Some buildings opt for fierce stone beasties such as lions or dogs to guard their entrances. When we leave Honolulu’s marine-themed Wyland Hotel we trot past a pair of playful-looking cement dolphins. Other than snout-butting a beach ball at intruders, I’m not sure how effective they would be on hypothetical security detail. Dr. A and I walk through downtown Honolulu where there are leis on everything from the wee figures on restroom doors to unimpressed-looking terriers waiting outside shops. Car bumper stickers entreat us to “Keep the Country Country” and to buy Viper Surfing Fins. Another is insistent that we “Bring Back Assasination”. A heavily made up, modelesque woman in her early 20s, sweating in the afternoon sun, invites me to “shoot real guns at Hawaii’s safest indoor range”, but this is vetoed by my more sensible Canadian companion, despite the specials on offer on the all-Japanese leaflet the model gives us. Convenience stores broadcast specials on taro chips, myriad pineapple-based edibles and Spam Sushi, seemingly a major delicacy in Hawaii. Sushi, for the Vancouverite April, is the taste of home, but Spam Sushi doesn’t seem to be the maki she’s missing. The Scottish flavours I miss most are pakora and pretty much everything on the menu at Glasgow’s Wee Curry Shop. Americans are often astounded to hear that Scots scoff pakora far more frequently than we haver for haggis. Coming from the current Curry Capital of Britain, I am curious to see the local take on Indian food. I keep my eyes open, but am quite relieved that nowhere in Honolulu has Spam masala or Spam pakora on the menu.