Waikiki? Why Not Waikiki?

“Why Waikiki?”

That was the response of a friend who owns a condo on Maui when I told him I’d be spending nine days in Hawaii, five of them on Honolulu’s fabled beachfront.

“Join us on Maui,” he said. “It’s the real Hawaii.”

Oh, sure, I thought, his real Hawaii-a golf course by the sea.

Poor Waikiki. Hawaii’s oldest resort-the royal family summered here-with the image of Rio or Miami Beach: a waterfront of high-rise hotels and package tours. To quote from a sightseeing guide to Hawaii that’s distributed widely in Waikiki, “Repeat visitors may pooh-pooh it

Like Rio and Miami-and L.A.’s Venice-Waikiki is an urban beach with distinctive character: a romantic vacation destination surrounded by people living their workaday lives. Don’t look at it just as a beach; look past that to what makes it unique. Stay a few days and be part of the scene.

Years ago, I took a leave from my job in Washington, D.C., and traveled for a year. Near the end of my journey, I settled for a month in a modest apartment hotel a 10-minute walk from Waikiki Beach. I became permanently captivated, and I keep coming back. Sandy shares my enthusiasm.

We’ve escaped to Waikiki so many times that we’ve developed little rituals. On arrival day we give each other leis. So typically touristy, you think. Not true. Hawaiians honor each other with flower leis on important occasions. For us, a lei makes an evening special.

We stay at the beautiful Halekulani Hotel, and we begin almost every evening with a mai-tai at sunset at the House Without a Key, the hotel’s outdoor bar. For years, dancer Kanoe Miller, a former Miss Hawaii, has performed authentic hula there beneath a giant kiawe tree with the sea as her backdrop. As the sky reddens, Hawaiian tunes harmonize with the splashing surf. Hokey, I suppose, but it’s all part of the fun of a Waikiki holiday.

The price range of lodgings in Waikiki may be the best in the islands, from deluxe and boutique down to motels and hostels. In fact, the hotel building boom of the go-go late ‘80s created a glut, and deals abound for the careful shopper.

The first-time visitor can get acquainted with an economical “tour” on the Bus, a city line that runs along Waikiki to the North Shore beyond Diamond Head. It costs $1.

Once tawdry, Kalakaua Avenue-Waikiki’s spruced-up Main Street, which parallels the beach-now ranks as one of America’s most attractive and interesting shopping streets. Gucci, Fendi, Prada-they’re all here, along with the tacky but always appealing International Market, a dense cluster of vendor stalls selling T-shirts, beach flip-flops and other souvenirs. The flashy new Galleria at Kalakaua and Royal Hawaiian avenues boasts three floors of fashionable boutiques. In December, Japanese tourists poured in by the busload.

For island flavor, pause in your shopping for a 60-minute ukulele lesson, taught daily at a sidewalk table in front of the Royal Hawaiian Shopping Center. We caught a free courtyard concert there of the Royal Hawaiian Band, featuring such island classics as “I Wore a Lei of Stars for You.”

Up on the shopping center’s third floor is a great place to buy authentic souvenirs: the Little Hawaiian Craft Shop.

We recommend a walk to (and from) dinner along Kalakaua, which is graced by hanging flower baskets and, at night, gas-fired tiki torches, more than 50 of them.

On your stroll, step off the sidewalk onto the back lawn of the Royal Hawaiian Hotel, the 1927 Spanish-Moorish “Pink Palace,” and you stand on ground where Kamehameha the Great camped with his generals as they began their conquest of Oahu. They established themselves in Honolulu, and the beach soon became a royal playground.

Today, Waikiki’s 11/2-mile crescent of white sand is lined by a wall of high-rise hotels. “What a shame,” the purists sniff.

Well, yes, Waikiki would be more of a tropical paradise if the hotels hadn’t been built, but then it would not have evolved into today’s cosmopolitan community. Still, the setting remains remarkably lovely. The sea, lapping gently ashore, gleams in shades of turquoise and blue; to the east, the slopes of Diamond Head bring drama to the picture; above the extinct volcano’s crater, white clouds dance across green ridges. I’ve been up there, and I’ve often seen rain squalls sweeping across the summit, sending barely a sprinkle to the beach.

To get the best of Waikiki, it helps to have a fun-seeker attitude. Once, I was standing in the doorway of a Waikiki hotel just as a young woman and her conventioneer husband stepped outside for their first look at the legendary beach. It was blanketed solidly with sun-bronzed bodies in all states of undress, and a few dozen of them would have had to move an inch or two if this couple had wanted to join them. “You gotta be kidding,” the woman said in, perhaps, momentary despair.

I don’t blame her; the crowds, mostly a weekend phenomenon, take some getting used to. But Waikiki is such a wonderful beach, , and as gorgeous as it is fun. The water is warm and clear, and the surf is gentle. You can walk shoulder deep 25 yards into the bay and still see your feet kicking up sand on the bottom. To avoid the crowds, I’ll sometimes take an early evening swim. Floating on my back, I watch the city lights twinkle on.

The beaches are public and free of charge. At most of them, visitors can rent beach towels, lounge chairs and other gear, and there are several outlets that rent bicycles and body boards and give lessons in water sports. A couple of them offer outrigger canoe rides. This is not to be missed. For a bargain $10, you get fun, adventure and a chance to experience a traditional Hawaiian sport.

On my last ride, we were eight in the canoe, six paddle-wielding passengers and two wave-savvy Hawaiian guides. Far out into the bay, we floated briefly among waiting surfers and took in the Waikiki skyline. And then came the order, “Paddle!” We caught a wave and rode it on and on into shore, waves splashing in our faces and surfers darting at our sides. I thought the ride was over, but back out again we went, twice, and each time was just as much fun as the first. It is, I suspect, the closest I’ll ever come to surfing.

I’m a history buff, so-no surprise-I always advise visitors to learn a little about Hawaiian culture; it will make their stay more rewarding. Three significant sites are a short taxi or bus ride from Waikiki: Iolani Palace and the Bishop Museum in downtown Honolulu, and the Queen Emma Summer Palace in the hills.

The Iolani, built as a royal residence in 1882 by King David Kalakaua, is a magnificent structure, as regal as-and in better shape than-many a European palace. . Across the street, the stately old Kawaiahao Church keeps pews roped off for descendants of Hawaii’s eight monarchs.

Also of interest: the USS Arizona Memorial in Pearl Harbor; the Hawaii Maritime Center, which traces Honolulu’s whaling history; the orchid-draped Foster Botanical Gardens; the Honolulu Academy of Arts; and, high above the city in Makiki Heights, the Contemporary (art) Museum.

It’s not a trip to Hawaii without sampling the variety of cuisines that contribute to the islands’ unique culture. Waikiki may be the best place for this, since a lot of restaurants cater to locals, not just tourists.

Once, a stroll took me into Kaimuki, an area off Kapahulu Avenue north of Waikiki that’s noted for its mix of ethnic storefront cafes. In December I went back intent on eating Korean barbecue. This ubiquitous dish, “B-B-Q Plate” on mom-and-pop cafe menus, usually comes with barbecued beef and chicken, spicy cabbage, noodles, pickled vegetables and white rice, all for $6.

At dinner time Sandy and I like to taste the best, which for us is Alan Wong’s. Wong is one of Hawaii’s most honored chefs, working with the best home-grown products to create Asian-Polynesian delights. One festive night in December, we dined memorably on ginger-crusted onaga, a mild white fish, pan-roasted, dressed with a miso-sesame vinaigrette and served atop a bed of fresh sweet corn and ginger coulis.

Early risers, we started each day on our latest trip with an hourlong walk along the beach toward Diamond Head. We weren’t alone. A parade of residents and visitors of all ages accompanied us-strolling, running, bicycling, even swimming alongside our route.

I took mental snapshots: the elderly Korean gentleman watching the sun rise as he sipped coffee on a park bench; the young Hawaiian surfer deftly transporting his hefty board on a bicycle; the Chinese woman gracefully executing an exercise routine beneath a banyan tree; the derelict (yes, there are a few) still asleep on the beach; the Nordic-looking couple, sun-weathered and graying, toting surfboards across the sand. They are, for me, the real Hawaii.

At the Big Island resort complex where we finished our vacation, we continued to walk daily, but there I saw only images of myself.