You can't get there from here

I feel a need to back up just a bit and discuss my feelings about the actual travel part of international travel. Even with the hours of preparation that Tucker put into planning an adventure that had fewer surprises than an impetuous need to simply ride trains, planes and automobiles to an exotic destination, it goes without saying that events will happen without one's ability to manage their level of excitement. The loss of control has reached new vistas since 9/11. In an effort to keep us safe from terror, the Airport Zone has created its own form of terror. Security checks abound, passports must be presented a myriad of times (even if you haven't left the gate area), carry-on items are scrutinized and rejected despite careful planning and packing, seats assigned to Coach tickets are packed tighter than Perdue chickens, and your next flight is always at a gate a mile away over hill and dale. And then you wait. And listen to someone's phone conversation that is invasive to your personal space should you decide to do something productive with your time and read! The people watching can be wonderful, but I began to see us all with a cow bell around ours necks, lowing for the relief of the milking barn.

One needs to prepare oneself for the insults as well as the adventures. And yet we observed many people on our travels that had obviously not done any research on their final destination. They were the ugly complainers. And what were they thinking? That they were still in Kansas?

As Tucker has explained, it seemed as though the taxi ride from the airport was never going to make it to our nirvana. Next morning, after reading about a great breakfast joint called Eggs 'n Things, we decide to take control and go for a walk. Looked shorter to walk the beach and then head in toward the main drag. Gorgeous sunrise and worth doing. Getting back to the highway wasn't as easy and we arrived at the Eggs place via a circuitous route .....because you can't get there from here!

Breakfast was a joy. The waitresses were wearing aprons that had long extensions tied to their pantlegs in a wise effort to keep them clean from the detritous spray of clearing dirty dishes. We had omelets with a superb island salsa, spicy sausages and pancakes that were accompanied by coconut, guava and maple syrups. Get there early. The tables were all full and a line had formed outside by 7:30 am.

We walk back along the Kalakaua which is nothing but high end designer shops. I saw a handbag I quite liked. It was priced at $829. I'm not worth it. The stores doing brisk business are the ABC provision shops, which have a little of everything, are affordable and stock out favorite Scotch. We finally arrive at the place the hotel should have been. But you can't get there from here. There is alot of construction out front, but we find an obscure little sign that says it is an acsess to the Royal Hawaiin. We pass dumpsters, and alley with surfboards for rent, turn a corner and find a half open wrought iron gate, walk through, talk a nice little pathway by flora and fauna and hotel shops, double back along the hallway to the elevator and eventually find the room. It's only 8:30 am.

Spend the day the any self respecting person would in Paradise. By the pool. Sun. Journals. Pina Coladas. Beautiful Japanese children playing with their parents in the water. No sand in the bathing suit. And I know how to get back to the room from here.

Later on, in search of grub because the hotels are outrageously expensive, we serendipitously discover a California Pizza restaurant on the second floor above an "authentic" Hawaiian entertainment theater that was packing them in by the busload. We sat at the bar and watched them make the best pizza I've had in a long time. On the way back, we followed a woman that was wearing polka dotted high-heeled platform shoes, socks with lace ruffles, a very tight blue jean mini skirt, and a tank top. She weighed in at 180 lbs. We missed our turn. You can't get there from here.