It used to be joked that Australia risked becoming the fifty-first state of America. But having enjoyed a family holiday on Oahu, the main island of Hawaii, the fiftieth state of the US is more likely to join our union. From the iconic Aussie surfing brands cresting the main street, to the (alleged) grains of sand on Waikiki beach, the Land Down Under is on top everywhere.

It began when the cabbie driving us from the airport to our hotel in Honolulu said he bought an Australian ‘sheep dog’ after seeing the breed’s ability to round-up sheep on TV. I didn’t ask if unruly jumbucks are a problem in Hawaii. But he did say his Aussie pooch was smaller than his rottweiler. We tipped him generously.

We got our own tip from a tweenager when we stopped for a drink at a bubbler on Waikiki Beach. ‘It doesn’t work,’ the lad said with an Australian accent. We then heard the cackle of a kookaburra from nearby Honolulu Zoo.

From aloha to ukulele, with pizzas, pineapples and moustachioned private eyes in between, Hawaii is comfortingly familiar. The abundance of Hawaiian shirts reminded me of Sydney’s office Christmas party season. Less common, despite the heat, are broad-brimmed hats. A sidewalk hustler, seeking to entice us into buying beers, beauty products or eternal salvation (I forget which), dubbed us ‘the hat family’ on account of our large, fair-skinned-friendly lids. I’m coming back to open an Akubra store.

Like us, Hawaii has the Union Jack in the corner of its flag, the only American state honouring the ensign of another nation. And we were both visited by Captain Cook, who named Hawaii the Sandwich Islands after the Admiralty lord fond of eating things between two slices of bread. Unimpressed, the locals dispatched the great seaman during a violent struggle on Valentine’s Day 1779.

I ate lots of coconut shrimp, especially at Duke’s (named after the surfer not the movie star). But baulked at sampling the two popular peanut butter brands Skippy and Jif. Something was lost in translation.

Not lost is the poignancy of the USS Arizona Memorial at Pearl Harbor: ‘A national grave not a tourist attraction’. Survivors of the battleship sunk during the Japanese bombing in 1941 may have their remains interred in the watery tomb with their comrades. Forty-five have. Over 1,000 didn’t get a choice. Only two veterans remain. The guide said Japan is now ‘America’s best ally in the Pacific’. How the world turns. But don’t tell Albo.

Honolulu’s high-rise and haute couture strip is Hollywood (or White Lotus) Hawaii. The camera loves it here. Jurassic Park was filmed on Oahu and much of the set is now a tourist attraction. Except for the dinosaur footprints that were filled in because cattle kept stumbling and breaking their legs. Nearby is Eternity Beach, named for the sandy smooch between Deborah Kerr and Burt Lancaster in 1953’s From Here to Eternity.

Volcanoes love the place too. Reassuringly, the 300,000-year-young Diamond Head, so named because Westerners mistakenly thought the crystals in the crater rocks were diamonds, is dormant. Its terrain is brown and dry, in contrast to the lush green it overshadows. The two-hour return trek to the 232-metre summit offers ocean and island views. Native people dedicated a temple on the peak to the god of wind, an inspired example of good town planning.

We encountered mongooses (never mongeese) on the walk, imported from India in the 1880s to control rats (themselves introduced). Alas, mongooses, cousins of meerkats, are active mainly during the day whereas rats prefer the cover of darkness. Cane toads anyone?

After a sweaty walk, nothing beats an ocean dip with green sea turtles, considered ‘Honu’ or ancestral spirits by the locals, offering wisdom, protection and a link between people, land and sea. They are shown respect in the water. So too monk seals. ‘Don’t try and pat the seal,’ advised our guide, ‘he will give you a nasty bite.’ More savage than sacred.

Surprisingly splendid is the Honolulu Museum of Art, whose ‘encyclopedic’ collection amid courtyards of natural light, tranquil gardens and water features, is open till 9pm on Fridays and Saturdays. A welcome initiative in warm, tourist-filled cities, which I wish more Australian galleries had the budgets to copy.

Always open are the retail stores. Luxury brands predominate downtown. Although there’s never a season for a camel-coloured trench coat or woollen turtle-neck in this climate, sadly. They are aimed at the Japanese tourist. For me, the stores provided brief, air-conditioned sanctuary.  That said, I did buy a pair of discounted white sneakers, much to my son’s chagrin because he has the same pair. ‘Please don’t,’ he begged. Nothing more perturbs a child than knowing they share the same fashion taste as their 50-something-year-old parent. Sick!

Despite missing screw-topped wine bottles and left-side travel on elevators, Hawaii was a delight. Fascinating, friendly and, away from the green and pleasant utopia of Waikiki, diverse and stimulating. It combines the first-world trappings of the US with the laid-back charm of a tropical island.  As for the coarse and chunky soup-like sand on Waikiki beach, while not occurring in situ naturally, there’s no evidence it comes from Australia. Fittingly, Waikiki’s sister city is Freshwater on Sydney’s Northern Beaches. Freshwater is where Hawaii’s ‘Duke’ Kahanamoku carved a board from local timber and popularised surfing in Australia more than 100 years ago. Even better if he had have handed out coconut prawns too.

As police detective Steve Garrett says at the end of each episode of the original Hawaii Five-O ‘Book ‘em, Danno.’ I’ll do a Danno and book again too.