Welcome to Hawaii

The visitor to Hawaii will quickly notice that road signs indicating mileage to the next town or other milestone have very large numbers on them. For example, on Maui we saw numerous signs indicating something like "Volcano—963.2 miles." One might wonder why interim towns or other sites of interest are not listed before the volcano on such signs. This is because there are no towns or other sites of interest between one's present location and the volcano, and at some point it was determined that a sign saying

Rocks-—4, 15, 22, 39, 65, 142, and 256 miles

Desert hillsides—Next 637 miles

Bend in road—1.1, 1.2, 1.3 1.37, 1.4, etc. miles

...might lull travelers to sleep and, worse, unnecessarily waste good signage.

Nevertheless, road signs have important information for the traveler. In Hawaii, most signs say three things: aloha (hello, welcome), mahalo (thank you), and Something Here Is Going to Try to Kill You.

This is true no matter whether you're on the beach, driving, or at the local grocery store. Here, for example, is a typical sign on the beach:

"Beware strong currents, swells, waves, rip tides, tides going out, tides coming in, flesh-tearing sea urchins, sudden drop-offs, sudden shallow areas, hidden rocks, rocks in plain sight, searing sunlight, sudden loss of sunlight, and other bathers, snorkelers, scuba divers, paddle boarders, kayakers, thieves, and individuals in unfortunate swim clothes."

Virtually every time we contemplated venturing into the water to snorkel, we were told, "Sure, it's a little rough today, no problem. Just time the waves and you'll be fine." It did not occur to anyone to question how people raised in the Midwest are supposed to know, instinctively, how to "time the waves." And if by luck or a miracle you do, by the time you convince the flippers on both your feet that they must work together to walk successfully into the water, your timing could take you right into the mouth of a Rogue Wave.

Or, say you are are settling in to see some amazing snorkeling sights. Suddenly, you feel weightless, free, moving along at incredible speed—but sideways. Then you are suddenly moving sideways in the direction you just came from. No matter how much you kick and order your body to go straight—that is, in the direction of your head—you continue to move 3 feet sideways one way and 3 feet back the other way. You have met a fun little prankster in the Hawaiian waters: The Current.

Another feature that is bent on perpetrating bodily harm are the roads. On most roads along the coastline, you have two options: Death by Smooshing Against Jagged Rocks, or Death by Falling Over Cliff's Edge Leading to Deep Ravine and/or Ocean.

In some locations there is a third option—Life—but it's pretty slim.

Other than these few trifles to worry about, you should have a GREAT time should you visit Hawaii. Just don't venture out of your hotel.

Better yet, don't step foot out of the plane when it lands. IF it lands...

The Princess seems to have become addicted to warm weather places this fall, and no sooner had she returned from Hawaii than she galavanted off to Orlando for work. In her absence, the Hero too did some galavanting, to normally forbidden eateries like KFC. We promise to return soon to our discussion of Hawaii.

A new weekday, invented by travelers: Muesday

The Hero and I have returned from our visit to Hawaii in one piece—an outcome that looked doubtful at certain points during our trip, which we'll discuss another day—although we feel like parts of us have remained behind in the various time zones through which we passed in the last couple of days. Factor in the recent time change for the mainland, but not for Hawaii, and you get: two confused travelers.

There is about a 15-hour period of time that is unaccounted for in our memories, other than intermittent communication with each other centered on determining what day it was.

"Is today Tuesday?"

"No, I think it's Monday."

"But didn't we already have Monday?"

"Uh, I don't remember Monday...maybe we spent Monday thinking it was Tuesday?"

We did agree that we were due back at our respective workplaces on Wednesday. This precipitated another volley of speculations.

"Do we go to work tomorrow? Or the next day?"

"I think it's more like tomorrow and half a tomorrow."

The last time we can clearly recall knowing what time and day it was is in the Maui airport, as we waited for the first leg of our trip back home. We were halfway through our Starbucks drinks when we realized, dimly, that by the time we got home we would have missed our sleeping hours—in any time zone—and therefore even though it was merely 6:00 in the evening on Tuesday (or was it Monday?), we should probably sleep during the 7-hour flight to Dallas. I promptly yielded up my coffee to the garbage can.

As we discovered, when you are traveling the one part of you that does have some sense of time is: your stomach. Even it, however, is limited in its usefulness. It can only alert you to a general feeding time, not specifically which meal should be forthcoming (lunch? dinner? linner?)

Perhaps it is just as well. If it is breakfast time in the time zone in which you find yourself, then even though you are SURE that you should be having lunch, every food item you encounter at the airport will contain an egg of some sort.

And should you find yourself in the airport at 4:22 a.m., as we did on Monday (Tuesday?), give several cheers for Starbucks and Dunkin’ Donuts, which seem to operate at all hours in any time zone, including Martian.

To them I gratefully raise my cup of Americano and say, "Happy Muesday."