…Around The World in 80 Days 1980, continued
If you’ve been following along, you’ll know we left off last week shortly after reaching Honolulu, following our inaugural week at sea. Feel free to join the voyage from here, or catch up on back issues, all available (along with many other, varied posts) on my substack page.
My second day in Hawaii—my first full day—brimmed with activity. It began with my roomie and new bestie, Lucy, and I joining a bus trip to Diamond Head volcano.
It was a side trip we hadn’t been able to actually sign up for; like a lot of the trips (all had limited capacity), it was fully booked by the time we’d gotten to the head of the line on the day all in-port trips were being chosen (see part 6) and paid for.
We felt it was worth a try, though, wanting to go as badly as we did, and it was an excursion being chaperoned by our geology prof, Mr. Novotny, so we knew it’d be good.
We’d caught an early breakfast and were dockside by the appointed time: 7:30. But where was everyone else? All the fuss the student body was fed about being on time for side trips, and there we were, the only ones who’d taken the lectures seriously!
By eight, though, the bus arrived, and the students who’d actually signed up for the trip came down the gangplank. There’d been 40 spots, but less than 40 students showed up, so we’d been wise to try.
Among those disembarking was, of course, Mr. Novotny.
Raiders of the Lost Arc was still a year in the offing, but when I eventually saw it I immediately recalled that day in Hawaii and Mr. Novotny stepping off the ship looking every bit the part of an old Indiana Jones.
He sported khakis, a broad-brimmed hat (ok, it wasn’t quite a fedora, but it was close) and worn clod stompers, his outfit completed by a big leather utility belt equipped with rope, a large magnifying glass, a pickaxe, and other tools. All he lacked was the whip.
Lucy and I exchanged smiles and boarded the bus.
Once instructions were delivered and box lunches distributed, we were off for a day’s adventure in paradise, pinching ourselves hourly for how lucky we were.
I peeked to see what lunch would consist of, discovering what would become familiar fare by the time we reached Baltimore several months later: a hard-boiled egg with an undercooked yolk, an apple, a crust-less ham and cheese sandwich, and a yellow slice of what tried to pass for pound cake but for the flavor and texture being all wrong.
Luce and I took window seats opposite each other at the back of the bus so we could both take in as much of the view as possible. It was a beautiful morning, and after our first week at sea we were finally getting our land legs back—the vertigo we felt the evening before all but gone.
Paul, the voyage photographer, sat beside me. I learned he was from Santa Barbara and this was his third voyage. Imagine!
The bus passed Waikiki and headed up a winding road. With each passing moment the view from the bus and the sight of the ancient, dormant volcano grew ever more captivating.
We leveled off and passed through a rough-cut tunnel unlike the tunnels I knew from traveling the Pennsylvania Turnpike, back home. Those were brick-lined and smooth; this tunnel was all jutting rock, as though they’d just broken through the day before.
The bus burst back into daylight, delivering us into the bowl of the volcano.
I’m not sure what I expected, but one thing I certainly didn’t anticipate was a military post. I guess when you live on a rocky island you make use of every space you can.
The bus parked, and we stepped off, cameras in hand, taking in the little post bustling with activity. In one area a marching band rehearsed. In another, men and women soldiers drilled as a unit, rifles rigid in their arms. One dude in the back caught my eye. He was out of formation, goose-stepping and laughing, and when he noticed me watching, he upped his performance.
Sure, he cracked me up, but it also made me sad knowing he might one day find himself in a situation as far from funny as it can get. That night in my journal I pondered if I, too, would carry a gun one day—I hadn’t ruled out a military career like my sister, Seven, had chosen (as had five other of my siblings as well).
I didn’t know back then that I would—carry a gun, that is. Not as a soldier, though. The armed future I was unknowingly headed for was as a cop.
Before being allowed to start our climb, the group assembled for a bit of a “preflight” talk, but I was chomping at the bit to get going. I loved hiking and heights. The student standing beside me turned out to be from Ligonier, a Pennsylvania town not far from Seton Hill, my college back home.
With the warmth of the rising sun on our backs, we slipped away having had our fill of history and geology and just wanting to experience the terrain for ourselves.
I hurried ahead, feeling energized.
Dew sparkled all around, the early sun glinting across it, lighting it like strewn diamonds lit from within. “Glorious” I called it in my journal. All along the way, fascinating plants lined every curve of the path leading toward the summit.
Three quarters of the way up I encountered remnants of a cable station once used to haul building materials to the mountaintop. I stopped for a breather, trickles of sweat coursing down my back. A little further on I came to a long set of stairs and climbed them expectantly. They led to a tunnel.
It loomed ahead, pitch black.
Suddenly I wondered if I’d gone the right way. I hadn’t seen any other options, but you know, I hadn’t exactly stayed and listened to the guide’s entire spiel, either.
A hundred paces in I turned to look back, the tunnel opening I’d come through reduced to a small, distant archway of light. Just as I was beginning to feel nervously isolated in the silent womb of that volcano, a silhouette appeared, filling me with a strange combination of relief and disappointment.
I continued on, but the tunnel grew so dark I had to feel my way along its walls; it didn’t seem a very safe way to lead tourists to an overlook. At last a pinpoint of light formed out of the void ahead, and when I reached the opening another passageway to the left revealed a shaft of light spilling in from above.
I headed toward it.
The light was coming down a second flight of steps that led to a second long tunnel, this one lined with cement. It ended in an old enclosed gunnery post fitted with slit-windows rimmed and barred in iron. Through them I could see that entire side of the island and miles of ocean surrounding it.
It was fantastic. I felt transported back in time, at one with history.
A few other students came and quickly left, seeming far less interested than I was in the place, but soon one arrived who delivered a piece of news: I’d taken a wrong turn. Our tour group was somewhere else.
Personally, I wasn’t the slightest bit disappointed about it.
Nevertheless, we backtracked together, coming across a forty-year-old spiral ladder. It corkscrewed up, up, up, through the mountain’s innards.
As we climbed, our palm sweat mingled with old rust, forming what would look like orange blood on our hands by the time we reached the top. Nearly as pitch dark as the horizontal tunnels had been, this vertical one was lit only by a dull shaft of dusty sunlight filtering in from above.
Around and around and around we climbed, finally reaching a small landing where a narrow tube cut out of rock stretched the last twelve feet to the surface—straight up another set of rusty, wall-mounted rungs.
Yup. We’d definitely veered from the normal ten-cent tour.
I gripped the thin, round rungs, hanging on for dear life with sweat-soaked hands as I glanced back. The narrow, circular rungs below us spun out like the spokes of a hundred shattered wheels, leading down, down, down into the depths of the mountainous belly we were emerging from.
A moment later the tension of the climb dissolved as we crawled out of a hole and took in the unparalleled view. We could see for what seemed like forever.
Japanese airships formed like phantoms out of the clouds overhead as I wondered who might’ve stood in that same spot—or one like it—back in 1941. Then they faded again into history: Aichis, and Mitsubishis, and Nakajimas, red rising suns painted on their sides.
We were on the crest of the volcano, having rejoined the rest of our tour group who’d reached the summit by a safer route. For forty minutes we all snapped pictures and marveled until Mr. Novotny issued the summons for all to return to the bus.
But surely as I’d been first to head up Diamond Head, I was last to descend, reluctant to surrender the experience to the past. The trip back down was marred a bit when I slipped on loose gravel, dropping and damaging the Canon I’d borrowed from my sister, Earth. Luckily it still worked, but I’d irreparably dented the 35mm lens.
Next it was onto Hanauma Bay, another extinct volcano. This one the sea had eroded on one side, forming a popular spot over-enjoyed by divers, snorkelers, and swimmers until in more recent years it became a preserve.
Lucy hadn’t brought her bathing suit along, so sat on the beach while I swam with Kim, a fellow student we'd just met on the bus. Dying coral reefs in shades of pink, tan, and grey encircled water so crystal clear it amazed me—a kid who’d only seen snippets of ocean along the Mid-Atlantic seaboard south of NYC. Ugh.
Out in the water I ran into professor Novotny, and we talked, examining the coral and the fishes. He was always in instructor mode and was interesting to learn from. Soon it was time for those boxed lunches, but in the meantime a storm had been brewing.
Now it blew across the mountain with unexpected force, unleashing torrents of rain so heavy we had to retreat to the bus.
To our dismay, Lucy and I soon discovered we weren’t out of the storm; the bus leaked—but only over the back row where we sat!
There was no escaping it, though. The entire bus—even its aisle—was packed, having taken in more students that it had brought. It seemed many students had found their way to Hanauma bay that day, even though they hadn’t been on our excursion, and every one of them were just as in need as we were of escaping the violent storm when it struck.
Ours proved to be a long, slow climb up the mountain side and out of the bay, what with everyone leaving at once, so I just wrapped myself in my sopping wet beach towel and hunkered down for the duration. That leak was right over me, so I was soaked to the bone and soon shivering.
We drove to two more destinations, but the wind and rain kept most of the students on the bus.
At the first stop I stepped out only to turned right around and climb back on. Before ten minutes were up, the others who’d dared to exit the bus were back as well, and now they were shivering too, their teeth chattering like mine.
The second destination was much further away and I fell asleep, wrapped in my towel and still being rained on. After a time I awoke somewhat warmer and dryer; the rain had tempered. I looked out as our bus driver navigated cliff-edged roads featuring breathtaking views till we finally turned into a state tropical forest reserve: Nu’uanu Pali State Wayside.
The entry road was vine-cluttered and lined by tall trees filled with the strange calls of exotic birds. I wasn’t about to miss seeing that, so when the bus parked I was one of those who got off—I didn’t care if monsoon season had suddenly descended. I figured I was already soaked, and you can only get so wet, right?
To my pleasure I found the tempest we’d come through had finally petered out. When I stepped from the bus I was met with no more than a fine (and warm!) mist. Unfortunately that mist was essentially a cloud engulfing what we were told was one of the most commanding views of the entire windward side of Oahu. Told, since we couldn’t see any of it for ourselves.
The bus, enroute back to Honolulu, was greeted by a fine and sunny day once more. We pulled up to the ship at three in the afternoon, tired, but happy for the day’s adventures.
Lucy and I decided to change and head out for Waikiki on our own, this time making sure to take plenty of quarters (see part 7). We got off at a place called the International Market, which we enjoyed perusing. A large tree house stood at its center, its many shops spoking out from there.
We wound up at a Farrel’s Ice Cream shoppe, a new discovery for me. I liked the old-fashioned theme of the place and the servers dressed in 1890’s garb, but I especially enjoyed the mocha sundae I devoured.
After that we walked out Kapiolani Street and sat on the beach, watching the sunset and chatting quietly. I longed for my suit so I could swim again, but settled for shedding my socks and shoes and walking along the retreating tideline.
Before we realized it, we’d walked all the way past the Royal Hawaiian and the Sheraton Waikiki. Once we found a walkway back to the street, we decided we would make an elegant night of it, so back to the Universe it was again, to change once more.
Our misadventure in dining the night before (again, see part 7) left us hankering for a nicer Polynesian experience.
I spied a listing in a pamphlet for the Kon Tiki at the Waikiki Sheraton, and told Lucy about dining in a Kon Tiki in Montreal back in high school. My mom sold Vivien Woodward cosmetics, so it had been a business trip for her, but it had been sheer adventure for me and my sisters, Fame and Earth, who’d gotten to go along.
It sounded good to Lucy, so Kon Tiki it was. We returned to the ship to get dressed up for a fancy dinner, but also grabbed our bathing suits, planning a late night swim afterward. By ten after eight we were back outside, waiting for a bus. A wind had whipped up, and the smell of a brewing storm filled the air, but it was warm, and we decided to hope for the best.
We only had two days in Hawaii, after all—among the shortest in-port experiences of the entire semester—so we wanted to make the most of every minute.
The high class hotel impressed a couple of country kids like us, with its lobby that reminded us of a mall. Among other, it boasted a flower shop, a candy shop, a beauty shop, and a dress shop.
We felt so sophisticated walking into the cocktail lounge and ordering fancy-schmancy drinks that were likely to put us under the table. Naturally, we had to get the kind that comes in its own coconut shell.
We ordered overpriced food we considered fancy and made the night of it we’d hoped to. Afterwards we never did swim but we splurged some more by catching a rickshaw ride back to the ship. The driver was nice, a college student like us, one earning money on the side in a way that got him plenty of exercise to boot.
My journal picks up again in the Pacific, destination: Japan.
I guess I was too tired to write about my remaining hours in Honolulu, so I’m not sure how I spent them. I do regret, however, not going to see the USS Arizona and paying my respects.
Though I longed to and thought I would, I never did get back to Hawaii, even though I had a nephew who eventually lived there, as well as a best friend whose husband was stationed at Tripler Army Medical Center.
Opportunities missed, I guess.
But at least I was there, once upon a time.
Thanks for sharing this journey around the world with me. If you know others who have enjoyed world travel (or maybe even who were students with the Semester At Sea program, like me) please share my #substack with them so they can come along for the ride, too.
Meanwhile, National Independent Bookstore Day is only five days away! Please visit and support your favorite local bookstore. I’ll be signing copies of my debut children’s book, Shay the Brave from 2-4 at the Winchester Book Gallery. Maybe I’ll see you there!
If not, just click into my virtual companion version of that book signing event to be entered into my drawings for some cool #giveaways like a #shaythebrave coffee mug or travel mug:
And finally, if you like podcasts or want to see what else I’ve recently written, you can listen in to an interview I did with author Amy Nielsen, an interview I did with talk radio host Marquis Lupton on the Spark, or read my guest post on author Gila Green’s website.
See you next week, out in the Pacific and headed for Japan!
So much fun…wish I’d met you on this boat!