Hawaii Part 1

AKA Honolulu and Oahu
AKA Hostel Girls

Hanauma Bay exceeded expectations.

It always shocks me how many people there are travelling on their own who are happy to hook up with others for a few days here or there.

I landed in Honolulu and booked into a hostel, which, to be honest, seemed a bit grotty even for me, but it was by far the cheapest available accomodation (all the hotels were way more expensive and nothing on AirBnB even came close). But, it was right on the beach in Waikiki, had lots of hot water, great sheets, unlimited free breakfast, and free wifi - so, what's not to like? Best of all however were all the other solo travellers.

Bea, a young TA from Seattle, actively gay and full of interesting conversation around this, was our ring leader. She gathered everyone in our dorm up and organized us; me, Sara, a beautifully inked 40ish German on vacation from a gap year teaching snowboarding at Whister, Lois, a hilarious Aussie, and lastly a silent Dutch girl whose name I never did catch. We had a great couple of days. Bea got us to rent bicycles and trek to Hanauma Bay, a somewhat touristy nature reserve, where we snorkeled with an impressive number of large exotic fish. She had us hike out to a waterfall and swing into the pool at the bottom on a tarzan rope. She rented a car for us to share and drove us to the North Shore to look for turtles and swim in the huge waves there. We didn't see any turtles but we had a lot of fun, walking and talking and eating together, marveling in our fortune to be here, in Hawaii, enjoying life.

(And then we scattered, all heading off in different directions, pleased to have shared time and adventures, but not even exchanging facebook adresses. Such is the way of hostel girls.)

Angst

Angst is perhaps too strong a word to define how I'm feeling at the moment; trepidation or disquietude might be more appropriate. But angst is the word that springs to mind. 

I'm going to crew on a boat. I'm following a lead I found online and am jumping blind into a situation that seems too good to be true (and might just be). I've done this before. To disastrous effect. But I'm doing it again. (Do I never learn?)

And I'm flying a long way, at great expense, to both me and the environment, in order to do so. 

I hope I like it. 

Geoff, my ex, whose opinion I greatly respect, points out that I have been successful about half the time when doing just this. I think, but don't say aloud, that last summer was beyond fantastic, so, statistically speaking, this spring is bound to be a dreadful failure.

Nonetheless I've bought my plane tickets, put all of my stuff in storage, said my goodbyes. Now all there is left to do is close my eyes, cross my fingers, and jump - 

Part of my anxiety is caused because I’m going off alone. Again. But this time without an excuse. Which worries me. What does it say about my character? About any hope that I will ever end up in a successful relationship? When my students ask me why I go off by myself I’ve always told them that I don’t know anyone who wants to go on vacation for six whole months, that my friends are still working and my sister still has kids at home (moot but true) and my children are still at university... that not many people have six months free. And they buy this. It sounds plausible. Most of them have parents with full-time jobs. Also - it used to be true. In the past five years however almost everyone I know has retired and several of them are spending extensive time travelling (I get to retire when I’m 95) and all my kids have finished university and one of them isn’t even working at a formal job at the moment, and, worst of all, I have a friend who’s off work permanently and would happily travel with me for six months… and, yet, despite all this, I’m still going off all on my own.

And I feel more alone than ever.

Rick once told me that if I went away once too often there’d be nothing left to come home to. I fear he might have been right. But… Also… I’ve sort of forgotten why I’m travelling. Instead of being thrilled, full of delight and anticipation, I’m almost only going off out of habit, because I don’t know what else to do, and into an unknown situation, and, did I mention, a great distance, which, of course, means at great expense.

And.

So.

We will see.

But, don’t get me wrong. I still know how very privileged I am to even be able to make this questionable decision. How very privileged. Very. I am beyond lucky. And, despite any angst, I am acutely, almost painfully, aware of my good fortune. To even be able to choose to go. But, still, I do hope I like it, this boat I will join.

PS Last fall slipped away. I didn’t work on any of my stated goals; my weight, my book, myself…. I taught Art, again, at ADHS. Which, to be honest, I quite enjoy. I housesat for awhile and then moved back into Ellen’s BnB. I had a tumultuous on again off again relationship with a wonderful guy who took me canoeing, and skiing, and dancing. Best of all I spent a fantastic week over Christmas at Tremblant with all three of my sons and all three of their girlfriends where we skied, hot-tubbed, ate, laughed, played board games… it was everything a mother who lives nowhere could hope for. And then the fall was over. And the semester. And so now I'm going to jump - 



Travel Part 1 - Still Stressing 

The evening before I fly out, as I am setting my alarm for 3 am the following morning, I learn that my Uncle David, who I have not seen in many years, has died. Do I cancel my (non-refundable) flights west and fly east instead to acknowledge his passing and meet with my (estranged) extended family? How many more times will this same group of my relatives gather? 

Unfortunately I don't think quickly on my feet and considering changing plans at the last minute is too challenging for me so in the wee hours I find myself walking down the empty black sidewalks of Bank Street, an eerie mix of thin mist and watery lamp light a perfect accompaniment to the drunk who tags along asking ocassionally if I have a light (always no) and telling me of his super power (the ability to freeze cats in their tracks with a single glance). What am I doing here without even my whistle around my neck?

Family day weekend was warm and sunny and beyond beautiful; I spent time outside with Ellen, and with my BF, visited my oldest and youngest sons and did yoga with the middle one's girlfriend, even had a short sweet rendezvous with Suzanne as we were passing through Ottawa in opposite directions...  I acknowledge, as I have before, that I already live in the most beautiful part of the world. Why am I going away now, just as spring skiing is becoming awesome? Why am I leaving, at all? I've forgotten. 

Almost on autopilot, I get to Slater, where the 97 bus is right on schedule, and so before I know it I'm at the airport, have checked my bag, been through security, had my last Timmy's coffee, flown two hours to O'Hare, boarded my next flight, discovered I've lucked into a free upgrade, a window seat with oodles of leg room for the 9 hours 4 minutes to Honolulu, and am flying at 20000 feet, under a cloudless sky, over Iowa and then Nebraska, each of them wearing an endless flat patchwork quilt of drab grey brown squares decorated with meandering stream ribbons (no snow, is this usual?) and then over the Rockies, and San Fransisco, and, finally, finally, out out over the Pacific until there's no turning back and I'm committed, for better or worse, to this crazy vacation. 


I hope I like it.