My father was an officer in WWII and trained in Hawaii. He never talked much about his military experience, but said he spent most of that time on a beach, in a pup tent, lacking any luxury, with no desire to return. My mom, on the other hand, always had Hawaii on her short, but earnest bucket list. One of my dearest memories growing up was my dad’s Christmas gift to Mom of a vacation to Hawaii, including accommodations at the famous Royal Hawaiian resort hotel. Travel was not as easy or common at that time, so, for many reasons, I knew this was a great sacrifice on my dad’s part, to fulfill Mom’s dream.
The city has so far only been an airplane stopover for me, but there was no mistaking Honolulu as our ship approached the island of Oahu. With its beautiful crescent beach backed by palms and high-rise hotels, punctuated by the iconic pink Waikiki beach luxury landmark Royal Hawaiian hotel built in 1927, and the famous silhouette of volcanic Diamond Head looming in the distance.
We had a full day planned with the ship in port until midnight, so we left in the morning for a bus ride to Waikiki’s Hilton Hawaiian Village and a submarine adventure beneath the crystal clear aqua waters. The route took us past row after row of soaring luxury high rise apartment buildings under construction and, as we learned from our guide, the beginning of more to come. Chinese real estate moguls are snatching up the land and replacing shopping malls, car dealerships, and the not-so-older apartments and hotels along Waikiki with the speculation of wealthy buyers for their prime and sparkling beachfront apartments. Scary stuff, I say, particularly contrasted by the rows of haphazard tents we passed where the city’s homeless live, no doubt lured by the year-round temperate climate and nearby public beaches.
We arrived at the Hilton and followed a boardwalk on Waikiki to the submarine launch, passing a beachside church service with worshippers sitting reverently in white plastic chairs under a sheltering tent with a pony-tailed preacher. A large boat took us from shore to the submarine, where we spent an hour or so cruising underwater, peering through the glass hull at the wreckage of small ships and airplanes, filled with crustaceous sea life clinging to bent steel, and exotic fish and sea turtles swimming throughout the see-through water.
Returning to the ship afterwards, there was still time to take the free Walmart shuttle bus to the local behemoth and back, to replenish any necessities. And after over two months onboard, this was much appreciated by both passengers and crew.
That evening the ship hosted us longterm cruisers to a special gala cocktail event onboard the vintage battleship and survivor of the Pearl Harbor attack, the USS Missouri, a moving American experience under any circumstance. This was Flag Day. We boarded the Missouri to a rousing band, greeted by servers dressed in period style, with a view beyond of the silent USS Arizona Memorial, at its final resting place. It was a grand evening of music, dancing, and touring the ship, but it left me thinking more and more of my dad in a pup tent on the beach, and the other brave ones beneath the Arizona.