Oahu Again

Out of the mists of autumn comes a jagged silhouette, enrobed in green: Oahu. After five hours of flying against the jet stream on a steady course, the islands’ appearance is just as unlikely today as it was the first time I ever flew here, the vastness of a shimmering ocean stretching on and on for untold miles in every direction. It’s an impressive and amazing thing to find a tiny string of beautiful islands in the middle of a big blue nowhere after five hours’ flight at 500 miles an hour. Out here in the Pacific Ocean, the biggest ocean in the universe, I am a speck taking refuge on a collection of old volcanic rock islands. I can’t imagine it even as I am here writing and breathing. I admire the nerve of ocean-going explorers who had a knowledge of navigation using celestial bodies and wave patterns. They had that, but they had no real idea how darned big the ocean really is. 

We land safely, if not with a jarring thump as the tradewinds let the jet down off their shoulders, having borne it willingly and steadily, looping in from the east around Diamond Head, skirting the shore above the city. Bam! It's a jolt that smacks us all into alertness. Nobody applauds the pilot this time, but I feel relieved the bird has landed safely. We disembark, we modern well-fed and pampered travelers, and disperse, embraced by the islands, all in our separate directions. 

The fall and winter here feels like summer on the coast of California, about 65-70 degrees. It's pretty in bits and pieces in Honolulu, but the city roars with traffic and stinks with exhaust, especially in Waikiki. We go through the usual baggage claim/shuttle to rent a car/drive to the hotel and check-in routine and get ourselves untangled from our traveling equipment and orientation to our living space. The soft warm air wraps itself around me; I am delighted at the absence of the damp chill and fog of my home town.  This is the way Hawaii works its charm, claims my heart. It is a gentle persuasion. 

Waikiki envelops me and my husband with the glare of business signs and absence of much that seems local and charming, but in total that is its charm. I haven’t found the water yet. I know the ocean changes everything, defining the island in almost every way, beautiful, dangerous and unimaginably complex. I will spend as much time as possible in it, near it and looking at it. Once I’m back in the water, I’ll really feel I’ve returned to Hawaii once again.