It’s so weird how landscapes change from hour to hour. As we were pulling away from California in the capable hands of our seasoned (or “long in the tooth” as my dear Monsieur catalogued him) pilot, surrounded by the quaint snootiness of our veteran (read “old and experienced enough to only want and get the nice flight”) crew, things looked vibrant and fuzzy and much like they do in pictures. No longer did the faraway landscape had the magical and laceworked fragility of the hours before dawn: it looked more akin to someone’s idea of a brochure. And I guess that’s a nice parting image: leaving a bustling and life-filled tableau for the cloud-covered and muggy one that greeted us in the shape of my Cuz, Madame J. (HAPPY BIRTHDAY!!!!!!!) and her enthralling tale of gridlock brought on by stupidity. I am serious: it was enthralling. But most enthralling of all is to see that dear ol’ Honolulu always has surprises for the good li’l boys and girls who do not obey traffic signals or common sense –whichever should hit you first at 60 mph.
Note for future reference: the schlockiness factor of a crew is directly proportional to their egos. Our crew waxed poetic about such diverse topics as a) the weather, b) the landing (which was admittedly quite flawless and deserved probably a round of applause), c) the fact that you could see the other islands in the distance at one point in time, and d) the fact that O’ahu is the most populated yet most isolated place on earth.
That last comment stunned me for a moment. Do not think that it took me by surprise, however. I’ve been taunted with the fact that we are in the middle of fucking nowhere ever since we first moved here.
But it just suddenly struck me as strange that anyone, no matter how nice the weather and how convenient the harbor, would want to trek out to the middle of nowhere and overpopulate the living crap out of it! I mean, even the early Polynesians only sent the more skilled among them over here…. and you could argue that they knew the Pacific like the backs of their hands and all that good stuff. I digress, I think.
It was 87 degrees last night when we pulled into Honolulu, but the trade winds were blowing. Ah…. I must confess only one thing that rings true: it is good to be home –even if upon entering it was a little 97-degree inferno.
And now that Mademoiselle Grace has been rescued from the Kitty Spa (with thanks to dear friend Madame C.)– where the lovely feline played and was treated like a queen– all is well :o)