Hilo, everything felt green, wet, lush, and tropical. Rain creates waterfalls, gardens, and deep valleys. This was the Hawaii of rainforest and mist.
Places like Akaka Falls and Rainbow Falls show that greener, softer side. Water drops from cliffs into tropical vegetation, and everything looks like it has been watered by someone with a very generous personality.
The valleys along the Hamakua Coast and toward places like Waipio Valley are dramatic and beautiful. High cliffs, deep green folds in the land, waterfalls, and ocean views make this part of the island feel ancient and remote.
I also remember a helicopter ride — two hours above crater landscapes and untouched valleys. From the air, Hawaii becomes even more unreal. You see the shape of the land, the scars of lava, the green valleys, the waterfalls that seem impossible to reach by road. A helicopter gives you the privileged feeling of seeing the island like a bird, although in my case probably like a slightly nervous German bird with a camera.
Those flights were not cheap, but they were unforgettable.
And let us be honest: after spending 75 dollars on a shirt, I had already proven that I was capable of questionable financial decisions in the name of Hawaii.
Kona, Hilo, and the Many Faces of One Island
What fascinated me about Big Island was the contrast.
On one side, you have Kona, dry, sunny, with coffee farms, lava rock, and beaches. Kona coffee is famous, and even if you are not a coffee expert, the idea of drinking coffee grown on volcanic slopes in Hawaii sounds much better than drinking office coffee in Munich.
On the other side, you have Hilo, rainy and green, with an older, more local feeling. It is less polished than the resort areas, but maybe more authentic because of that.
Above it all stands Mauna Kea, one of the tallest mountains on Earth when measured from its base on the ocean floor. The summit is sacred in Hawaiian culture and also home to astronomical observatories because the sky there is incredibly clear. Hawaii is full of these contrasts: sacred mountain and science, ancient culture and modern tourism, beach dreams and difficult history.
As a visitor in 1993, I probably did not understand all these layers. I was absorbing impressions more than analyzing them. But the feeling stayed with me.
Hawaii was not one thing.
It was city and wilderness. America and Polynesia. Volcano and beach. Shopping mall and sacred valley. Aloha and history. Dream and reality.
And somewhere in between stood me, in my red shirt, trying to look relaxed.
The American Way of Life — With Palm Trees
What struck me again and again was the American way of life.
Everything seemed more casual, bigger, more open, and somehow more cinematic than in Germany. The cars, the supermarkets, the breakfasts, the friendliness, the service, the relaxed clothing, the easy conversations with strangers — it was all different from what I knew.
Coming from Munich, where office life had its own atmosphere of seriousness, pressure, and routine, Hawaii felt like someone had opened a window in my head.
There was sunlight. There was ocean air. There was space.
Of course, not everything was paradise. Waikiki was commercial. Honolulu had nightlife that was not exactly the dream from the travel brochures. And even in Hawaii, reality appeared quickly — prostitutes, traffic, tourist crowds, expensive hotels, and the discovery that paradise also sells sandwiches at 3 a.m.
But maybe that made it better.
Because real places are always more interesting than fantasies.
The Hawaii in my imagination had been beautiful, but flat. The Hawaii I experienced had humor, history, noise, wind, rain, volcanoes, shopping malls, ancient valleys, American breakfasts, and a woman in jeans saying “Aloha.”
Two Weeks in Hawaii — And Then Back to Munich
I spent exactly two weeks in Hawaii.
Two weeks sounds short now, but at the time it felt huge. A real adventure. My first trip to the United States. My first contact with the Pacific world of Hawaii. My first American breakfast. My first 24-hour supermarket miracle. My first lei. My first moment of thinking that maybe life could be different from the office atmosphere waiting back home.
When I left Hawaii, I was teary-eyed.
I remember that clearly.
The sunlight, the ocean, the islands, the different way of life — it had touched something in me. I did not want to go back. Not really. I knew Munich was waiting, with its routines, offices, and grey seriousness. And after Hawaii, that felt even harder.
Travel can be dangerous that way.
You go somewhere because you want to see a place.
And then the place shows you another version of yourself.
Maybe that is what Hawaii did to me in 1993. It did not turn me into Tom Selleck. My moustache never reached the required standard, and I never got the Ferrari.
But for two weeks, standing on volcanic rocks in the Pacific, wearing that ridiculous and wonderful red shirt, I felt far away from everything that had made life heavy.
And that was enough.
Aloha, Hawaii.
You were not exactly the paradise I had imagined.
You were better — because you were real.
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