Home

The small man ahead of me in line crossed his arms sending a ripple over prominent shoulder muscles under a skin-tight t-shirt.  His head was shaved, and starting somewhere beneath the collar of his shirt, a long colorful tattoo of a skull perched atop a torch expanding over his bald pate.  The skull was tilted back in laughter, and there were red orange flames pouring from its eye sockets and wide open mouth.  It was a masterpiece in ink, and he had several other thoughtfully designed vignettes on his arms and legs all—a response triggered in my brain told me to keep a safe distance from this dangerous human being.  It was our first full day back home, and I was at the rear of a large queue at the license plate division of the North Carolina DMV taking my first feeble steps toward once again becoming a legitimate US citizen.  I was standing there in a melting pot of people of varied races and colors, some carrying children, some trying to conduct business on smart phones, all wishing they were somewhere else.  My tattooed friend turned to me and said with impeccable diction, “I’m thankful the line is moving steadily, perhaps we’ll be served quickly.”  Perhaps?  His enunciation and masterful use of adverbs prompted me to mentally kick myself for judging him, and we enjoyed lively conversation all the way to the service counter.

 Ten-day tag in hand, I left the DMV and headed back to the house where my little family was still sleeping off the travel hangover from the day before and where our renters had treated our home like, well...a rental.  Our family had blessed us by spending a weekend cleaning ten months of grime and neglect from most major surfaces before we got home, and the larders were stocked with meals and groceries to last several days.  

It took twenty-four hours of travel and three flights, the last of which we almost missed, to make the journey from Hawaii to the Charlotte, North Carolina airport where we descended to baggage claim and experienced the first of many joyful reunions when our family greeted us with big hugs and tearful smiles.  We discovered that two of our bags were still in Chicago, but we didn’t care as Deena’s dad drove the two of us home on familiar streets while Joseph and Deveny followed in a car with their cousins—they stopped at Chick-Fil-A on the way.  Deena’s mom and our dog, Lucy, were waiting at our house, and we were greeted with more hugs and excited yelps from a pooch not quite sure what was happening.  Our family left us to get settled, and we wandered from room to room in a fog sizing up the work still left to do and trying to process the fact that after ten months on the road, we were standing in our own house with no more destinations left on the itinerary.  We were overwhelmed by fatigue created by relentless travel and and emotion; so we all headed to our mattresses on the floors and crashed hard.

Jet lag didn’t present much of a problem over the next couple of days.  We were able to fall back into regular sleep patterns easily, but I’m having trouble remembering small details about our first week back home.  I do remember endless trips to Home Depot, Target, Wal-Mart, Starbucks, and a few other establishments which I’m probably supposed to be boycotting for various reasons, but the needs of my family and the convenience of nearby retail trumped American societal requirements.  While the kids spent several days reconnecting with their friends, Deena and I set about painting the interior of house.  and We steadily knocked out major areas every day and sat on the floor in the evenings looking at our accomplishments.  Even though it was hard work, we enjoyed the time spent together erasing the presence of our negligent tenants and once again making our house a home.

At the end of two weeks, the house was painted, there was new carpet, new bathroom floors, two new toilets, a new dishwasher, and a stocked fridge and pantry.  We have re-established a purchasing pattern at the local Food Lion where we still can’t comprehend the vast selection of supplies that was unavailable during our travels.  I finally have a new wireless printer which works perfectly and allows me to print crisp copies of the multitude of invoices received from contractors and vendors.  The fantasy budget that Deena and I created for our return home was completely blown up, and we were thankful that we were so diligent about saving money on the road.  We came back with a surplus of cash that allowed for home improvements and alleviated most of the stress involved with writing big checks.

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We’ve been home for a month, and it still feels like we just woke up from a dream.  We wonder how it could be that we traveled the world for ten months after two years of planning, and now it’s over.  The house looks great.  The beds are all put back together, pictures are back on the walls, and the majority of the boxes stored in the garage are unpacked.  The cars are legal again, the kids are mostly enrolled for school in the fall, and Deena and I have been back to work for a couple of weeks.  I’m horribly out of shape, but after a month back on the ladder with a brush in my hand, the soreness is finally abating, and my waistline is slowly shrinking.  We’re back at our beloved church and still enjoying reconnecting with the friends we missed for such a long time.  We’re doing our best to live one day at a time, and the lack of commitment has allowed for a simple life even in the midst of fixing our house and easing back into work.  

I am not interested in politics, and I avoid political discussions which are usually at best, parroted rhetoric and at worst, angry whining which I cannot abide.  During our travels, we were aware of all the changes taking place in the United States and thankful to be removed from the uproar and impassioned pleas from celebrities urging citizens to “resist.”  I choose to “embrace” instead.  Embrace all the policy set forth by the new administration?  Embrace the presentation of news by the major networks driven by the pursuit of ratings under the guise of responsible journalism?  By all means, no!  The intricate workings of government and the political process are beyond the grasp of the average citizen who is left with only social media to vent frustration.  I choose rather to embrace the fact that people have basic needs all over the world, and that governments will never be able to provide them whether their efforts stem from political gain or good intentions.  Instead of worrying about the state of our country or the whole world or feeling guilt over my station or provision, I can embrace a life of hard work, kindness, and do my best to meet the needs of those whom the Lord places in my path.  We may have our issues in this country, but after spending the majority of a year in twenty-five other countries, I can say with authority that we have it pretty dang good here.  That’s all I have to say about that.

Even though we are still experiencing the joy of being home and spending time with those we love, there are aspects of living on the road that I miss such as waking up to a new day in an exotic place with a nothing to accomplish but a docket of fun discovery.  I miss uninterrupted time with my family and constant deep conversation with my wife with whom I love to talk.  After my first full day of work away from our house, I embraced my wife and cried because I missed her so badly that day.  I miss having the time to spend writing every morning looking out the window to a beautiful view and cooking a late breakfast for my family.  Before we left home, I purposed to read through the entire Bible in a year, and through the aid of an app which scheduled daily readings, I accomplished that goal, which finding comfort and refuge far from home every night.  I enjoyed it so much that I started over once we got home, and the rest of my family is doing it with me.  

Best cup of coffee?  Double espresso at our favorite bakery on Santorini.  Favorite countries?  For the history geek, Greece, Egypt, and Israel.  Favorite beach?  The incredible Railay Beach in Thailand.  Favorite food?  Hummus in the Middle East and street food in Greece and Vietnam.  Favorite ancient wonders?  The Great Wall of China, Angkor Wat in Cambodia, the ruins at Pompeii, Ephesus in Turkey, Petra in Jordan, Beth She’an in Israel, the old city in Jerusalem, Mycenae in Greece, and the pyramids in Egypt.  Best museums?  The British Museum for its embarrassment of riches and the Museum of Country Life in Ireland for its quaint reminder of simpler times.  Favorite countryside?  Ireland and New Zealand.  Favorite big city?  Bangkok, Thailand.  Least favorite big city?  Phnom Penh, Cambodia.  Favorite natural setting?  The Mekong Delta in Vietnam.  Favorite experiences?  Walking on the Great Wall of China with our friends from home, sitting together on the shore of the Sea of Galilee, riding elephants in Thailand, walking the parapets of the old city walls in Jerusalem, hiking to the Blue Pools in New Zealand, and camping with the bedouins in the Wadi Rum desert of Jordan.  A few things I’ll never forget?  My children riding a camel up to the pyramids, reading from the Gospel of John in the old synagogue in Capernaum, reading a Psalm of Ascent walking up the southern temple steps in Jerusalem, sunset on Santorini, my daughter’s eyes as she saw the ceiling in the Sistine Chapel, my son’s face as he stroked a tiger’s back in Thailand, and sitting close with my wife in front of a fire in the woodstove as the sun rose on the mountains of Makarora, New Zealand.  There are so many more, but I have to end this passage.

Have we changed after spending so much time away?  We certainly have more confidence after completing complex travel logistics and surviving in foreign cultures with significant language barriers.  We learned to be more thankful in good circumstances and more content in challenging ones while supporting each other with good cheer.  We worked together to accomplish a major goal and enjoyed each other’s company with hardly any friction.  We learned and laughed together and saw a bunch of really cool stuff in hard-to-reach places and appreciated our opportunities all the while with no regrets.  

So, the painter and his wife took their small backpacks and two teengagers and traveled around the world for ten months.  When we arrived back in Charlotte but before we descended to baggage claim and the reunion with our family, I found a quiet corner in the concourse and gathered my little family around.  I told the children that life would begin pulling them in different directions and away from Deena and me as they get older and begin to establish their own lives.  I also told them that if anyone ever said that they couldn’t do something, or if a challenge seemed insurmountable, to remember that they spent a year traveling around the world.  I aso said that no matter where life takes us, we would always have our time together in our hearts and memories.  I looked at their excited and smiling faces and said through tears, “Let’s go home.”

May budget and final trip costs

Deena here with one last budget report. Everyone wants to know what the whole trip cost; so here are the numbers:

Our May average came in at $144 per day.  We were in the very expensive New Zealand and the supremely expensive Hawaii.  All hotels in Hawaii were free except for a $30 per day resort fee that is unavoidable.  We did everything we could think of to lower our costs in Hawaii, but we still spent more than we intended.  Hawaii certainly lives up to the hype, and we want to go back as soon as possible.  We need to take more money next time.

We visited 25 countries

Flew 38 flights

Stayed in 18 hotel rooms, 1 hostel, and 51 Airbnb homes

5 car rentals, 3 trains, 10 ferries, 9 buses, and countless subways, taxis, ubers, and trams.

The monthly average ranged from most expensive at $145 down to $90, which was our cheapest month.

We started with a budget of $45,000 and came home with $6,000.  Our entire ten-month adventure cost $39,000 for a family of four, not much more than the cost of a new car here in the US.  Our daily average came out to $33 per person, $17 less than Nomadic Matt’s How to Travel the World for $50 a Day, the book that started all of this.

When we created our monthly budgets loosely based on conditions in the area we were scheduled to visit, we still had no idea how the figures would work out even though our research was thorough.  It was a big thrill to sit down every night and write down the actual expenses we incurred during the day and see the numbers come in under budget almost every time.  Even on days when we blew up the budget on a big excursion like Petra or Hobbiton, we knew we could make it back up in a short time by sticking to our usual routines.

In conclusion, I would say the whole trip was easier than I thought it would be.  Once we had a few days under our belt, I saw that we could keep our expenses under or at budget.  Once we had a few months under our belt, I could see that the other shoe was not going to drop, and we did not experience any catastrophes that could have sent us home.  We basically lived like the locals and were able to see the sights that we always wanted to see, and surprisingly, we did it for less than we spend at home.  Now, off to plan our next adventure…...

United States of America - Maui and Hawaii

Our bathroom had a shower with a one-foot square head that sent warm droplets down at a steady pace replicating the feeling of standing outside and soaping up in a gentle rain shower without the onlookers and indecent exposure arrest.  The shower enclosure was large and finished with one-inch, cream-colored tiles and had a bench in there beside the clear glass door which allows one to sit in the flow of water and contemplate how to come up with the money to pay for a Snickers bar in the general store in the corridor.  We had a two-night stay booked in the Westin Ocean Villas in the Lahaina area on the western shore of Maui, but it wasn’t enough time to settle into fancy resort life after squeezing every penny for ten months.  Don’t get me wrong, we loved staying in this swanky place with granite counter tops in our kitchen and down comforters on the king size beds, but we couldn’t quite shake the feeling that somehow we weren’t worthy to stay there.

We left Oahu on a Hawaiian Airlines flight at 9:00 AM and touched down in Maui about thirty minutes later. The crew barely had time to hand out the complimentary juice and coffee, but they got it done, bless them.  We picked up a shuttle to the rental car office and in short order jumped in our speedy Chevy Malibu and headed back toward the airport in order to find the Costco we spotted from the shuttle window.  It was a little early for lunch, but we had only a quick bite before leaving the hotel in Honolulu, and we were eager to munch on some $1.50 hot dogs (including a refillable drink!) and Very Berry Sundaes, and I’m sure my fellow Costco patrons will testify to the excellent taste and value of this fare of which we’ve been long deprived.  People can whine all they want about the perceived problems plaguing America, but take if from someone who hasn’t been here for a while, we’ve got it pretty dang good in this country.

The drive to the western shore of Maui took forty-five minutes along a highway that hugged the coastline. We took our time and enjoyed watching all the surfers catch towering waves.  Many of them had camped out on the beach in tents and vans with their families and friends, and I felt a pang of envy as I wished that I could be out there with them.  Alas, my age and physique, still chiseled but slightly more fragile with the passage of time, prevents me from hanging ten with the fellas.  We pulled into the covered portico of the Westin Resort where valets descended upon us and relieved us of our car and luggage and placed the groceries we had purchased on the way into cold storage lockers behind the bell stand.  Because of our early arrival, we anticipated our room wouldn't be ready for a while, but the friendly guy at the reception desk gave us pool passes and his blessing to enjoy all of the facilities to the fullest.

We sat in rocking chairs overlooking the pool and watched fancy ladies swish by wearing posh straw hats tilted at a jaunty angle and sporting flowing frocks known as “resort wear.”  We hoped the bright Maui sun would prevent the other guests from staring at our threadbare “pauper wear” as they floated by carrying beach bags and fancy drinks topped with pink umbrellas.  We were out of our element but pleased to share the privileged air in this beautiful setting with families, older couples, and dreamy-eyed newlyweds looking out to the islands of Molokai and Lanai across the deep blue strait curiously named the Lahaina Roads.  A state of relaxation and general laziness prevents me from further research on this matter.  The cool blue water of the enormous pool behind the resort lured Deena and Joseph into its depths while Deveny and I preferred to fall asleep in our rocking chairs until receiving the summons that our room was finally ready.

Other than a few small fees, our stay in this sumptuous resort was free thanks to my wife’s wizardry, and we felt truly blessed as we walked into our large bright fourth-floor suite overlooking the park in front of the ocean.  The place was completely tricked out with a well-equipped kitchen, full refrigerator, stacked washer and dryer, and the aforementioned tiled bath.  We settled in and took a short nap before getting into the perfect position on the balcony to watch the sunset while holding cups of freshly brewed kona coffee.  Almost made me forget about the cash I shelled out in tips so far that day, another practice familiar to Americans but unusual to the rest of the world.  Deena and I explored the kitchen cabinets and found all the tools necessary for a major session on the huge gas grills in the building courtyard where we grilled up a fantastic combination of chicken, corn, and pineapple for a real Hawaiian feast.  We didn’t have much of a plan for the next day, but we didn’t care—a life full of schedules is coming soon anyway.

We entertained the notion of arriving on the beach early the following day in hopes of spotting some loggerhead turtles, but the soft sheets on the king-sized beds must have had some sort of magnetic quality, and we were late rising.  Deena and I took our hot beverages out on the balcony and sat and talked long and deep while we looked out to the ocean past the plumeria trees.  We finally got our act together and made it down to the seashore and found a spot to place our towels under the shade of a huge leaning palm tree where we stayed long enough to enjoy the soft breeze and to run in and out of the strong surf.  A guy nearby had an amazing dog who couldn’t get enough of the frisbee-catching game entertained us. He would point his nose at his choice of disc from several options before every throw.  Eventually the call of the pool was too strong to resist, and we spent the rest of the afternoon in and out of the refreshing water.

There was a lava formation about five miles away from the resort that I wanted to check out, so after showers, we piled into the car and drove down to the rocky point to the north.  The short hike along a steep path down to the ocean ended at an ancient lava flow that looked like piles of melted ice cream.  The stream of lava was swift here long ago, and as the strong surf pushed back, it created unique sharp formations called dragon's teeth.  The breakers were still strong in this spot, and we enjoyed walking along the rock formations and taking pictures of foamy explosions as they made landfall.  Sunset was fast approaching, so we raced back to the resort and found a spot in the soft grass in the meadow above the beach to watch the show. As if things couldn’t get any better, a lady approached us with a heavily-laden tray and asked if we would like some cupcakes.  Her birthday-party surplus was our benefit, and as we lifted several thick frosted cakes off the platter, I asked if she were an angel, and she quickly replied "yes" with a wink.

Our time on Maui was short, but it was fun and relaxing, and we drove to the airport early the next morning refreshed and in good spirits.  We returned the rental car and crammed into the shuttle van with a family that included four small children and their mom and dad who did their best at keeping track of them and all the gear it took to facilitate their vacation.  On the way to the terminal, the mom did her best to keep the kids in check while the dad sat silently and stared out the front windshield probably wondering why they brought all those little kids to Hawaii—I’m sure they enjoyed themselves at some point.

Another thirty-minute flight brought us to the shores of Hawaii, or the “big island" to which it’s more commonly referred, and we made quick work of securing another rental car for passage to the Sheraton Kona Resort, another destination above our station in life.  We arrived before check-in time, but thankfully our room was ready, and we were able to settle in and rest a bit before striking out on our last big adventure of this trip.  Hawaii Volcanoes National Park was about two hours away from the resort, and Deena and I had purposed in our hearts to show the kids some red hot lava before heading home to North Carolina where there is only red clay under the top layer of earth.  The drive was scenic as we slowly ascended to the high country and passed vast fields full of jagged volcanic rock in shades of earth brown and terracotta in front of high plateaus with a tight covering of pale green foliage.  The forecast called for rain, but the thick clouds released only small sprays of mist, and the long views out to the ocean remained clear for most of the drive.  

Even though the national park is open 24 hours, the visitor center closed at 5:00, and we just barely made it and managed to talk to a ranger about the best things to do in the park before he clocked out for the day.  We had a couple of hours before sunset, so we had dinner at the restaurant overlooking the vast hardened lava lake below the caldera of Mount Kilauea. We had a great view of the smoke rising from the current lava bed and the steam vents beyond.  With a little daylight left, we drove south to the Thurston Lava Tube and hiked through this ancient cave formed by an aggressive lava flow in an area now covered by thick rainforest.  Due to standing water in the tube, the lights weren’t working; so we trekked a couple of hundred yards by the light of our phones through the winding prehistoric cave feeling like we were in the Land of the Lost.  

After our rainforest trek, we headed back north toward the Jagger Museum and made one more stop at the steam vents on the way to check out the viewpoint.  By that time, smoke and steam from the volcano were thickening in the twilight sky, and a lone photographer greeted us at the overlook as we lined up at the rail.  He told us that the lava activity was the best it had been in nine years and that we were in for a treat at the Museum observation deck.  His eyes got wide as we joked about the lack of lava in North Carolina, and our eyes got even wider when he told us he was from our neighboring suburb back home—wow.  

We shared a few parting sentiments and made our way to the museum where a crowd was already clamoring for this historic nine-year view. The sky finally went dark and the thick white plume coming from the depth of the volcano had a bright orange core that lit up the surrounding area with a light as old as the islands themselves.  The lava field was a good distance away, but we could see it exploding in fountains of fire sending globs of molten rock against the sides of the basin like a shower of sparks from a welder’s torch.  As we stood there amazed, I immediately gave this awesome display of nature the rare distinction of one of the coolest (and warmest) things I’ve ever seen. The drive back to the resort was long, dark, and rainy, but we had fun talking about the natural wonders we had seen that night once again praising the attributes of our country’s National Park System.

The resort had a tasty breakfast spread the next morning, and we made them pay for their generosity by making multiple trips to the tables as we feasted on the lounge balcony overlooking the grounds and the sea.  Deena and I spent the morning in the lobby in two wicker papasan chairs looking out to the charcoal-colored cliffs with waves crashing all around feeling like we were inside a large, colorful mural.  Several weasels played in the large green grassy area below our window and a warm breeze blew through the branches of the old tropical trees reaching us in a soft, honey-scented touch.  Joseph spent his morning on the basketball court while Deveny worked on her sleeping technique, which is just about as perfect as it can get.  We all got together and spent our last afternoon of leisure around the pool laughing and relaxing together before the final journey home.  

So that’s it.  Ten months on the road, and it ends on the big island of Hawaii before a two-day odyssey across the United States ending in the southern piedmont of the Old North State, which we’ve missed.  I’ll write a wrap-up post after the dust has settled, but in the meantime, we’re anticipating seeing our family and friends and taking up our lives again with incredible memories that we made as a little family traveling around a big world that somehow seems just a bit smaller now.

United States of America - Honolulu

Over the past ten months, we’ve stood in many long immigration lines and waited for our passports to be inspected and stamped and have hastily filled out other documents in a travel-induced haze before landing in yet another country.  On several occasions, we crossed borders on land in some of the most godforsaken towns I’ve seen where bored officials held the power to allow my little family to jump through another hoop in order to keep moving forward.  We’ve purchased entry visas, some reasonable, some exorbitant, and stood in queue hoping our research was accurate and that we had filled out the forms in accordance with the statutes set forth by the sovereign nations in which we were hopefully about to enter.  

A few days ago after a nine-hour, overnight flight, we stood in yet another long line in an airport, half asleep and holding our passports and immigration forms as we waited to gain entry into another sovereign nation.  At one point, as we slowly made our way through the line, I happened to glance over to the corner of the large room drably decorated by the inspiration of bureaucracy, and there by itself tacked tightly to the wall, was an American flag with its familiar red, white, and blue colors, and I knew we were home, and I didn’t mind jumping through another hoop at all.

Home in this case was in a much broader context as we had just landed on an island in the middle of the Pacific Ocean—Honolulu, Hawaii which as of August 2, 1959 became the fiftieth state of the United States of America.  As the cordial lady at the immigration desk checked our documents, I thought back over the last twenty-four hours, which we would somehow magically repeat due to crossing the international dateline, and I marveled at how just the day before we were taking pictures with the Sydney Opera House in the background, and now we were preparing to explore yet another place as a younger man I never thought I would see.  

We left Auckland, New Zealand, before sunrise after walking over a mile from our hotel to the airport in frosty conditions in order to avoid the fifteen-dollar-per-person shuttle fee and checked our bags at the ticket counter wondering if we would see them again over twenty-four hours later.  As I knew it would, the month spent in New Zealand flew by as we experienced daily discovery of inspiring natural beauty and genuinely nice people, but as the days of May dwindled, we were ready to move on knowing that we were getting closer to home.  Our flight had a twelve-hour layover in Sydney, Australia where we landed just a few hours after leaving Auckland, and we checked our travel-stained orange backpacks into an airport locker before summoning an Uber ride into the city.

The air was a good twenty degrees warmer than it had been in the Shaky Islands, and we enjoyed lazily exploring the downtown streets before finding a flavorful beef and rice lunch at a busy Chinese cafeteria.  We killed another hour by taking advantage of the free wifi at Starbucks before joining an early afternoon walking tour which promised the sights and history of Sydney, the most populous city in Australia.  Our guide was Indigo, an energetic, well-spoken university student who did an excellent job informing our group about the attributes of her home town during our two-and-a-half-hour stroll through the historic districts.  The tour ended at the harbor late afternoon, and we were treated to a memorable view of the opera house with its iconic shells glowing in the light of the setting sun with a pink and purple sky beyond.

We had a quick dinner before catching an Uber ride back to the airport where we waited to board an overnight flight bound for Honolulu. Thanks to modern medicine and a couple of Harry Potter movies, it seemed much shorter than the actual nine-hour journey.  Miraculously, our luggage was waiting for us at the carousel after the immigration process. We quickly booked a shuttle to our hotel in Waikiki piloted by a gregarious young man who gave us the lowdown on all the places to get tasty cheap food near our accommodation.  

After a short ride, we pulled up to the Sheraton Princess Kaiulani hotel, our home for five days in Honolulu where Deena’s mom stayed numerous times when she worked as a flight attendant back in the 1960’s.  During a video call, Deena’s mom told her when she stayed in the hotel she never imagined that she would have a daughter who would visit the same place with her own family one day—a tear rolled down my cheek while I listened to their conversation.  We settled into a third-floor room with a balcony overlooking the pool and eye level with the branches of tall palm trees. A tray full of kona coffee was ready for brewing.  After a long nap, we found lunch at a Japanese noodle house, walked through the lobby of the historic Surfrider hotel across the street, and stepped onto the soft sand of Waikiki Beach with the volcanic cone of Diamond Head sweeping up from the blue water of the lagoon.  Deena and I shared a smile and stood there with our arms around each other for a long time.

For the rest of the day, we did our best to restrain ourselves from an all out feeding frenzy as we suddenly had available most of the treats we had fantasized about for so long, but we did purchase some Reese’s Cups, Cheetos, and a twenty-ounce bottle of Diet Mountain Dew, which I slowly tipped to my lips and let the ice cold, citrus-honey elixir flow exquisitely into my ten-month deprived mouth.  I considered buying a couple of cases for a Diet Mountain Dew bath back at the hotel, but that would have been borderline excessive.  As I checked some things on the internet at the hotel, I was amazed at the speed of the wifi. The kids noted their phones magically had 4G capability once more, and the TV had familiar programming where the show hosts used a language and accent that caressed our ears as we looked out to the deep blue skies through the rustling palm branches.  We ended our first day in Hawaii sitting by the pool listening to two guys in flowered shirts strum a guitar and a ukulele wondering if we were dreaming.

I’ve quickly discovered why kona coffee is such a big deal. The little coffee shop on the corner next to our hotel does a fine job of extracting a rich, fragrant brew from freshly ground beans.  They charge a reasonable price for a large cup, but the first time I bought one, I wondered why the barista asked for an amount slightly more than the price listed on the chalkboard.  It dawned on me that I was back in the US where tax is added at the point of sale and not included in the price display, and I realized how much easier it had been over the last ten months simply to pay the quoted prices.  It’s also easier to get over such a small thing standing in the warm, humidity-free air where an ever-present, refreshing breeze carries the sounds of voice and guitar harmonies and the honey scent of fresh flowers.

Sor far, we’ve taken advantage of the daily free programs offered by the hotel and enjoyed a lei-making lesson in which we strung purple and white orchid blossoms into long chains under the direction of Nate, a native Hawaiian who’s traveled to all fifty states over the years.  The following morning, Nate gave the children a ukulele lesson, and they learned to play You Are My Sunshine and a couple of other tunes popular with crooners. They picked it up fairly quickly considering we forced them out of bed at the ungodly hour of 9:00 AM.  

Waikiki Beach is one of the few places we’ve visited where the enormous view looks just like the postcards. The sight of a long line of surfers riding curling waves on colorful boards two hundred-yards out is striking.  The sandy-colored hotels bordering the lagoon look almost natural among the tall palm trees, and we’ve enjoyed several lazy sunbathing sessions on this famous stretch of beach along with hundreds of other tourists sporting smiles that match the wide ones on our faces.  I’ve been mesmerized by the color of the ocean extending from the shore about twenty yards out where the soft blue water has thousands of swirling, light green ripples which creates an iridescence that looks like a long strip of liquid opal.  We’ve done our best to savor the time spent together in this beautiful place while the days continue to tick by quickly as we anticipate our return to North Carolina.

There are a bunch of things to do on Oahu, and our plan was to do almost none of them but to enjoy some relaxing time on the beach and in the pool sipping drinks full of crushed ice and cherries and pineapple slices.  We did manage to make a trip to our phone-carrier store where we bought new phones for Deena and me and finally awarded the kids their very own phone numbers.  With those minor goals achieved, our only other major goal was to visit the USS Arizona Memorial, and we just about blew it.  Two million people visit the memorial every year, and the majority of them book their tickets months in advance which never occurred to us even after our scare at the Anne Frank house in Amsterdam.  After a little investigation, we realized that every single advance tour space was booked through July. Deena and I exchanged the same slightly panicked looks we shared when we realized we might not get into the Louvre or St. Peter's or the Frank house.  With some perseverance, we managed to make it into those places, and we weren’t ready to give up on the Arizona this late in the game.

With a little more research, we found out that the National Park Service releases three-hundred tickets daily to the Arizona at 7:00 AM so last minute losers like us have a small window of opportunity to score a visit.  So, at 6:59 AM yesterday morning, I sat on the edge of the bed with my steaming cup of kona coffee beside me, my new phone in my hand with the park service number entered, and my index finger poised over the dial icon like I was attempting to score tickets to a Led Zeppelin reunion except this was bigger.  The hour struck, and I dialed only to receive a busy signal—dangit!  But with my second attempt I reached a recorded message, which led to a live operator, which led to four crispy tickets to the 1:00 tour the following day—the relief I felt was like experiencing a brand new emotion.  We found out later that day that the city bus had a stop behind our hotel and a round trip would only cost fifteen dollars for the entire family.

We boarded the bus the next day at 11:00 and arrived at the memorial under bright sunshine and a brilliant blue sky.  After I gave the park ranger in the ticket office my hard-won reservation number, he printed out four tickets, and we were off to explore the on-site museums before our appointed tour.  The USS Arizona is a United States National Monument under the supervision of the National Park Service. Over the last ten years, we’ve visited countless national monuments along with twenty-three national parks from Alaska to Florida, and we’ve loved every one of them.  In each park or monument, Deena and I had the kids participate in the National Park Junior Ranger program in which they completed workbooks designed to enhance learning about the individual parks, and they were awarded badges after a park ranger had them recite the national park oath.  When Joseph and Deveny were younger, they loved completing these tasks and receiving another shiny gold badge to pin on their official junior ranger hats, and they have quite a collection.  Once they got into the teen years, the programs were met with resistance as they became increasingly uncool, but we made them do the work anyway—dadgummit, they’ll appreciate it one day.

As the bus entered the memorial complex, I noticed the familiar and much loved NPS arrowhead logo on the side of the staff building and I turned to the kids and said, “Hey guys, this place is a national monument,” already knowing the reaction I would get.  True to form, the kids responded with some of the best, well-practiced eyerolls and a few statements of protest, but their efforts were futile as we walked straight to the bookstore and acquired two junior ranger workbooks, and they accepted their fate.  

We spent the time leading up to our tour walking through the small museums designed to lead visitors through the events surrounding the Pearl Harbor attack in 1941 that changed the history of the world.  Our favorite exhibit was the scale model of the memorial structure which was placed over the sunken ship. It gave us a clear perspective of its position in the harbor.  I remember as a kid reading about the negotiations between the US and Japan that took place right up to the day of the attack and how I felt anger at the deceptive nature of these talks as the Japanese aircraft carriers were already in place. Our tour began with an excellent movie about the attack, and it made one point about the event that was especially poignant:  the majority of the men who died that day never knew what was coming or what hit them.  As their lives were horribly interrupted, they never knew that the attack on Pearl Harbor would trigger events that would change the world and result in the United States rising to overpower its enemies amidst tremendous sacrifice.

I was not aware that in 1961, Elvis Presley performed a benefit concert in Pearl Harbor that raised over ten percent of the funds needed to complete the memorial, and I find it odd that many credible sources, including the National Park Service, list the final amount with variances up to ten thousand dollars.  We boarded a boat behind the theater and took a short ride across the harbor to the iconic memorial structure built over the USS Arizona, which now serves as a grave for nine-hundred servicemen entombed in the wreckage.  There are still 500,000 gallons of oil held in the hull of the Arizona, and it’s estimated that nine quarts a day leak out in droplets that rise to the surface of the water, an occurrence that will continue for five-hundred more years by many estimations.  I have always been fascinated with the oil leaking from the Arizona, perhaps because it’s a visible, physical link to a major event from the past, and I spent most of our brief time on the memorial staring at the water watching the inky black droplets rise and bloom into rainbow rings on the surface.  

Arizona turret

Oil rising to the surface

The memorial was well done and sobering, and we sat and talked about the events of that day over ice cream bars sitting in the shade back at the visitor center on shore.  The kids understood the magnitude of the attack, and due to the excellence of the memorial, we all had a better comprehension of the cost of freedom in a dark world.  I found a park ranger who was glad to administer the junior ranger oath to my children, and I was glad to see that they were actually proud to raise their right hands and repeat the words as they stood in a cool sea breeze on the shore of Pearl Harbor.

New Zealand - Wellington to Auckland

I like snow.  I like snow a lot.  I especially like snow when viewed from the interior of a warm house by a large window cradling a mug of coffee in my hands and a pot of chili simmering on the stove.  I do not like snow when viewed from the interior of a small car staring with laser focus on the dwindling asphalt while crossing a high mountain pass nine-thousand miles from home with the lives of my precious loved ones hanging in the balance.  Such was my predicament when we drove from the warm but wet city limits of Wellington four hours north to Lake Taupo for our penultimate night in New Zealand.  

We had only about an hour left to travel, and as we gradually ascended a mountain range marked by rounded hilltops covered with tall blond grass, I noticed that the slopes had a funny bleached look to them.  The digital thermometer in the car began dropping, and we realized the bleached hills had a coating of frost, and the road signs became illegible due the the coating of windblown snow frozen to the metal.  The already grey skies turned leaden as we ascended into a heavy mist which burst into a snow storm that sent heavy, wet flakes swirling in the air and covered the narrow lanes on the road at an alarming rate.  Traffic slowed, my hands gripped the steering wheel tightly, and I had visions of my little family stranded on the side of the road trying to keep warm in our synthetic layers and down jackets that were warm but not blizzard warm.

We had set out from Christchurch three days ago in a steady rain that lasted the whole four hours to the small community of Maruia where we spent one night to break up the long haul to Wellington.  The mountain ranges were covered with long white clouds that sent rain showers through the valleys creating surging rivers and slick roads.  When we arrived at our small motel, the driveway was partially blocked by a large motorcoach and an ambulance, and the coach passengers stood in an adjacent parking lot with concerned countenances.  We managed to pull into the motel lot where we met the owner who was visibly shaken. She told us that a lady on the bus had suffered a heart attack and that she had tended to her while waiting for the medevac chopper—it landed in middle of the highway as we spoke.  The motel owner showed us to our room as the chopper took off and the chilly rain continued even harder.

Despite our somber arrival, we spent a quiet night in the comfortable room and heated some shepherd's pies we had purchased earlier that day for supper and watched HGTV until it was time for bed.  The next morning came quickly, and after coffee and a bite standing, we loaded the car and hit the road again bound for the crossing town of Picton about three hours away.  The skies were still grey, but the rain held off, and we were able to enjoy views of the thick forests full of silver ferns as we approached Picton, where we found our home for one night just down the road from the one where we stayed when we first came to the south island two weeks before.  This house near the marina was owned by Brad and Sandy, a couple in their mid-fifties that tried to downsize but failed when the realtor showed them the two-story house with a pool and a view of the mountains.  We quickly settled into our one large room with three beds and then drove back to town for supper.

I taught myself to use Brad’s espresso machine and was so proud of myself that I drank several cups of strong brew which fortified me for a speedy packing-and-car-loading session in the persistent rain.  We said goodbye to Brad and made the short drive to the Interislander ferry terminal and turned in the Corolla which had served us so well in our south island travels.  After checking our bags and boarding the ferry, Deena and I stood on the top deck and took pictures of the mountains surrounding the harbor before joining Joseph and Deveny on the middle deck for a pleasant three-hour voyage back to the north island.  Everything would have been rosy except for the storm that blew through the Cook Strait creating monstrous waves that slammed the hull and sent the ship rolling through the sea—which gave me the worst case of seasickness I’ve endured to date.  The rest of my crew were not affected by the undulating sea, and they showed compassion to me by keeping their teasing to a minimum.

Picton

Safely back on land, I sipped a 7 Up while we checked out another rental car and made our way into the hills of Wellington, the capital of New Zealand and our base for the next two days.  Through the same hospitality service we used in Christchurch, we had arranged to stay with Phil and Mary Clare, empty nesters that lived in the suburb of Tawa with their pumpkin-colored cat, Rocky.  Phil is the director of Prison Fellowship in New Zealand, and Mary Clare is a nurse who also has her own lactation-consulting business.  They have three grown children, two of whom live in Australia; the third is just down the road in Wellington.  

When we arrived, travel weary and still a bit green from the boat ride ride, Mary Clare pulled us in with hugs and a smile and sat us down in the comfy den while she prepared hot tea and cake.  The rain clouds had lifted by then, and we could see their back yard through big French doors.  Phil and Mary Clare enjoy gardening in their spare time, and the property behind the house was full of silver ferns, cabbage trees, and heavy vines twisted around arbors still full of purple flowers.  Beyond their weathered cedar fence, the hills around Tawa formed the sloping walls of a lush green bowl which protected several of the surrounding neighborhoods from the stiff breeze coming off the sea from the harbor.  Phil had traveled to Auckland that day and wasn’t due back until suppertime, so Deena and I sat with Mary Clare and talked about her life in Wellington while she prepared the evening meal.  Deveny discovered Rocky the cat, so she was off playing with her new friend, and Joseph discovered the brand new TV in the living room which had ESPN available, so he was set as well.

Deveny and Rocky

Rocky being spoiled

Mary Clare was born in Ireland, and even though she had been with Phil in New Zealand for thirty-five years, I could still detect a bit of Irish lilt mixed with her kiwi twang.  Phil arrived home flush with the success of a busy travel day, and greeted the girls with a peck on the cheek and Joseph and me with a firm handshake.  I had noticed earlier that there were turntables positioned around the house, and Phil and I were soon immersed in conversation about the superiority of vinyl recordings over digital. We soon discovered that we had a mutual affinity for blues music.  Throughout dinner and the rest of the evening, the background was full of blues from Robert Cray, Stevie Ray Vaughn, and Paul Butterfield.  After Mary Clare served up a wonderful dinner of savory beef stew with herbs, mashed potatoes, and steamed red cabbage, we lingered over the meal for a long time talking about our travels, raising kids, and just life in general.  After a couple days of heavy travel, it was relaxing to just sit with good company and talk late into the night.

In our own rooms with electric blankets on comfy beds, we enjoyed a good night’s sleep and rose to the smell of fresh coffee coming from the kitchen.  Phil also took his coffee seriously; he worked his barista magic grinding fresh Cuban beans and making double espressos in a cafe-quality machine that cost nearly three-thousand dollars.  I’ve begun a long, subtle campaign for my own candy-apple red, retro-looking espresso machine that takes up very little counter space and saves tons of money in the long run much like a new, efficient heating system.  So far, my bride’s not going for it, but I’m patient and cunning.

Mary Clare served us a filling breakfast of porridge with fresh apricot slices and chunks of brown sugar that melted into candy pools in the steaming bowls.  With the sun shining and a full day ahead of us in Wellington, we struck out for the summit of Mount Victoria for a full view of the city from the area’s tallest mountain.  The road to the top was narrow and lined with cars parked at all angles which made for a hairy drive, but we were soon standing on the viewing platform at the summit looking out over the deep blue water of the harbor and the city of Wellington built along the edge of the bay and extending into the hillsides all around.  It was a fantastic view, but strong wind gusts forced us back into the car, so we drove the winding road back into the city and ended up at the Te Papa museum where we spent the entire afternoon going through every display.  The exhibits there were mainly focused on the history of New Zealand told through presentations about the Maori, animal and plant life, and immigration in the nineteenth century.  Sir Peter Jackson had contributed to the museum and helped produce their most powerful display about New Zealand’s role in World War I, specifically at the battle of Gallipoli, which was completely detailed, engaging, and heartbreaking in the manner of all stories of war and sacrifice.

Wellington

We had planned to see a few more city sights that afternoon, but the museum visit took its toll, and we drove back to Phil and Mary Clare’s house where we were greeted with more hot tea and coffee and fresh lemon cake with cream cheese frosting.  One of Phil’s old schoolmates had a birthday that day, and Phil invited me to accompany the two of them to the local pub. I had a great time listening to these two old friends talk about the good old days while enjoying a pint of the local brew.  We picked up pizza to take home for dinner, and because Phil and Mary Clare left us in charge of the house while they went into town to see a show, we spent a quiet evening reading and watching movies until they returned.  Even though Phil had to catch an early flight back to Auckland the next morning, he stayed up late with Joseph and me to watch a pre-recorded rugby match in order to help us fully understand the rules of this brutal game that the kiwis love.

We ate a quick breakfast early the next morning and gave Mary Clare big hugs, loaded the car, and drove down the mountain in the light rain.  We had four hours to cover in order to make it to Lake Taupo and the last AirBnB stay of our trip.  We kept a leisurely pace, and by the time we reached the Tongariro National Park, the roads were starting to ice up in the mountain pass, and I kicked myself mentally for not trying to make better time.  The thick snowfall was beautiful as it covered the grassy balds and the boulders in the streams of azure blue water. My family enjoyed it while I entertained visions of freezing in a stranded car stuck grill first in a snowbank by the side of the road.  Thankfully, the road started to descend, the temperature rose slightly, and the roads became clear as the snow tapered off on the far side of the pass.  Thirty minutes later, we reached the shores of Lake Taupo, found our home for the night, and I let myself relax as I eased our vehicle into the carport beside our cottage safe and sound from the peril of winter in late May.

Snow in May

We spent a quiet night in our comfy two-room cottage and had a simple breakfast the next day before packing up again and driving another four hours to the Ibis Budget Hotel right around the corner from the Auckland airport.  The drive took us on a highway through the middle of the north island and the countryside I loved so much in Glen Afton where we stayed for the first few days in New Zealand.  Tomorrow morning, we have an early wake-up call and a flight to Sydney Australia, and then a connecting flight to Honolulu, Hawaii—our month in New Zealand is suddenly over. The variation of natural beauty in this country is wide and breathtaking as new vistas open up around every curve in the narrow roads, and the lush landscapes help the natives live with the dangers of shifting tectonic plates and geothermal instability.  While the coastal drives, colossal mountain ranges, and glacier-carved valleys of the south island will always be part of my memories of the most beautiful places on earth, my heart belongs to the quiet countryside of the north island.  The green, rolling hills with dells full of little patches of woods and small streams running along country lanes made me long for an afternoon walk on a fall day with the promise of a hot bowl of soup on the stove in a small cottage painted white and a yard planted with flowers.