The Inconvenienced Tourists

Complaining about air travel is probably like complaining about the weather. Unless you have a plane of your own, there’s probably not a whole lot you can actually do about it.

Vickie and I flew out to Hawaii recently on the Unfriendly Skies of United Airlines. We were going to attend graduation ceremonies for my daughter Rachael and her boyfriend Ray on Oahu and visit my brother-in-law on the Big Island to see volcanoes along the way – Scott is a park ranger in Volcano National Park and he will be our guide. I did the usual and customary internet search for flights and hotels. United seemed the best fit of name brand and cost. We couldn’t get into the Prince Kuhio Hilton where we’d stayed before and settled on the Hyatt Place Waikiki. We were saving some money on the nightly rate and figured to convert those savings into more fun in the sun. We had a tight connection in Honolulu to Hilo as the plan was to start the visit with Scott and his wife Annie and their daughter Oceanna with Rachael coming along for a first time visit of cousins.

We flew out of Portland, Maine early on May 8^th. Thanks to the rotation of the earth and our direction of flight, we would travel backwards in time. Despite 14 elapsed hours, we would only lose 8 hours. We would arrive early that evening in Honolulu, then hop on a flight with Rachael over to Hilo.

Or so we thought.

We made our connection in Chicago and flew into Los Angeles with an hour and five minute layover. We had to hump it from one end of the terminal to the other (a recurring theme) and it didn’t feel like it wasn’t enough time to get into a restaurant so we bought obscenely overpriced pre-packaged sandwiches and ate them with dull resignation. The implications for our possible long-term health were out the window when confronted with the implacable vagaries of airline travel and the unnatural collision of your body’s circadian rhythms with the GPS coordinates of the moment.

We proceeded to our gate only to find a curious lack of activity. After finding a seat we were greeted with an aggressively loud announcement that our plane had a “mechanical problem” which a “mechanic” was working on. This was clearly not good news. We were scheduled to depart at 3:05pm local time. At 3:00pm we were loudly promised there would be an update at 4:00pm and were further informed that this was not a rescheduled departure time; the only thing being scheduled was an update.

At this point, we know we’re screwed. We will not make our connecting flight, which also happened to be the last flight out that night. We’ll have to re-book for Friday. In retrospect, I clearly had made overly optimistic plans. As the news sets in I am surrounded by monitors showing ads for United’s incredible consumer technology; apps for smart phones that will let you change your seats! Electronic ticketing that will make it easier for you to board!

I’m thinking, how about this for consumer technology?

Airplanes that can fly!

Thanks to the consumer technology I have, which does not include an airplane, I’m able to search for a hotel near the Honolulu airport. I find the Honolulu Airport Hotel (whoever named this place is a genius), just 0.4 miles from the airport. I call. I’m in luck! They have a “premiere room” with a king-size bed available. And there’s a shuttle from the airport. I agree to pay and provide my Visa card number hoping Russian mobsters haven’t hacked the NSA, which is undoubtedly listening in. The transaction is made that much more difficult by the booming PA announcement which does not promise that a replacement plane is on the way but maybe it is.

Next I have to reschedule our flights with Hawaiian Air. They inform me that because I made the reservation with Orbitz rather than directly with them, I will be paying $50 more per ticket to reschedule. I’ll be chasing the flight insurance I purchased to see how much of the additional costs can be recovered. There was a $118 per seat upcharge (on top of the original $174 per seat price of the tickets) to get me, Vickie and Rachael onto a flight Friday morning. For the moment I’m simply happy to salvage the itinerary. I let Scott know we’d be coming in Friday morning instead of Thursday evening, texted Rachael and made sure she’d be able to get a ride and make the early morning departure and when all that was done I sat down to look up at another United ad that read: Whatever it takes.

Irony: a state of affairs or an event that seems deliberately contrary to what one expects and is often amusing as a result.

Whatever it takes?

Then why am I not on my way to Hawaii already?

Promises were made, gifts were exchanged.

If tragedy (a strong word in this context) is comedy plus time then perhaps this will seem amusing someday. Not “laugh out loud” funny but perhaps “a wry smile crossed his face” amusing.

Now having time to find something other than an obscenely overpriced pre-packaged sandwich, Vickie and I head over to Wolfgang Puck Express where we enjoy an adult beverage. The food was good, though clearly we’d set the bar low with our obscenely overpriced pre-packaged sandwiches. I had the calamari followed by the the chinois salad and Vickie had the bacon wrapped meat loaf because she would’ve been a fool not to.

No longer hungry but still filled with rage, we returned to the gate to see what would happen next. Eventually, the non-promise of the plane that might be coming was non-non-realized but we would have to change gates. Even though the new gate was just across the terminal, the news was not met with joyous approbation by our not so merry band of travelers. An audible groan arose from the crowd. After we changed gates, the PA system that had previously rivaled an AC/DC concert at a construction site became barely audible when we needed information most. The shouts from the crowd of “We can’t hear you!” were met with a quizzical look from the ringmaster of our first person circus. I suddenly realized that he looked very much like Trini Lopez, who I knew from “The Dirty Dozen.” Of course he played character named Jiminez. All Mexican characters were named Jiminez in the 1960s. That’s a little known fact. The agent’s similarity to Jiminez may have been wish fulfillment on my part, as Trini’s character dies in an ignominious fashion early in Act III. His parachute gets tangled up in a tree and he’s riddled with bullets fired in staccato paradiddle from Nazi machine guns. (Jiminez actually breaks his neck during his ill-fated drop. I embellished with the machine guns. It just felt right.)

Anyway, this is the moment when our agent/ethnic supporting player says, “I’d like to thank you all for hanging in there with us.”

“Hanging in” with you?

We had a choice in participating in this Kevorkianesque Kabuki? This terrifying deathtrap drama? This unbelievable engineering screw-up?

Thanks for “hanging in” with you? The 150 or so displaced persons, having lost almost five hours of their lives, are “hanging in” with you?

Trust me. In their minds they’re doing something with you but it isn’t “hanging in.”

What else can we do? It’s not like we can demand our money back and head back home. You can’t threaten to turn this thing around when you’re not the driver of the car. As long as demand outstrips supply (two legs or our trip were overbooked and offers of $300 and $500 were announced for anyone who was willing to wait for the next flight) the airlines don’t have to compete on quality so why should I expect them to?

Finally, we’re ready to board (by zone; we’re not animals here) and start queuing up. Once again, United’s consumer technology rose to the fore. The optical scanner at the gate is down. Broken. Non compos mentis. Another agent is behind the counter, this one very neatly trimmed and shaved. Pencil-thin mustache. A Latin American Adrian Brody. He has to enter each boarding pass using 20^th century technology (a keypad) which he does at a furious pace. I think he would very much like to facilitate our departure. Perhaps he senses the ugly mood of those 150 inconvenienced tourists. Trini Lopez is wise to keep us in our boarding groups. If this negative energy is allowed to coalesce, cohere and condense into a mob of focused, mindless rage, the odds would not be in the agents’ favors.

We get on the plane without anyone making a move on Trini Lopez.

I found it interesting how remarkably tone deaf the crew was on our long awaited flight UA 1228. You would’ve thought they were crewing any other flight, not a flight with 150 or so people who were “only kidding” when they’d suggested rushing the gate.

Of course we were kidding.

I feel like I’d like to kill Trini Lopez with a machine gun like the ones Clint Eastwood used in “Where Eagles Dare.”

Kidding!

I thought maybe free drinks. A package of cashews. Something. An acknowledgement. “We know you’ve had a long day and we appreciate your patience.” Or maybe even a “Thank you for hanging in there with us.”

Okay, I would’ve met any attempt to placate my angry inner child with a sneer. And there’s nothing as bad as a sneering child.

The Honolulu airport is organized in a fashion which requires that you deplane to one terminal and then walk outside in the heat and humidity for baggage pick up. It had been raining just before we arrived so there were puddles everywhere. We walked downhill on the curved walkway to pick up our luggage, two large bags just under the weight limit. We’d been in planes or airports for 18 straight hours (give or take a few minutes plus or minus) with little to no sleep.

I know.

First world problems.

It took us a couple of false starts before we found the stand where the hotel shuttle stops. Once the shuttle arrives (about 20 minutes later) we’re at the hotel in 5 minutes, maybe less. We get to the front desk; we make promises and exchange goods for services. This is when we find out we’ll need to go outside (heat, humidity, puddles) to a second building to find our room. Here’s your Wi-Fi key!

The room does not have a king-sized bed. It has two twin beds. Vickie and I agree that it probably doesn’t make a difference for one night, in particular this night. We shower. We partake of the limited Coke product offerings in the vending machine. We lay on the twin beds with the air conditioning cranked up. We sleep.

The free breakfast doesn’t start until after we need to take the shuttle to the airport but we figure we’ll get something when we’re on the Big Island soon enough. We connect with Rachael and check in without any trouble. It’s hot and humid and crowded but otherwise a typical day at the airport. There are no delays and we arrive in Hilo around mid-morning. Scott greets us just outside of baggage pick up. I realize it is the first time we’ve been with relatives on Vickie’s side of the family for an indefinably long time. Okay, it’s got to be more than three years, though.

It’s about a thirty minute drive to their house. After we arrived, Annie made us a lunch with Taiwanese traditional and childhood favorite dishes. It was the first real home-cooked meal that we’d had in two days and it was terrific. I did my best to take a polite portion when we sat down to eat and happily took seconds when they were offered. You just made a yummy sound!

Oshie and Rachael watched movies in the afternoon and in the evening Scott and Annie took us to one of their favorite restaurants, The Ponds. It sits above a small cove where we got our first koi sighting. They had live entertainment, a young man who sang and played the guitar and in a huge surprise he was great, a nice touch for the evening. I did tip him but now I wish I’d asked his name (it might’ve been Gavien Mata) so I could give him a shout out. In my experience, the live entertainment is generally a nuisance at best, interrupting conversation and leaving you to helplessly ask your significant other, “What is that song, anyway?” Anyway, not this time. The food was delicious. I had a swordfish special that was cooked perfectly, as were the vodka martinis (no Absolut so I went with Stoli); very dry and straight up with olives. I think Annie had another fresh fish special and everybody else had the top sirloin. Annie has lychee in her martinis. I’m not tempted.

We had a wonderful time staying with Scott, Annie and Oshie. Oshie immediately attached herself to Rachael who had brought her a large, plush SpongeBob SquarePants. Oshie gave SpongeBob a place of honor amongst the stuffed animals and plush toys at the foot of her bed. Annie confided that she stopped letting Oshie watch SpongeBob because she started calling her “Dude.” (I must’ve missed that episode.) I sat in Scott’s front room where I drank iced tea and looked out front at the lanai he had added to the house and out back at the yard he had cleared and turned into a fruit garden, where he was growing pineapple and bananas and a variety of pan-Asian citrus as well as decorative palm trees. Impressive.

For a bit of nostalgia for Rachael’s days in dance class and dance team competitions, we attended Oshie’s recital rehearsal. Oshie is five, a little bit older than the young children Rachael was teaching before she headed off to college. Rachael didn’t start dancing for Miss Emmy at Tri-Star till she was almost or just starting her middle school years after a childhood flirtation with gymnastics. I think of Rachael’s years in dance – she is working as a stage manager now – much like my years playing sports; being part of a team, preparing for a performance, working hard and being brave enough to stand on a stage where hundreds of people you don’t know are going to watch and judge you (good times!) will help you deal with day-to-day life in situations you can only imagine when you’re sixteen. Like being trapped in the LAX airport for five hours and not killing your captors.

For our big trip Scott and Annie took us to a black sand beach where we tried our new digital video camera for the first time. There were surfers out in the rollers and I think I caught 0.38 seconds of one of them (I should post it on YouTube!). We saw turtles and we goofed around the rocky beach area. Oshie, Rachael and Vickie took the measure of the little tidal pools. Oshie found a tiny snail and brought it over to crawl around on the back of her father’s hand.

We got hungry and headed over to the Punalu’u Bake Shop where we ate burgers and dogs and malasadas, a confection that probably should come with a Surgeon’s General warning.

From there we were off to Volcano National Park. We walked the lookout that sits above the Kilauea caldera and took pictures of steam venting from the volcano. We walked through the shop nearby and bought t-shirts and aloha tchotchkes. In an impressive display of logistics, Scott managed to get us into the Volcano House restaurant. On Mother’s Day. (Yes, I called my Mom when I got up that morning.) We had a spectacular view of the caldera at sundown from the restaurant. Another terrific meal with good company. Swordfish again (I like to think of myself not so much as boring as reliable). Martinis again (Absolut). I had olives; Annie had lychee. Vickie had lamb and I’m not big on the lamb but I must say it looked good and disappeared fast.

Sometime during the appetizers the clouds that shrouded Mauna Kea slipped away to reveal the looming shoulder of volcanic rock in sharp relief against the graying skies of the evening.

We finished the day by returning to the lookout. It was now after dark and the glow of the volcano could be seen below. It takes your breath for a moment. Puts things in perspective in a primeval way you can feel in the pit of your stomach. It looks like the opening scene of a sci-fi movie that ends very badly for the human race, right down to the Spielbergian montage of children, young couples and seniors walking around the lookout, talking in different languages, laughing, scolding giggling children, pointing at the reddish glow in the distance and taking pictures from the railings.

I slept like a baby that night.

Scott and Annie took us to the airport on Monday (two cars, what with all the people and luggage) and stopped at a nearby strip mall with a restaurant they liked for brunch. Scott had the loco moco for the first time despite having lived in the islands for nearly two years. Loco moco is a local delicacy with rice, a hamburger patty, an egg any style (though typically over easy) and mushroom gravy. Scott pronounced it delicious. Maybe I’ll try it next time I’m in Hilo.

We flew to Honolulu with the Hilo High School baseball team who are inexplicably known as the Vikings. I guess Loco Mocos was taken.

After a long hike from the baggage pick up, we take a cab to the Hyatt Place Waikiki hotel. We’re told that we’ve received an upgrade! And a mountain view! But no king-sized bed; two queen-sized beds.

When we get to the room we discover we have a partial mountain view, with a nearby hotel tower blocking the more familiar aspects of Diamond Head. We’re overlooking the trash dumpsters. Our air conditioner sounds like an incompetently refurbished World War II turboprop. I turn the fan from high to low and it quiets. I’m wondering what the pre-upgrade room was like.

We check the pool. It does not come close to the picture we saw on-line when choosing the hotel. On-line, the pool was bathed in the orange light of sunset and looked Olympic-sized. Knowing how much Vickie likes to swim it was actually one of the deciding factors in choosing the Hyatt. The pool is not Olympic-sized. It is in fact about 12’ x 15’ and no deeper than 5’ at the deep end. And there was clearly no pool bar, as there had been at the Prince Kuhio where I was able to drink vodka and tonic and talk football with Miles the bartender while Vickie swam with her gay boyfriends.

On the way back from the not Olympic-sized pool we had seen a sign for the complimentary breakfast which had pictures of what looked like Egg McMuffins. This did not bode well for our lower gastro-intestinal tracts.

We’re disappointed but remind ourselves that we’re paying less than we had at the Hilton and we won’t spend that much time in our rooms, anyway, though not before a few regrets and recriminations. We’re only human.

Ultimately, our rooms proved to be well located, on the same floor as the pool and the free breakfast and the laundry room. There was a full breakfast, it turned out, with scrambled eggs, French toast or waffles, a rotation of bacon and sausage, oatmeal, yogurt, fruit, juice and incredibly robust you’ll only need one cup of this stuff coffee.

And the Hyatt Place is a block closer to the beach and Lulu’s – which became our favorite lunch at the beach place on our previous trip – was literally just around the corner. On our first trip to Lulu’s I had the Magnum PI Burger (apparently Thomas Magnum liked guacamole on his burgers and so do I). We had lunch there several times and while the Magnum is very good, I would recommend the fish tacos if you happen to find yourself on the southeast end of Waikiki someday. Very good.

We met Rachael’s boyfriend Ray the next day. He seemed nice, soft-spoken with just a touch of a Canadian accent and he seemed to understand that I would be terribly uncomfortable with any public display of affection between him and my daughter. We chatted in the lobby for a while then headed off for a movie and dinner. We had hoped to see Godzilla but it wasn’t out till the weekend and after tonight Rachael’s and Ray’s schedules wouldn’t work for us all to see a movie together. So, we saw “Captain America: The Winter Soldier.” Four stars. Plenty of action and Falcon, played by Anthony Mackie, was a nice addition to the Marvel movie universe. Chris Evans might be a little better in this one and the buddy cop banter with Scarlett Johansson was fun enough. At the end of the day it’s SHIELD vs. Hydra but what were you expecting from a Captain America movie, anyway?

See it on the big screen; you’ll be glad you did.

In most of our travels with Rachael around Honolulu, we ran into one or more of her friends and the movie theater was no exception. She saw a friend and called him over, introducing him as “Donut.”

Vickie: “How did you wind up with such a sweet nickname?”

Donut: “Well, my last name’s Donato, so…”

After the movie, we had dinner at Buca di Beppo’s, a gaudy, family style Italian chain restaurant, replete with shrines to Frank Sinatra embedded in the walls. Think of it as the Olive Garden if the Olive Garden was drunk on grappa. Acknowledging that this was our first time at a Buca di Beppo, we were taken through the kitchen to our table, so we could see just how big the dishes were and they were big as platters. The small dishes were intended for two people, the large for four. I saw a huge dish of rigatoni that looked big enough to go swimming in. You know, if you’re a really weak swimmer like me.

A photographer came to our table and we played along, later buying four of the eight choices. Ray stuck his tongue out in the general direction of Rachael’s ear in one shot. Afterwards Vickie, in mock indignation, noted, “In front of her mother!”

Me: “Well, he is Canadian.”

More drinking of martinis and eating of big food. We got the calamari for an appetizer. Rachael and Ray split chicken parmesan, Vickie and I split the eggplant. Rachael and Ray took leftovers home with them, we had no such problem. I made a joke about Vickie always ordering cappuccino after dinner and the cappuccino machine being broken at every Italian restaurant we've ever been in. I felt bad when it turned out (of course) that the cappuccino machine at Buca di Beppo was broken, too.

Our first real good news of the trip: We like Ray. He seems like a good guy despite the whole tongue thing. If they were coming to visit at Christmas I wouldn’t mind. I never really got the chance to tell Ray that I liked him but if he ever hurt my daughter I would find a way to ruin him.

But I think he knows.

We’d been to the Aquarium on our previous trip so Rachael took us to the Honolulu Zoo this time. It was a nice – if hot and humid – day with a wide array of flora and fauna. Monkeys, elephants, turtles, birds, tigers, lions, hippos and lizards; all your zoo basics. There was a glass wall where one of the baboons seemed to be communing with Vickie, pleading to be taken with us. She would’ve probably ripped our faces off if given half a chance. I’ve seen all the movies. These monkey-types are tricky and vicious. My attitude toward the animal kingdom (they’re called “animals” for a reason) is probably the reason why a baboon has never communed with me. She glanced nervously at me as I moved closer for a photo then returned her longing gaze to Vickie as I commemorated the moment digitally.

We had pineapple-orange-guava shave ice after a long hot and humid walk around the zoo. The shave ice is so refreshing!

On the way out of the zoo we took a chance on the elusive cheetah, which Rachael had never gotten a look at and were rewarded for our efforts as we were able to see the head and shoulders of the cheetah who sat just behind a small outcropping of rocks. Watching the primeval quiet of the cheetah I could easily imagine that if anyone were crazy enough to scale the walls to get a closer look they’d definitely become dinner within minutes.

Speaking of food, after picking up a few more aloha tchotchkes at the zoo’s gift shop, we stopped at Teddy’s Bigger Burgers for lunch. It’s a craft burger chain a little bit like the Five Guys in Dover, NH that we frequent when in need of a decent burger. I think it’s worth noting that all burgers in Hawaii come with thousand islands dressing on them. Granted, a limited sample size and population of one but I feel confident about this. It’s sometimes referred to as a “special sauce” but it’s really always thousand islands dressing. I find it delicious but if you don’t, you’ve been warned!

Craft burgers are almost as good as craft beer.

Ray’s Mom Judy and her boyfriend Ross had made plans for a luau at the Hilton Hawaiian Village and we were tagging along. We’d meet some of Ray’s family – including his brother Andrew and his wife Deanna. Andrew is a drift racer. Outside of being an extra in a Fast and Furious movie, I didn’t know that actually existed as a profession. It just seemed like something made up to me, like the Jaegers in “Pacific Rim.” Anyway, it turns our it’s a real thing. We’d also been given some of the back story on Ray’s parents’ ugly divorce (we saw but did not meet Ray’s dad during our sojourn on Oahu) so we cabbed over to the luau with some trepidation. We would’ve anyway. Meeting the possible in-laws? Always stressful.

While Andrew remained distant throughout our encounters over the next few days (perhaps reliving drift race crashes that haunt his nights and days), Judy and Ross couldn’t have been nicer. Ross got tabbed for the interactive portion of the luau, being brought up on stage to attempt to blow the conch shell horn. He failed miserably but good-naturedly. I hate the interactive portion of any of these types of events but as a trumpet player in high school band I was for once well suited to the challenge but (still thankfully) not chosen.

I felt badly for Ross for a moment, knowing that I could easily have handled the Great Haole Conch Shell Challenge, and then that moment was gone. On with the show!

There was a buffet and upon getting back to the table I had the thought that life is like a buffet line. A few poor choices early on can limit your ability to take advantage of the Kahlua pork and roast beef that’s available later on. I ate big but not well (and yes, I managed to squeeze on some Kahlua pork and roast beef). For my second free drink I had a Chi-Chi because it was the only drink on the menu with vodka. I would soon succumb to the delights of rum and Mai Tai’s but not this night.

Following dinner there was lots of hula and Polynesian dancing with fire dancing for the big finish. We were basically in the front row and it was terrific touristy fun. There was stomping of feet, the sticking out of tongues, the throwing of fiery sticks and thankfully also the catching of fiery sticks and most of all the wiggling of hips. Did I mention the wiggling of hips?

Friday, we had a big dinner with Rachael at D.K. Steakhouse. A bit pricey until you realize you’d pay the same or more in a good restaurant in Boston. And the food was terrific. Rachael and I shared a shrimp cocktail and the three of us had the filet (petite’s for the ladies, the 10 oz. for me) with sides. Rachael had a one-pound baked potato while Vicki and I split a platter of grilled asparagus. The steaks were melt in your mouth good, as were the martinis. Rachael had plenty of leftovers, destined to become Ray’s pre-graduation breakfast. Vickie had the crème brulee. I can barely attest to its deliciousness due to her aggressive spoon work. Rachael and I split a dessert special which I believe included the words “chocolate” and “volcano” in its description but after that I’m not really sure of anything.

At last, graduation day had come. Ray would receive his master’s in theater lighting. Rachael’s graduation story was complicated. She had technically graduated the year before but due to some administrative foul ups had not walked with her class. First the university told her she still needed two more classes then after the ceremony they told her she actually had all her requirements and gave her a diploma. In between she had decided to stay in Hawaii and work that summer and finish her course work the fall. We had then planned to fly out to Hawaii to watch Rachael walk in the December graduation but with my Mom’s health getting worse and dealing with that over a long and emotionally draining Thanksgiving, I had asked Rachael to come to New Hampshire for Christmas, an epic journey that featured two Nor’easters and a midnight drive through a blizzard to Logan to pick her up.

I guess I shouldn’t complain about a five hour layover in LAX.

Ultimately, Rachael did not walk in the undergrad ceremony in the morning (the day was grueling enough as it was – I can’t thank Rachael enough for this) but she did wear her cap and gown so we could take pictures of her. We met her friend Kylee and the two young women sat together and watched their boyfriends receive their degrees. They snapped pictures, yelled and waved and shared occasional confidences during the ceremony.

Yes, it was hot and humid outside. It was actually what you could call cold inside the field house.

I should also note that Rachael honored the graduation tradition of sneaking alcohol into the event and somehow I couldn’t have been prouder. She had purchased alcohol leis at the ABC store, a series of small, airline-sized bottles of rum or Jack or vodka held in a plastic mesh necklace. She had these around her neck and under her gown, destined to become presents for her friends who were graduating. I learned afterward that Ray also had a flask of some kind of alcohol on him as well.

Afterwards we moved out onto the athletic fields for pictures. Ray’s Dad appeared and Judy and Ross disappeared as if they were quantum events that could not occupy the same space at the same time. Ray and Andrew (still apparently musing on the fiery tires and twisted metal of his dreams) went off with their dad to share a few drinks and a game or two of pool from there. We returned with Rachael to their apartment for a burger; a nice end to a long day, having a few moments alone with our daughter.

The next day, at Rachael’s recommendation, we tried Tiki’s Grill and Bar as an alternative to yet another lunch at Lulu’s. I tried my first Mai Tai. It was dangerously delicious. I had nothing but Mai Tai’s for the rest of our stay. Vickie had a burger (and red wine, of course) while I had the Mixed Plate with my Mai Tai’s; beef, chicken and fish with the “traditional” macaroni salad and kimchee – macaroni salad in Hawaii is like grits down South or cottage cheese in the Midwest. I found Tiki’s to be a bit of a classier version of Lulu’s. Tiki’s was attached to a hotel and is really a place for tourists. Lulu’s caters to both tourists and locals and has some funk to it.

Rachael and Ray had organized a cookout at Magic Island in Ala Moana Beach Park for Tuesday of our last week in Hawaii. Family and friends were invited so Vickie and I would finally meet Falcon and Lani. Ray is a grill master and he has a small, propane-fueled Coleman grill that I think he brings with him everywhere but in any case had brought to the park. There were burgers and hot dogs and brats and some fresh fish that Ray had caught just the day before on a day trip to the North Shore with his family.

And before you ask, yes, it was hot and humid.

We walked down to the beach before most of Rachael’s and Ray’s friends arrived and Vickie went swimming in the Pacific while Rachael and I had a chance to chat on the beach. We talked about the job search, the possibility she and Ray could find jobs at a college where he might get his doctoral and she might get a master’s degree. I agreed with Vickie’s assessment that now was a good time in their lives for a job on a cruise ship so if that was a possibility, why not? I told her that while I had recommended attending a college closer to home I was proud of her and what she had done and how much she had accomplished. Going away to college is a big step; going away to college on the far side of the world is leap of faith in yourself. I don’t think I could’ve done it.

Falcon and her sister Dolphin (yes, their real names) were everything I possibly imagined and more. Once again, as everyone was singing along to “Bohemian Rhapsody” I was reminded, there are no people like show people. I was reassured and delighted by the number and vitality of Rachael’s friends. They are bright and funny and kind and they only reinforced my already high opinion of my daughter. Vickie spent nearly an hour reliving junior classical league with Yining though their shared memories were more than a decade apart. For a moment I could sense the dimly remembered circle of friends that Vickie and I had in college. Come to think of it, it was non-stop drinking, eating and sex. We did graduate so there must’ve been some classes, books, papers and tests. Still, I remember it fondly.

Wednesday we rented a car and Rachael drove us out to the Valley of the Temple and to Pali Lookout. Another moment for father and daughter; I recalled how my parents had come out to New Hampshire soon after Alex was born and for the first time in my relationship with my father, I was the driver and he was the passenger. A small thing, perhaps, but there was something significant about this moment for me. I’m still not going to let her pick up the check, though. That time has yet to come.

We had wanted to get out to the Valley of the Temple on our previous trip but hadn’t made it so Rachael’s recommendation was enthusiastically agreed to. There was plenty of shade and a light breeze when we got there so I barely noticed how hot and humid it was. There were black swans gliding near the shoreline and koi as big as your leg (well, your lower leg) in the ponds around the temple with emotionally unstable peacocks roaming the grounds. We lit incense at the foot of Buddha and rang the large bell that stood next to the temple. There was a gift shop where a few more aloha tchotchkes were acquired. Rachael told us that Ray had gotten a job offer from Princess Cruise Lines. She had also applied for a job with them and they hoped things would work out so she and Ray could work and live together. I told her I hoped everything worked out but she should know that if she did have to come home for a a few weeks that we would have a place for her. We would be happy to have her around but for her sake, I hope things work out for her and Ray.

A short ride from the Valley of the Temple took us to the Pali Lookout despite a few schizophrenic moments from the car’s navigation system. The lookout provides a panoramic vista, girded on each side by mist-topped volcanic mountain tops. The city of Kane’ohe and the sunlit Pacific shoreline lay in the distance below. The serrated volcanic mountain sides seemed to erupt with flora. It was cooler with a strong, steady breeze that Rachael informed us was lighter than usual. The ambient trance music of the wind, the distance and perspective brought a relaxed calm to my antic mind for a few delightful moments.

We headed back as Rachael had to work that evening. On the way back, we stopped at Rachael’s favorite ice cream place, Bubbies, to try mochi ice cream. Dangerously yummy. After a stop off at her apartment, we dropped her at work and returned the rental car.

It was a wonderful day.

Up to that point.

The pick-up for the rental car had been in the hotel right across the street from us but the drop was in a hotel a couple of blocks away from the Hyatt Place. We left the car in the basement garage and made our way to the second floor via a freight elevator. We were not taking the stairs. We were no longer enjoying the cool breezes of Pali Lookout. We were once again dealing with heat and humidity. In the air conditioned Hertz office, we were informed that Waikiki had suffered a power outage earlier and the computer systems were down. Could they send our receipt to an email address? Yes, please.

We had a four block walk to our hotel and arrived at the Hyatt Place drenched with sweat and exhausted only to find (remember that power outage?) the elevators were not in service. We headed to the bar. Vickie wanted iced tea. In an inexplicable turn of events, they did not have iced tea, only iced coffee. Vickie settled for orange juice and I had a Mai Tai. We chose a table underneath a fan so we were only warm and a little sticky as we drank and waited for the elevators to be cleared for use. After about an hour, we were able to get to our air-conditioned room and a shower.

Rachael came to breakfast Thursday morning and to see us off to the airport. We were already packed and I’d arranged for a cab so we could relax a bit before getting back on a plane for the trip back. I don’t remember anything of import being discussed but it was good to get a hug before we got into the cab.

The return flight, though it didn’t feature any five hour delays, was somehow even more infuriating nonetheless because some of it was probably self-inflicted.

When we checked in, I was prompted by the kiosk computer to purchase additional foot room. But I’d done that when I booked the round-trip itinerary. (Didn’t I?) Why should I have to purchase it again? I hesitated a moment but chose to hit continue without buying. Soon, the paper thin boarding passes were being spit out of the slot and I was gathering them up off the dirty linoleum floor. We weighed and checked our bags and headed off to the gate.

Our seats were in the next to the last row of the plane. Apparently, I had only bought extra foot room for the trip to Hawaii, but not the return. As a result, we would be tailies, sitting in the very last row on the next two legs of the trip.

Compounding the seating arrangement for the Honolulu to LA leg of the trip was the 37 minutes we would have to make our connection in LAX. Naturally, we arrived at Gate 70B about ten minutes late.

After getting off the plane we found the monitors showing arrivals and departures. The flight to Newark was leaving from Gate 62. Not too bad, we thought and headed off, following the arrows to gates 60-69. As we made the left turn we discovered our gate was not around the corner. There was a long passageway ahead of us with no gates visible anywhere in the distance. I felt like the passageway would telescope out ahead of us as if we were in some low budget horror movie. As we neared the end of the passageway Vickie was gassed. I ran on ahead to make sure they didn’t close the door before she could get there.

We made it. I got to the gate and heroically held open the door till Vickie could arrive. Actually, Vickie was right behind me. And the doors didn’t close for some time after we boarded. Still, we were the last two passengers to board.

Now, I’m a strong believer in the 80/20 rule. And I like to believe that 80% of the human race are good, decent, please and thank you kind of people. The other 20% are assholes and apparently, most of them were flying with us on flight UA 1244. All we had carried on was a backpack with our laptop, iPad, etc. and Vickie’s purse but all of the overheads were full by the time we boarded; filled with bags that were clearly over the legal limit but jammed in side-by-side with other bags that should’ve been checked. (I would later take note of everyone who pulled more than one large bag out of overhead when we landed. Yes, I am a petty, vindictive, bitter little man.) I would have to shove my backpack under the seat ahead of me and instead of extra foot room I would have zero foot room.

Somewhere in here I had noted that Vickie and I had not been seated together on this leg of the trip. We were in the middle seats in the very back row. Thankfully, one of the 80% was also seated in the last row and she gave up an aisle seat (no fun right next to the galley and restrooms, to be sure) and Vickie and I could share our discomfort seated together again.

Having had nothing to eat for nearly eight hours, we elected to purchase snack boxes. The flight attendant seemed quite excited to hear that we were ordering the snack boxes. Nobody ever buys these things, I thought. That can’t be a good sign. Vickie ordered a glass of red wine but I stuck with ginger ale. Eating and drinking proved to be something of a challenge when combining the cramped space with nearly non-stop turbulence from LAX to Newark. Apparently, we were flying over a storm system that stretched from the Canadian border to the Gulf of Mexico and from the Rockies to the Adirondacks. It was no surprise at all that I wound up wearing my ginger ale in my lap. I attempted to distract myself from this latest indignity by eating my snack box dessert, a small plastic bag containing three gummy bears. It wasn’t enough.

My pants nearly dry when we arrived in Newark and with a two and half hour layover we thankfully were in no rush to get off the plane.

We walked into the terminal and found the restrooms. Just outside the restrooms was the Garden State Diner and as I waited for Vickie I watched jealously as people ate breakfast from platters. It was 6:45am local time and those snack boxes seemed like a long time ago. We were seated immediately, ordered coffee and then the three eggs any style breakfast with bacon, home fries and toast. Make it two! And it was delicious. The eggs were good, the bacon crisp and salty and the home fries almost lived up to the diner’s claim that they were the best anywhere.

We took our time walking to the gate for the flight to Portland. We were tailies again but at least we were seated together if again in the back row. This time I take the brunt of the aisle seat and deal with the galley/restroom traffic. As we taxied away from the gate, I glanced out the window and noticed there was a line of perhaps as many as eight planes queued for takeoff. We wouldn’t take off on time but the only thing that really mattered now was that our bags arrive with us in Portland. I took a deep breath.

After we’d waited in line for about ten minutes the pilot came on the PA system and announced what I already had observed; that we were in line for takeoff. He further informed us that part of the delay was due to the fact that there were planes taking off from a runway that crossed paths with ours. This struck me as a singularly bad plan for launching airplanes into the sky. We had to wait not only for the plane ahead of us but also for the planes taking off across our path. In this case, I thought, waiting is good.

Eventually we took off.

It’s just about a 50 minute flight from Newark to Portland. There we experienced something I had never experienced before. Not only were our bags there, they were some of the first to come down the baggage carousel. We were soon on our way to the parking garage to find our car and make the one hour drive back home.

Three days later we’re still a bit jet-lagged. We can’t get to sleep before 3:00am and we sleep till 11:00am the next morning. My neck and back are still stiff from being stuck in a two small seat with no room to move my feet or easily shift positions. But the petty indignities and inconveniences of the trip have begun to fade (a bit); they seem a small price now when I consider the gracious hospitality of Scott and Annie on the Big Island, the dull red glow of a volcano in the starlit night, doing touristy things like a luau at a Hilton, the view from Pali Lookout and the chance to see my daughter as an adult, bright and competent with so much ahead of her.

Aloha nui loa.

Mean it.