I was determined to hold on to the room until the bitter end. Check out time was noon and I didn't want to take the chance that housekeeping might move in early if I left for breakfast. So I had breakfast brought to me. Two poached with sausage, sourdough toast, potatoes, orange juice, tea, and a bit of A-1 sauce on the side. I ate on the lanai, listening to the surf, enjoying the morning breeze. Room service breakfast is an extravagance, again,, but truth is I'm tired from an interesting night's sleep, and I'm not sure if I won't fall back asleep again.
This is not a day to be tired. It's my last day. After noon I have nowhere to stay until I need to leave for the airport at 5. I quickly type up the blog post for Thursday, but resizing the images takes a lot of time. There are a lot of images for Thursday an it takes almost 90 minutes to get it all done. Then it's shower, shave, pack, check, double and, triple check I have everything, and wonder aloud if the bag is overweight.
I check out, stunned at the final bill, and head off after leaving the bags with the Bell staff. It's just after noon.
With five hours to kill the only plan is a rough one. I'll return to the Army Museum at Fort De Russy to see how much time I can waste there. Spending a couple of hours in a museum you have been to before might seem difficult. This museum has some new displays since I was here two years ago, and even the ones I have seen before I see in a slightly different light. My visits to other area museums have fleshed out some of the stories told here. One would think that there were only a few ways to tell the Pearl Harbour story, but with displays in different museums I learn more context.
I re-visit the General Eric Shinseki exhibit. A local boy from Kauai who showed great leadership and community skills from an early age. After joining the Army and graduating from West Point, he was deployed to Vietnam, wounded three times, twice winning the Purple Heart. He lost half his foot to a land mine, and later, more serious injuries in a helicopter crash. Long a believer that effective leadership grows directly from superior communication skills, he set about using his skills to inspire and lead, rising eventually to the Chief Of Staff Of The Army, and currently the United States Secretary For Veteran Affairs. Some of his advice on effective communication and leadership are posted here.
I also visit The Hall Of Heroes, an area set aside for local soldiers who had earned the Distinguished Service Cross, and the Congressional Medal Of Honour.
After a couple of hours I leave and walk across to the Starbucks on Lewers Street. With a Passion Iced Tea (sweetened) and a fruit and cheese plate I sit outside and check e-mail and do some minor news surfing. Gosh knows why I do that on vacation. That frustrates me enough that I shut down my notebook and pull out a fiction book to read. Better writing, fewer factual errors.
After an hour of wasting away, I wander across to the Peter Lik gallery to check out his photos. I have heard of him but never really paid attention to his work. Justin mentioned how much he liked Lik's work so I thought I 'd check it out. Nicely composed, rich in color, diverse landscapes, and each one so technically perfect I wonder if there was any “photoshop” magic involved. I don't think it out of spite or indifference to his talent, but rather that the editing of photographs has become so “normal” that I find hard to trust a great image anymore. I started photography in film, when it was expensive, especially for a two bit operator like myself, to pay for processing. As a result you paid close attention to the very basics of aperture, shutter, film speed, and ways to get the shot right the first time. One of the new tenets of photography is to shoot everything, bracket the heck out of it, and hope you get something you can enhance in post. It's the same approach that is taken in TV News. Camera guy shoots everything all the different ways he can, and then the reporter tries to put them to words, all the while the editor complains about who shot this crap. I guess in my world, doing it right the first time saves everyone the work of fixing it. But that got me way off topic, which should have been that Peter Lik shoots great pictures.
From there I just wander around. Through the half occupied Waikiki Shopping Plaza where only about half the stores are open and there a lot of for lease signs are up. All over Waikiki there are a lot more For Lease signs up than two years ago. The night before I saw a news item about how the number of visits to the island are down overall, but daily spending is up. The spending however, does not seem to be in some the higher end stores.
I wander down Kalakua, through King Place Market, once home to my parent's favourite pub, the Rose And Crown but now just a memory since it closed in 1988. I wander through the narrow passages and check out some of the curio shops, all while trying to make my way through the large tents of a farmer's market that compresses the few people in the market into thinking it's crowded and busy.
I leave just to get out of the crush of people and pass a statue I don't recall having seen before.
Kuhio Avenue, another major street. I pass t-shirt places, happy hour restaurants, ABC stores, and even couple of places that call themselves “Gentleman Entertainment Parlors”, and purveyors of “Adult Entertainment”. Looking at the size of the lock on the gate guarding the closed front door, not many adults are in the mood for entertaining. It looks like it's been closed for a while.
Wondering where the pictures are? The batteries ran out in the camera, and I don't have spares, and I don't want to pay ABC Store prices for a set.
So by now it's approaching 5 and I need to pick up my bags to ride to the airport. I lost the tag the bell man gave me. I'm sure will show up when I unpack all the crap I seem to have picked up along the way. Fortunately the guys find my bags and I take it into a public bathroom in the hotel to change out of shorts and t-shirt in favour Cloudveil pants and a Tilley shirt, then grab a cab.
The cabbie has been around a while and we swap stories about how much Waikiki has changed. About the corporate architecture, and high end stores, and he's amazed that I remember the old Waikiki Theatre. It's Art Deco architecture had to be replaced by something in tasteless white concrete to create room for the Atlantis Steak and Seafood and California Pizza Grill.
I check in at the airport, the bag is four pounds over weight so I spend a few minutes shifting stuff into my carry on. I have bought so much stuff that I bought a cheap suitcase to put it all in. My” travel light” mantra has been lost under a pile of new shirts.
Security is a breeze though they scan my KEEN walking shoes twice, and they never say why. The guy on the scanner points out something on the screen to a colleague. For all I know he could have said “Let's see how the haole reacts to having his shoes scanned twice and see if he sweats?” Ya' never know, and I'm just saying that sometimes you need to have fun at work.
Waiting for the plane I see that the incoming plane is late by 20 minutes. Air Canada's on time record is apparently not a corporate priority on this run. Out departure is almost bang on, only a couple of minutes late.
I am seated next a young couple with a small baby. A lovely and quiet little thing with calm and cautious blue eyes. I feel good about this travelling next to this quiet, angelic child. The cabin staff ask if I would mind relocating across the aisle to where there are two empty seats. This is to aid the couple so that the baby can have a place to lie the baby down so it doesn't have to be held for the whole flight. No problem. Though when I first booked seats the two they ask me to sit in had been taken. Oh well, changing seats is my gain, and the baby sleeps through almost the whole flight.
Not so for the freakin' screamer twins one row back. With the exception of about an hour, where everybody caught a nap, these two cried, fussed loudly, whined, and screamed. It seemed the only way these two could communicate with other members of the human race was to use maximum lung power. And man, what a set of lungs these two had between them. I felt bad for the parent's as it seemed, judging by their resignation to the noise, that this was common behaviour for the kids.
Don't get me wrong, I love kids even though I'm not parent. I get that they make noise and fuss and have problems keeping still. I used to be one, and I have brothers that I used to fight with on car trips and airplanes, and I have enough friends with kids (some of whom I have known since they were colic prone), that by exposure alone I know that the things kids do are the things kids do. But this was over the top.
The beer was much needed, but sadly the only came around once. And I can say the roast beef wrap served up by the Onboard Cafe is OK.
Customs is almost a breeze. I have to declare a couple of paintings I bought, but are having shipped. Oh wait, I forgot to mention that I bought two pieces by Heather Brown. I think I mentioned they really caught me when I was in the Wyland Gallery. So I fill out the customs forms for follow on items, get signed off, and I'm out the door.
I'm really beat, so rather than take the subway, or a cab. I blow the last of the vacation cash and take a limo home, finally walking in the door around 7.
I fall into bed, leaving the laundry and unpacking for later.
Later in the day I have family to visit, a special celebration for my brother, and some groceries to get. And I check in to bring some plates up to speed in the twirling maze that is the everyday world where I live.
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