Monday, November 05, 2007
Travels in Hawaii
Way back in 1866 Mark Twain visited Hawaii and recorded his observations in his book, Letters from Hawaii. Having visited Hawaii several times I thought it might be interesting to replicate some of his travels.
Last year while on the Big Island we decided to take another look at the volcano Kilauea. It would have been fun to do it by mule the way that Twain did, but it was not to be. In fact the park service had barricaded off much of the lava flow area along the coast for the safety of all concerned. So we did the next best thing, we took a perilous helicopter ride over the glowing lava. I’m sure that Twain would not have approved. After all when one is high above the scene, one misses much of the ambiance such as the sickening sulfur smell that surrounds Kilauea. But Charles Lindbergh who is buried on Maui would have approved.
Any way it was no joy ride. We booked our flight and got a very good deal. We soon found out why. Our mode of conveyance was a tiny helicopter, roughly the size of an old VW from tip to tip. I have never seen anything so small other than perhaps in a James Bond Movie. At best it could hold two people comfortably. Four of us were packed inside. Imagine four adults in the back of that VW. Comfortable? What do you think? My nose was no more than four inches from the windshield. I had to lean back much to the annoyance of my wife who was seated directly behind me to maneuver my camera so that I could try to click some pictures. The copter could turn on a dime and it often did. All I could do to frame my shots was to hold the shutter button down and hope. Click, click, click, click! Somehow I did manage to get a couple of good pictures. The pilot zigged and zagged and rolled right and left. She went through almost the full repertoire of a stunt pilots tricks. When we made it back to the Hilo airport my stomach was still in a semi-nauseous mode. We took a vow that next time around we would not hesitate to pay a premium price for a bigger chopper.
This time when we arrived at Honolulu we had pretty much forgotten about Mark Twain. However, we had decided to forgo the rental car and to see Oahu the way most Hawaiians do, by bus. We got a false impression of bus travel when we took the Number Two bus out to Diamond Head. Things moved a little slow but we did get there and back.
Our big test came when we decided to take the bus to the Punchbowl. It was going to be a bit tricky since we would need to make a transfer. Since so many of the streets have similar names, we goofed up and got off at the wrong stop. We could not determine from our little abridged map how much further we had to go. Thinking it was only a few blocks we started to walk. After about a mile we were not sure that we were even headed in the right direction. When we found our street and took a left turn, we watched a bit dismayed as Bus Number 15, our bus, roared past us. How long would we have to wait? Surely, no more than fifteen minutes. Wrong! After two brief rain showers and an hour wait, our bus finally showed back up. The driver let us out but told us that there was a fire ahead and the road was closed. He promised to pick us back up later. It would not matter on which side of the road we were. He would stop for us. With this assurance we trotted up the hill. After taking in much of the Punchbowl, it started to rain and we beat a retreat back to the bus stop. We looked both directions because we were beginning to get more than a little wet. We jumped on the bus and shelled out our bus fare. Since we now had a different driver it would have been prudent for us to ask a few questions. But we did not. About a mile from downtown he told us that we would have go get off and catch Bus Number 6 to get downtown. He told us that we had gotten on the bus headed in the wrong direction and we would have to buy another ticket to make it back to Waikiki. The funny thing about the Hawaii public transportation system is that it requires exact change. We were fresh out of exact change. We sat and waited for Bus Number 6. Before it arrived Bus Number 15 returned with the same driver but headed in the opposite direction. Knowing that it could well be perhaps an hour before the right bus made it appearance and because it was now raining again, we hopped back on our old bus. The driver now graciously let us ride for free and we made it back to our point of departure.
There were no more pitfalls with our transportation until it came time for our departure to the airport. Since our plane was not due to leave until about 10 that night we had checked out of our room and left our luggage with the bell hop. Our plan was to pick up the luggage about four and head to the airport for a leisurely dinner and then just read and relax until it was time to board our plane. About five to four I started looking for our baggage claim ticket but could not find it. My wife did not have it. I frantically picked through my pockets again but to no avail. I went back through my billfold for the fourth time and finally found it snuggled comfortably up in a small corner. I went over to the desk but the bellhop had suddenly disappeared. I looked around and finally caught the attention of the receptionist and she paged him. He would be right up. But when he did not show, she paged him again. On the third page he finally appeared and we retrieved our bags. However, we now had only about four minutes until we were to board our shuttle. As we walked out onto the sidewalk I saw our shuttle bus across the street at the pickup point. He was early and it looked as if it was going to roll out any second. I crossed the street in a dead run dragging one of our roll-ons behind me. As he closed the door on the shuttle I ran faster. He and another man were laughing. When I reached the door, he opened it and told me that it was not the airport shuttle.
We waited another ten minutes and a van arrived. It was our shuttle. We made it on board and got comfortable seats. We made several stops and the bus was filled to capacity or seemingly so. We made one final stop and picked up a couple with tons of luggage. Everyone scrunched together and luggage was placed in the front seat up to the ceiling. The van was way overloaded and it became increasingly obvious as we hit speed bump after speed bump. My shoulder throbbed with pain as we bounced along. At the first opportunity I took an ibuprofen.
There were several other annoyances once we got to the airport. There were no agri inspectors to check our bags and there was no one at our airline counter check-in. And worst of all there was no place to eat until after we had cleared security. Our only consolation was that there were about forty or fifty other people in the same pickle that we were.
We arrived back in Phoenix at 7 in the morning. So much for travels in Hawaii. Next year when we go the Grand Canyon, we will take the mules to the bottom. Mark Twain just might have been right after all. Or maybe we are just slow learners.
