Everyone has this really romanticized view of Hawaii. Apparently it's all flowers and beaches and peaceful natives with ukeleles, a perfect place for a honeymoon or vacation or just a break from everyday nonsense.
HA!
Okay. Hawaii's great, don't get me wrong, and I have seen lots of flowers and beaches and natives smoking illegal substances in front of the entire public with absolutely no shame, but just because you're going somewhere perfect doesn't mean your journey itself will be. I know this because my family is terrible at taking these kinds of expeditions.
Actually, we always have lots of fun on trips, but never for the reasons we should.
...let me explain.
First, I should probably make the statement that any vacation that starts off with spending $35 at McDonald's is probably destined for trouble. Sure enough, after a 5 hour plane ride in an exit row with my brother (only available to those 15 years of age or older because anyone younger would react immaturely to a seat that doesn't recline) (not that we didn't), we arrived in the Honolulu airport and promptly got lost in the parking lot. We were planning on borrowing a friend's car, which had been left in the structure with the keys ready to go (because theft is actually frowned upon in some states that aren't California!), but the elusive vehicle was nowhere to be found. So naturally, we did what any organized and well-prepared family would do: ride the same elevator up and down twenty times. Soon after, we conveniently noticed there was a bridge to another parking structure, where we eventually found the car, but not without disrupting a moving sidewalk like good little tourists (as if you haven't ever wanted to go the wrong way on those things).
The next step on our journey was to locate the residence in which we were staying, or in layman's terms, hit the "Go Home" button on the GPS. Out we went, chuckling at our silly mishaps and the pronunciation of the Hawaiian streets by the voice-over lady in the system.
Now might be a good time for me to explain that until recently, I was under the impression that the language of Hawaiian was actually invented as a joke by the natives who saw the American settlers coming, and that no one in their right mind would name a street Ahumaaaaunuuuenehaha or anything to that effect. But that is a very closed-minded statement that I probably shouldn't publish.
Anywho, apparently my comments must have angered the traffic gods of Hawaii, who have been hanging out under freeways since their volcanos went dormant, and about the time we crossed onto the Awanakanakna (?) highway, a demon entered our GPS. The route spastically recalculated itself, but we weren't too worried about our location, because if those ladies know when to turn right in Hawaii, they're never wrong.
Then we pulled into the naval base.
Technically, that wouldn't have been a problem unless it was trespassing on government property against armed men who sacrifice their time learning how to shoot people. Which is exactly what it was. But they seemed very understanding when they gave back our licenses.
Post the most awkward U-turn of my life, we hit "Go Home" again, but this time we went home, and after a few promising sightings of Taco Bell, we got some dinner which unfortunately was not Taco Bell, sat down for a relaxing evening, and disconnected their DVD player.
Moral of the story: never travel without your mother.
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