HONOLULU

Hawaii & Tahiti-

Sat. 4/12- Williamsville, N.Y.

We arose at 5:30 A.M., finished packing, prepped for the day and closed up the palace. The taxi arrived at 7:15 A.M. and ferried us to Buffalo International airport. The terminal was pretty quiet for a Saturday morning. We checked in at Continental Airlines and then went through the security screens to gate #22 to await our flight eastward, to Newark airport in New Jersey.

After the one-hour flight into Newark, we got some coffee at a Starbucks and searched out gate #132. We were to board one of those huge airborne monsters that would ferry several hundred of us in an eleven-hour flight to Honolulu, Hawaii. We had managed to get “bulkhead seats,” so we had a little more legroom for the odyssey. I was reading John Grisham’s “The Summons.”

As we transited the continental U.S, I passively viewed the terrain beneath us. Lake Erie, Lake Michigan and their surrounding environs are flat and featureless. Wisconsin sparkled with hundreds of lakes in the noonday sun. The Platte River, with its twin branches looking like lazy ribbons, ambled through the Dakotas. Then, the Rockies hove into view. The
rugged, black-granite range appeared to have powdered sugar sprinkled across its peaks, the residue of the winter snows. They drifted beneath us as the sky clouded. The Northwest and later, the Pacific Ocean were clouded from view as a massive front roared beneath us. We caught a glimpse of Mt. Rainier as we crossed the Pacific Coast. It looked tall and forbidding, even from 34,000 feet.

The flight was smooth, if long. We read, watched movies and otherwise passed the time pleasantly. At 6:00 P.M. Hawaiian time (2:00 A.M. EST) we began our descent into Honolulu International. The first thing that strikes you about the islands is their emerald green color. They look like Ireland. The blue of the pacific and the green of the islands are eye pleasing. To the sound of Hawaiian music, we arrived in the large Honolulu airport. Princess cruises collected our bags and shipped them and us to the
Hilton Hawaiian Village a few miles away on Waikiki Beach. The ride in was interesting. Oahu is crammed to the rafters with people and businesses. Nieman Marcus, Nordstrom’s, Macy’s and many other toney shopping meccas lined the streets of the main boulevard. Hawaii looked as pricey as its reputation. Everything appeared new and expensive. Cars were everywhere, a side effect of prosperity that all of the islands suffer from.

The Hawaiian Village Hilton is enormous. Its four huge towers contains 3,000 rooms. Several pools, restaurants, a beach bar and lush shrubbery and shopping areas complete the mammoth complex. We were assigned to Room #1775 in the “Tapa Tower.”

We unpacked some clothes and then decided to get something to eat before we ran out of gas completely. We were running on EST and it was late for us. We walked amidst the complex, enjoying the warm wind and the swaying palm trees. The ocean surf was quietly crashing nearby. We found and entered the “Tropics Restaurant,” sitting on the Oahu’s Waikiki beach. We managed to get a sandwich and a beer just as the place was closing for the night. Food here is pricey but not anywhere near as bad as the levels we had heard about before leaving.

After dinner, we walked along the beach path, enjoying the night. A Hawaiian woman gave us two flowered leis and then asked for $10 contributions for the local boy and Girl Scout troops. Tiring, we headed back to the room to read, make some notes and surrender to the Hawaiian night. We were as tired as logs in a swamp, but glad to be here.

Sunday, 4/13/- Honolulu, Hawaii (Huh Vay’ ee)

We arose early, our internal clocks still hours ahead of local time. We read for a bit, dozed again and then decided to go for a long
walk. We walked along the world famous Waikiki beach, gazing down the beach to “Diamond Head.” The massive granite outcropping had been so named by Captain Cook, an early explorer who saw the crystallized volcanic material glinting in the noonday sun and thought the peak encrusted in diamonds. The beach is tidal and slanted, making walking difficult. We also found out later that the sand had been imported from Australia due to a lack of white sand locally. Sigh, Hollywood even stages paradise.

It was windy and the surf was kicking up. Scored of local surfers were sliding across the blue and white froth, like a scene from
a 1950’s beach movie. The beach path and huge hotels soon gave way to a nicely manicured park area that ran the rest of the way along the beach to the old natatorium, just below the hills. The park is clean and eye pleasing. On the
way back, we opted to walk the street parallel to the beach. It was awash with tourists and shoppers even on a Sunday. A large “brunch at the beach” had been set up in the street featuring food from the area restaurants. It was
interesting and colorful.

A native market area, featured tee shirt stalls, food courts and a whole potpourri of souvenirs. We browsed and bought a few tee
shirts at $4 each, a bargain. The walk was getting long at 4 miles. We made our way back to the beach side “Tropics restaurant” in the Hawaiian Hilton and had a nice breakfast ($21.) It was Palm Sunday and a group was getting ready to hold and interdenominational service on the beach. We stayed for a bit, watching a lovely rendition of Hawaiian dance. The “Don Ho” style preacher had everyone singing God Bless America and other group songs. That sent us quickly on our way.

We changed into swimsuits and idled for a few hours by one of the smaller pools, enjoying the sun. It was warm and in the 80’s. I was
reading “The English Assassin”-DeSilva. An afternoon conversation with Ozzie Nelson ( nap) soon followed.

Late in the afternoon, we again walked along Waikiki Beach enjoying the roughening surf and the wind in the palm trees. The Outrigger hotels, The Royal Hawaiian, The Sheraton and others were full of visitors, all enjoying the beach. Surfers abounded on the waves and the
scenery looked very Hawaiian. We stopped for some decent Kona coffee in the Outrigger and watched the moving tableau around us. It never seems quite real when you are sitting in such beautiful surroundings. You always think it will evaporate like some ephemeral bubble that will just go “pop” and disappear.

We showered and cleaned up for dinner. We had reservations at an open air, beachside restaurant in the complex called “Rainbow Lanai.”
There, as we watched the surf crash on the shore, we dined on spinach salads, curried shrimp and Mary, the breast of chicken. A decent cabernet accompanied this pleasurable meal. It was a reasonable for dinner overlooking the ocean on Waikiki Beach in Honolulu.

After dinner, we wandered through the small village. The moon was near full, the palm trees were swaying above us and it was a delightful night to be alive and with Precious. We lolled in the moonlight and then reluctantly surrendered to the sandman. It had been an idyllic Palm Sunday on a beautiful beach on a magical isle in the Pacific.

Monday, 4/14/ Honolulu, Hawaii

We arose early. It was to be a busy day. Our bags had to be packed and ready for shipment to the Cruise ship by 6:30 A.M.. We managed that well enough and then had coffee and croissants in the lobby area of the Tapa tower. We were pleased to have stayed here and would return.

At 7:20, we assembled with several other tour groups in a small area adjacent to the hotel. A caravan of huge buses, from Roberts of Hawaii, were taking guests all over the island. We were headed for the holiest of military shrines in the state, the Arizona memorial, commemorating the Japanese sneak attack on Pearl Harbor, December 7th, 1941.

“Gus,” our driver, narrated the sights along the way. High rise condos lined the boulevards. He told us about the “Hawaiian Home Program.” Residents of Hawaiian descent are eligible to purchase homes and receive the land for $1. That is a “biggie” in land scarce Hawaii. We had the impression it is quite a commendable social program. Gus sure thought so. Guides on another island weren’t so complimentary. More about that later.

Military installations are everywhere around you in Hawaii. We passed by the Pacific Naval Command Center and then on into the small park and visitor center that houses the entrance to the Arizona Memorial. We off loaded the bus and stood in line to enter. Security guards were inspecting
bags and purses. Maybe they thought someone would blow the sunken ship up again?

As we entered, we picked up tickets with 10:45 A.M. stamped on them. We had a 2-hour wait to see the 30-minute movie depicting the history of the 1941 raid. The interior of the open court was awash in other tourists, so we walked outside. A small park area looked out across the channel to Ford Island, where the graceful white arch of the monument sat atop the sunken remains of the Battleship USS Arizona. Over 1,200 men were still entombed in the sunken wreck and the site was treated respectfully as a burial ground.

We walked, talked with other tourists and enjoyed the morning sun of a beautiful day. A large group of high school kids were passing the time like all kids, singing, joking and clowning around. The skies were blue above us and the sun was shining. The rugged green mountains that split the island were just to the North of us, with gray garlands of fluffy clouds drifting across them.

The time passed quickly enough and we lined up to enter the small theater inside. The 30-minute film was grainy and old, but well
characterized the history leading up to the attack. It showed some of the graphic war footage from the raid. Various survivors recounted their memories of the surprise raid and how some of their shipmates survived and some didn’t. Most of us had of course seen two or three later movies on Pearl Harbor and were familiar with the general details of the surprise attack so long ago. It is a cache phrase that still rings in infamy in the American Psyche, like “Remember the Main” and “Remember the Alamo.”

After the film, we filed out into a motorized, Naval tender, manned by U.S. sailors, for the short ride across the channel to the
Memorial. A graceful white arch of stone, with a series of open side vents and open roof area, house two smaller enclosed marble rooms at either end. A list of the sailors and marines lost that day, in raise metal etchings, adorns one wall, with a plaque and several American and military flags. It is a shrine to those lost. Along the center of the small monument is schema of the ship that lies beneath us. The bridge and superstructure had been removed in the late 1940’2. You can still see the large circular bases of the massive gun turrets rising just above the surface. Most of the rest of the ship is an indefinite mass that lies below, a sepulcher to those who went down with her. An armor-piercing bomb, from a Japanese dive-bomber, had pierced her forward magazine.The ship virtually exploded and sank in minutes on that fiery Sunday morning 62 years ago.

As I looked to the North, at the mountains not far away, I could imagine the first wave of 187 dive-bombers and then the second wave of torpedo planes appearing like an evil apparition over the nearby crests. They had launched from the Akagi, Kiryu and two other carriers sailing a short 220-mile to the Northeast. The sight of an entire fleet of attacking planes, on a warm Sunday morning, must have been surreal as the angry wasps spit fire and lead into the row of battleships at anchor. The channel from Ford Island to Oahu is narrow and an entire fleet of ships was berthed here. The Japanese pilots must have hardly believed their eyes or their good fortune. Our ships never had a chance. The Arizona, the West Virginia, the Oklahoma and the California all were caught in the initial barrage and either exploded or sunk. The Nevada tried to get under way but was barraged with several bombs and torpedoes. It managed to run aground on the nearby shore. Scores of smaller tender vessels simply sank into the shallow bay. Burning oil, smoke, noise and confusion reigned for several hours that day until the attack ended.

These thoughts careened through my head as I looked at the raised nameplates of the mighty battle ships nearby. 2500 sailors and marines died that day. In the words of a prescient Japanese Admiral, with their surprise attack, they “had awoken a sleeping giant and filled it with a terrible resolve.” The conflict wasn’t to end for four long years. The surrender documents were signed aboard the U.S.S. Missouri, “Mighty Mo.” She and the submarine “Blowfin” are anchored just around a bend in the lagoon and are available for boarding and viewing to the public. The surreal experience ended gradually as the tender ferried us back to the reception center. But the memories have followed me home from that haunting place in the beautiful Hawaiian sun.

From the Arizona memorial, we boarded our buses and rode up into the hills to another peaceful military cemetery called the “Punchbowl.” Here, amidst the bucolic rows of trees, shrubs and neatly trimmed grass, lie 39,000 military men and women who saw service in the pacific theaters, in various wars of our history. It is restful and idyllic.

As we drove through Honolulu, the bus passed by several old churches and then by the Queen Iolani Palace. It is a two-story, frame structure, with a massive lanai running down its front. It was the seat of the last reigning monarch of Hawaii. A bronze statue of King Kamehameha, founder of the line, stands nearby. The driver noted several times the 1893 takeover of the Hawaiian republic by British and American military. The natives, in relating the destruction of the monarchy have that mildly ticked off attitude that you hear when native Americans talk about how their lands were stolen from them. Maybe they too will discover the notion of gambling casinos and how they can fleece their lands back from us someday.

We approached the dock areas with mild excitement. We could see the huge cruise ship the “Dawn Princess” nearby. The bus took us to a virtual “sea of luggage” and calmly suggested we “identify ours” for processing. It was like an Arabian bazaar trying to search for our two black bags amidst a sea of hundreds of others. Finally we elbowed our way through the befuddled crowd and found the rascals. Then we walked them through a line to run them through a huge x-ray scanner for transport to the ship. Finally, we walked through another line to be scanned and searched for who knows what. Lastly, we walked through yet another line to pick up our cruise credentials and be scanned and have our carry ons searched yet again before walking up the gangway to the ship. We have entered and left several countries with less security than this.

We had been assigned cabin number 714 on the Baja deck (deck 10). We found our room and met Carmello, the room steward. He was pleasant enough. The room was standard size, but had a nice balcony with a table and two chairs on it. It seemed adequate enough. The hunger monster was calling so we ventured forth to the buffet lunch on deck 14, The Horizon court. We had a nice medley of shrimp, salmon and fruit for lunch as we took stock of our surroundings. The ship has a large pool and smaller one amidships on deck 12. Surrounding it are hot tubs and rows of deck chairs, and a small bar on deck 14. This was the main gathering areas for passengers. We walked along the deck enjoying the late afternoon sunshine. The aft elevator carried us down to the grand concourse on deck 7. Here, a covered walkway extended around the entire ship for walkers and joggers. Inside, several bars and galleries led to the central three story, open well that extends from deck 5 to deck 8. The ship’s two formal restaurants, several boutiques, the casino and other small cafes all opened off of this central court. It is resplendent in gleaming glass and shining brass with marble staircases and open glass elevators. It is impressive.

We stopped by the excursion desk on deck 5 to book our shore excursions for the trip. We were able to get every trip we wanted except for the island of Tahiti. That had been sold out before sailing. Ozzie Nelson was paging me and we returned to the stateroom for a long afternoon nap, my favorite activity in the tropics.

By seven P.M. we had showered and dressed for dinner. We had chosen something called “free style” dining. You could go whenever you chose between five and ten P.M. and request to dine alone or be placed with others already eating. It freed you from the fear of being stuck with morons and cretins for dinner during the entire cruise, an experience we had already suffered thorough on an earlier cruise. First though, we headed for the Vista Lounge on deck 7 with our large orange life jackets for the mandatory lifeboat drill. This ship was to be at sea for twelve days in stretches of the Pacific where even the birds didn’t fly. We all paid attention to the crews explanation in the proper use of the jackets and tenders should an emergency arise. After the drill we headed to the deck 5 “Florentine Room” for dinner.

Precious and I had elected to dine alone this evening. We had a nice Fiume Blanc for openers, then a shrimp appetizer, crème of mushroom soup, pastry filled with shrimp calamari and other seafood, in a lobster sauce. A chocolate tort and decent decaf coffee ended this memorable repast. It was to be the first of twelve such meals that would impress us greatly and expand us measurably. The waiters were Mexican and Rumanian. It was to be a medley of nationalities that had me speaking Polish, Tagalog, Spanish, French, Italian and mumbling bits of Rumanian and Hungarian. Each new linguistic experience was enjoyable. The wait staff seemed to appreciate the language efforts,on my part, however humble.

After dinner, we walked topside to watch the grand ship depart from Oahu. Instead of molten rock, I could see the flow of electric lava as it slid down the mountains in the dark. Diamond Head, Waikiki beach and the other recognizable features of Oahu blended into the Ocean dark. The ship was rolling side to side like a hog in a wallow. We had not developed our sea legs yet and walked with a wobble. This gigantic floating hotel swayed from side to side. If you were topside, you were at thee furthest end of the pendulum and felt the full range of the sway. Amid ships, and 5 decks below, the sway was much less pronounced.

We were tiring with the long and active day, so we retreated to our cabin. We opened the balcony door and sat for a time, in the fresh sea air, admiring the moonshine of the ocean beneath us. We read for a time and then surrendered to the hypnotic sway of the ship, as we drifted off into the land of the great beyond. It had been an auspicious beginning, to the cruise, for two aging honey mooners. We were glad we had come.