Dearest Rachel –
I will freely admit, honey, that, since we were going to be staying in Honolulu overnight, I was hoping to do what I could to get out and see the nightlife. Even though dancing and clubbing aren’t generally ‘my thing,’ how often do I get the chance to do this?
Those plans seemed to be coming to fruition when I heard some kind of rumor going around that our cruise program director was planning on assembling some sort of party to head into town last night. Everybody would gather at the gangway around midnight, and… presumably there would be some sort of transportation into town? It wasn’t exactly clear to me how it was coming together. And when I checked in at Guest Services yesterday, they didn’t know a thing about these plan. It may have been the program director making a joke.
Still, it felt like something worth doing, especially when, for whatever reason, I began to have trouble trying to put together some of my other letters to you from here. Somehow, none of my pictures were uploading to the website, and I couldn’t figure out why. However, since I had sent you a letter early yesterday, catching up with the events on Kailua-Kona, I figured I could wait until today, and write you all these letters while we were steaming down towards Moorea.
Except… after walking nearly five miles to and from Ala Moana, I was footsore and blistered from the effort. And as I’d been up since six in the morning already, my body was screaming for rest. My mind, too, dealing with the frustration of not being able to upload pictures, didn’t want to think about how to get to Waikiki or wherever. Just a quick lay down, and then we can be refreshed and ready to figure this out. And since it’s a rare thing that I can get my body in mind to agree on something like this, I acquiesced.
The next thing I knew, it was 2:30 in the morning; far too late to try to step out. Anyone that had gone out would have long since left the ship (and possibly even come back by now). And as I learned later on, there is (as in every city) directions in which you don’t go alone at night, that a tourist such as myself (the tour guide from yesterday notwithstanding) wouldn’t know. If I wanted to gamble, I should wait and visit the casino downstairs when we’re at sea; betting my life on which direction to go at night on my own is a step too far.
So I went back to sleep, deciding to make my way through the city in the morning.
But how was I expecting to do it? I’d heard some talk about a shuttle being provided by a local clothing retailer, Hilo Hattie’s – and since I had plans to get myself and Daniel an aloha shirt in any event, that seemed like a reasonable trade-off, assuming they expected the riders to spend money at their establishment. But upon talking to a security guard by the pier – the security guard by the pier, a laid-back fellow surrounded by his ‘family’ of chickens – I was persuaded to hop on the bus instead.
I wasn’t the only one, either. The bus stop was hardly a block beyond the pier, and a number of other cruisers were hanging around waiting for one or another route to show up. Not everyone was headed to the same place; one family, clearly members of the running community, were headed up to Diamond Head to see if they couldn’t get permits to hike up the mountain, never mind the fees. Several others were debating as to which shopping center to head to. As for myself, well…
I probably could have stayed on for one more stop, but considering what the walk was like, why would I? Sure, the bus brings you where you want to go that much faster – and with less wear and tear on your feet – but there’s nothing like actually having your feet on the ground to get a feel for everything around you.
(As a quick aside, you’ve probably noticed the shirt I’m wearing. I think I mentioned that I got comments about my shirts on our last trip, so I took a lot with me this time around, too. Not everything I brought along has this kind of meaning to it, but I know you recognize the reference; it’s definitely appropriate for giving you to the surf.)
However, the bus doesn’t come all that close to the beach, so I had to make my way about for a bit, filming much of the way. Hey, with no one else to chat with, I have to make do with the camera, and pretend that you’re listening to me.
I promise, I won’t make any jokes about having to do that when you were still around.
As it so happened, though, the first sign that I could find regarding the bus was when I got back to the Ala Moana, of all places. And since I was back there again – whether intentionally or not – I decided to try the food court again, this time with a little more success… although not without some trepidation, as ‘local style’ wasn’t something I would ordinarily consume on my own volition. But when in Rome (or Honolulu), as they say…
I did manage to get to the bus with plenty of time to spare, but it’s not as if I had anything else to take care of. Between having had breakfast, gotten a few shirts at ABC, and let a few grains of you out onto the Waikiki sand, what more could I ask to do?
However, I need to tell you about the ride back. I’ve mentioned before about how certain cities (or maybe it’s just certain ports) have certain smells. In particular there’s was the fresh cut timber smell that Tallin had that stood out in my mind. Oahu, or, rather Honolulu, has a smell, too, mostly of coconut, but also of cinnamon. I’ve no idea where any of it coming from. Well, believe it or not, the bus smelled of cinnamon, coconut and cloves as well. I somehow doubt that the city’s fragrance is actually coming from the buses, but I won’t deny that it makes the experience that much more pleasant – especially when it’s so crowded you have to hold the straps.
I’m going to have to let you go for now, honey; I’ve got much more to say and show, but I have to do it separately. So until then, keep an eye on me, and wish me luck. I’m going to need it.
Letters to Rachel 