Leaving the world behind

Cool photo

This fence on Maui's Kaupakalua Road has been here for years. I'll have to ask around to get better info on it. But what a great use for busted surfboards! The hedge plant is "ti" (pronounced "tea"), an easily grown and much-loved common plant of Hawaii. It comes in many colors besides green. Ti leaves can be used to wrap food, or as hula skirts. The green ones are also waved with great enthusiasm at UH volleyball games.

Family matters

My husband is on vacation. I am simply traveling. We are largely staying on this sibling's floor or in that parent's spare room. Trips like this are quite the mixed bag. Craig is trying to relax and enjoy Hawaii. I am frequently absorbed with other issues.

Many people see Hawaii as an extraordinary place. Which it is. But Hawaii's inhabitants live ordinary lives, with typical concerns. Here, as elsewhere, a house and yard become harder to manage as the house--and the inhabitants--age. Like so many in my age group, my thoughts turn to elder-care. Are my parents well-situated for the years ahead? They are long divorced, so we have two cases to manage, so to speak. Thankfully, both are still active and completely independent. From my vantage point though, the status quo can't last forever. Maybe we should consider some changes now?

This can be an awkward, transitionary stage--the opposite of where we are at with our teen. He is still dependent, but rapidly moving toward flying away. Meanwhile, my siblings and I need to respect our parent's autonomy, while planning for more inter-dependence somewhere down the road.

My brothers, who live here, have to put up with all this. Here she comes. The pushy baby of the family. Parachuting in, with know-it-all ideas she won't even be here to implement. Hrumph! Still, everyone is friendly and constructive. From my outsider's vantage point, I force many discussions--and a few on-going debates about the best courses of action.

Some of the pushiness comes from lessons learned on my husband's side of the family. Both of his parents have died in the last two years. That experience re-proved the importance of talking things over ahead of time. Not always fun, but better in the long run.

World affairs

Travel sometimes juxtaposes personal indulgence against brutal headlines. The news, when we hear any, almost sounds like WW III could be beginning. "Contained" or not, the present conflict is heartbreaking. Frivolous travel seems inexcusable in such times. I can only compartmentalize in response. I didn't start the present crisis. My staying home won't stop it. I must carry on and make the trip a positive experience--even while others suffer, fight and die. World peace is beyond my control, though it is what I wish for when ever I blow out candles.

Like other tourist-dependent economies, Hawaii is especially vulnerable to episodes of war. Or concerns about air safety. The ill-ease I feel can quickly become magnified in gross travel numbers. Hawaii's long economic recession of the 1990's was partially caused by the First Gulf War (for lack of a better name). At that time, Hawaii was riding a wave of big-spending tourism from Japan. The Japanese economy eventually collapsed, which was part of Hawaii's down turn. But the Japanese visitor also stopped coming then because it is very impolite to impose on a country at war.

A major, perpetual, concern in Hawaii is economic diversification. Or a lack thereof. Too many eggs are all in the basket marked "tourism". I was just about to remark how bad things would be if it does come to WW III, when I remembered that war impacts Hawaii in other ways too. Hawaii has a significant military presence. Military spending comes second or third (I have to look that up) in Hawaii's economic pie. If tourism goes down due to war, military activity may well go up. Not the sort of activity that will save all visitor industry jobs. Not the sort of compensation anyone would wish for. But compensation of a sort? It's an unpleasant thought. Economic diversification is not supposed to depend on wars for success.

I'll close on a more cheerful note, with another Hawaii-themed photo. People aren't reading this to worry about the Middle East, or parents in transition. That must be part of Hawaii's appeal. To represent a place, even if it's only in our minds, that rises above ordinary cares.

California stopover--It's hot, hot, hot!

California: as many people as the entire country of Canada

After a short night's sleep in the SF Bay Area, we split up for the weekend. Craig and Wili stay. They'll drive inland to see relatives in Stockton. I grab a cheap flight in and out of Oakland to visit some kin down LA way. The one-hour flight passes over a rolling landscape that screams dry.

I fly into the Burbank airport, as it is the closest to my destination. By air, it seems that nearly every house sports a turquoise-blue swimming pool. It also seems like there are freeways everywhere, some eight lanes wide. Too dense for me! As I depart the air-conditioned airport, the heat hits. Hard. Like a blast from an open oven door. At the outdoor shuttle collection curb I wonder, for the umpteenth time, just how so many millions manage to live in conditions like this?

It's always hot in LA in July, but this was a record-breaking, headline-making, full-blast, heat wave.

An older woman is there, dispatching cabs and shuttles. She mentions she is supposed to be across the street in the sun but she is opting for the slight shade offered by the the covered pick-up benches. (Who can blame her?) She tells me it's 110 F, and has been all week.

She is carrying a spritzer bottle and spraying herself with mist every few minutes. I make a point of sitting where some downwind mist can reach me. Considering how frayed she looks she is surprisingly friendly. She says all she wants in the world right now is for 3 o'clock to arrive so she can go home and cool off. She remarks, "It's a perfect day to die out here."

Other cabbies wander over to chat. They companionably borrow the bottle to spritz each other. "How I love sunny southern California!" one quips, and I wonder where he came from and what his story is. (I surmise that most came from somewhere else, judging by the accented English.) "110!" my dispatcher mutters. "Oh no, my dear." corrects a cabbie, "Now it's 115!"

I wait 20 minutes for my ride. Sweat pours down in rivulets from body creases, like my knees, while instantly evaporating from all flat skin surfaces. When my shuttle comes I make sure I tip the dispatcher, thinking what ever they are paying you people, it's not enough.

I am the only passenger in the van. My driver talks the whole time on a hand-held cell phone in a language I could not even guess. He navigates the 20-minute drive by touch-screen typing into a windshield-mounted 3x4 inch GPS map system, with cell phone in hand. I think of different personality types and how some would simply turn the Car Talk mantra into an order: "Hey buddy, drive now talk later". Others would seethe and complain to the company. My choice is to do nothing and to release any worry. He's obviously done it a few times and lived to tell the tale. This is not really going to kill me, not today. (And isn't that A/C mighty fine?)

I content myself with watching the GPS computer, the first one I've seen up close. It image-maps the whole route, right down to displaying how long the trip should take. Talk about Big Brother watching you!

Baked to a delicate crunch

Like my parents, my Aunt was born and raised in the Territory of Hawaii. Unlike my parents, she left. She's a retired art teacher and has live in the same compact house since the 1960's. The garage is her artist's studio, where she still paints and fabricates metal jewlery. Her suburban lot is wonderfully landscaped with a multitude of flowers, trees and shrubs under the high branches of a massive live oak. (These oaks are protected by law in many California municipalities.) The desert/Mediterranean plants are all fine. The roses and lilies are showing stress, the flowers shriveled--literally baked to a crisp. The plants revive overnight and send out more blooms, which may or may not survive. Hope springs eternal.

We spend the weekend avoiding the heat and catching up, after a year since my last visit. Some family visits are a replay of oft-told tales. Probably because I came alone, with no bored men about, her conversations are fresh and full of details that are new to me. It's hot as Hades but, otherwise, it is a good visit.

Flying back to SFO, I re-connect with my "boys" and we catch our flight to Maui.

Air travel, part one--the logistics

When traveling from Ottawa to Hawaii, you can't get there from here in one hop. It is possible to fly directly from from some major cities. Chicago to Hawaii, for example, is roughly a ten-hour flight. The more usual route would be: Ottawa to --your airline's hub here-- followed by a stop-over in a west cost hub (LA, SF, or Vancouver) and then on to Hawaii. One short flight, followed by two 5-hour flights, plus airport time between flights.

Anyway you slice it, that's a full day's travel, both coming and going.

Since we have relatives in California, we usually try to include a few days there too. Besides maximizing travel dollars this breaks up the flights. (It's nice to adjust to different time zones in three-hour chunks, instead of leaping 6 hours all at once.)

We arrived in Chicago to find many subsequent flights, including ours, delayed after a thunderstorm. We settled in to wait the extra hours, trying to keep up with three gate changes along the way. I'd have to agree with a comment from another traveler: "Why don’t they just say 'no gate yet assigned' instead of bouncing everyone around like this?"

The delayed Chicago-San Francisco flight was fine, until the end. At the SFO airport, we ran split missions, hoping to save time. Craig went off to collect the rental car, Wili and I stayed to await the bags. After so many flight changes and delays, there was considerable confusion on the receiving end. Our entire flight's baggage went missing. Increasingly angry customers ended up chasing down luggage at 4 different pick-up points, with almost no correct information from employees.

We were lucky. It took over an hour to collect our bags, but at least we got them all. Meanwhile, the car agency was swamped, completely out of cars. Craig agreed he'd take anything available which turned out to be a souped-up SUV for the price of a compact/economy car. ("Sweet!" said our 15-year-old-male, when he saw what drove up. "Ugh!" is what we parents said later at the gas pumps--the SUV averaged 19 mpg.) Craig's mission took so long we began to wonder what became of him and if splitting up had been such a good idea after all. Finally, by 2 am, we were done and able to collapse on real beds.

Air travel, part two--a rant

The next morning our sleep-deprived son was still so mad about the airline delays that he wanted to send same flaming emails. We discussed the finer points of complaining, like clarifying purpose and expectations. Is the goal compensation? Punishment? Reform? Who was really responsible for what we experienced? I spent many years waiting tables while working my way through school. I refuse to blame the collateral victims of bad situations, the poor front-line saps stuck manning the barricades.

Weather happens. That part was no one's fault. Could the airline's response system be improved? Absolutely. But it would probably cost a lot to have the staffing flexibility to step up to such blips along the way. And, in a way, we consumers bring this on ourselves. Insisting on the lowest fares possible necessitates decreased service.

I feel for those who work in air travel these days. Between possible bankruptcy, the reduction of wages and benefits and having to go eyeball-to-eyeball with large numbers of truly pissed-off customers, it's probably become one of the most thankless and stressful industries around. Hey, airline employees! Thank-you! And I'm sorry you have to take it on the chin so often. Hey, airline management! We're angry, with justification. Have mercy! We need better outcomes than ones that leave everyone sputtering in frustration. Is that too much to ask?

The wherefores and the whys

There's method to our madness

My husband, our teen son and I are off for a long summer trip. Back to "the old country" as we jokingly call our former home state, now a continent and an ocean away. A three-week vacation for the main bread-winner. Nearly six weeks away for me and our son--the only grandchild in the Hawaii family tree.

Friends and neighbors here in Ottawa are aghast at our timing. The chorus goes: "Are you nuts?! Why not go in winter?"

I'm with them, mostly. Summers here are as nice as they are short. And it's the middle of gardening season. I just hurriedly finished harvesting the garlic--a bit early, but what else could I do? I shudder at the thought of not retuning until the last days of August. The weeds are going to win. Again.

It cannot be helped. Summer vacation is when we can spend enough time there to make the long trip worthwhile.

In a few years my husband and I will be empty-nesters. When that stage comes, I vote to 'do' Hawaii in November, or March, my two least favorite months here. November can be just plain gloomy and March is a hopeless muddle betwixt winter and spring. I'd stick around for January and February, though. To us, snowy winters are terribly exciting, even exotic. We have also become addicted to cross-country skiing and out-door ice skating, pleasures unavailable in Hawaii.

Island weather: Mostly fair with a chance of windward and mauka (mountain) showers

So, when is the best time to visit the islands? The good news is pretty much any month will work. Hawaii doesn't have four distinct seasons. There is a rainy season (Nov-March). That can get pretty wet and windy, with storm fronts that move in for a few days straight before blue skies return. Then there's the dry season (April-October). The tail end of that can be pretty muggy and hot. Which, I guess, is just great for die-hards seeking unadulterated sun and sand.

Hot and cold being relative terms, obviously. Except for higher elevations, most places in Hawaii will never dip below 50 degrees, or exceed the low 90's. And those are the extremes. Generally, expect temperatures in the 70's and 80's. Year round. Pretty darned nice, if a tad monotonous. Since moving, I have found the contrast of distinct seasons to be one of the most interesting and invigorating aspects of life on the mainland. It's always changing here! (Winter-weary Canadians assure me that more time here can cure me of that unnatural excitement.)

There are seven populated islands in Hawaii. With elevations that range from sea-level to some substantial peaks. Obviously, the higher you go the cooler it gets. The tallest mountain, the island of Hawaii's Mauna Kea (13,796') is frequently snow-capped. (Note: Just to keep things confusing, Hawaii is both the name of the entire island chain and the name of the largest island in the chain, hence its clarifying nickname "The Big Island".)

Tradewinds carry moisture from the surrounding ocean until mountain ranges extract their rain. This means each high island has a windward side, lush and tropical, and a leeward side, where brown replaces green and rain falls less frequently. The most popular destinations tend to be on leeward shores: Kauai's Poipu, Oahu's Waikiki, Maui's Lahaina, Kihei and Kaanapali, and Kona on the Big Island of Hawaii--these are all mainly hot and dry, which is what the average visitor is seeking.

Weather isn't everything

At some point I should address the other question that comes up like clockwork. Why would anyone ever leave Hawaii!? Many, many reasons. We weren't the only ones who left, either. A recent snippet in Honolulu Magazine cited US census bureau statistics that the average annual "out-migration" from Hawaii across the 1990's was 11,820. For 2000-2004, that number has fallen to 2,053. (Out of a population of 1.2 million.)

Where do ex-islanders go? All over, really. Sometimes to surprising pockets, such as Las Vegas. We are like a secret society, always watching for signs of fellow exiles. ("Look over there. Slippers and a "Hawaiian Island Creations" backpack. Do you think he is from Hawaii?") It's comforting to find others who share the same pain-tinged nostalgia for what was left behind.

Framed in a positive light, our family left seeking broader experiences and a better standard of living (defined by quality, not money). On the less-positive side, we left as urban refugees. Eager to escape a lengthy economic recession, the high cost of living, an explosion of property crime--fueled by a dreadful crystal meth ("Ice") epidemic, terrible traffic congestion, crowded living conditions, growing homelessness and poor public schools.

The recession is said to be over now, which probably accounts for the decline in departures. Sadly, all the other ills remain, unabated. Your basic "Trouble in Paradise" story of what happens when a good place goes bad.

Death, taxes....and change

The small Ontario village where we now live has a single commercial outlet, a general store/post office. It's run by a charming couple who came to Canada from England many years ago. They visit their "old country" too, and we compare notes. I was explaining how the Hawaii of my youth was quite a bit nicer. The store keeper replied he'd have to say the same about his home region, in Nottingham. For some strange reason crime has exploded there--guns and knives and general mayhem. It's not just Hawaii, or Nottingham, he concluded, with a mixture of anger, sorrow and puzzlement. The problem seems to be popping up everywhere.

We muttered about the world going to hell in a hand basket and congratulated ourselves on having found a small corner that still feels peaceful. And then we got onto local news of a village family who left their out-of-gas vehicle on a side road overnight, only to find it thoroughly vandalized by morning.

Perhaps there is no escape? Just enclaves that still resemble the mythically happy places of our long-lost youth.