Day 19

What’s Wrong With This Picture?

I walked out on the tarmac to the tiny plane on the Denver runway. Snow was gently drifting down around us. I walked slowly, as flip flops don’t have the best traction in snow.

Day 18

My Favorite Souvenir

A small, wooden keychain, looking very angry with its bared teeth an scowl. On the back, its description: “God of Winner. This ancient Hawaiian Tiki is the Winner God. This Tiki blesses you with good fortune, Keep this Winner Tiki with you. you may always be a winner in all that you do.”

Day 17

Winner!

People always make fun of me for entering contests. I will enter anything. Fill out a form, answer a question, write an essay. It’s not so much that I expect to win, but the anticipation of what *could* be, what I *could* win, that excites me.

Tonight we went to a real luau. On the beach, tiki torches, pig in the ground, Blue Hawaiis flowing, luau. As we entered, there was a box in the gift shop where all you had to do was write your name and bus number (we were bussed to the remote luau location) and you could win fabulous prizes. Daniel started to stuff our entries into the box. No! Unfold them, nice and smooth. Then pop them in the box with a wish. *Then* we’ll win. He gave me a stare as if I was insane, rolled his eyes, but did as I asked.

At the end of the evening, the grass skirted hula maiden pulled three names from the box. First name won a prize of a t-shirt. Second name won a souvenir mug. “And now, for the final prize of the evening, from Bus Number 2…” I clenched my fists. We had arrived on bus number 2. “Lori McLeese.” I squealed. I rushed up to the stage, sand sliding into my sandals. Once there, I was handed a coupon for a free copy of our “Welcome Picture”, Daniel and I smiling with two island beauties. A lovely souvenir from our true luau evening.

Day 16

Beach. Snorkeling. Fish. Sand. Heat. Good.

Day 15

The Non Luau

The ticket said it was a luau. The hotel staff recommended it as a luau. Thank goodness we got our tickets at half price. Otherwise, I would have been *really* angry.

I guess I should have suspected something when I called to make reservations and the lady on the phone asked, “Would you like our 5:00 seating?” I answered no, that we would prefer a later seating. She replied that 5:00 was the only seating. Rather early for dinner….

As we came off the escalator, we were ushered to a long line in which I think I was the only non-Asian. Daniel whispered to me, “Do you feel like you’re back in Korea?” Well, only because I can understand nothing of what’s being said around me.

It turned out that the majority of the other patrons were part of tour groups, Asian, and over 55. As we stood in line, Daniel whispered to me again. “Why are we being led into a conference room?” Good question. I thought luaus were supposed to be on the beach.

As we were seated, a tired looking waitress nonchalantly handed us what she claimed were mai tais. She pointed us to the buffet.

We scooped potato salad, kim chi, pasta dishes, curry chicken, and prime rib on our plates. At the end of the buffet, Daniel whispered to me again. “Where’s the pig? I thought there was always pig at a luau.” I looked around. I didn’t see any pig. Or poi.

We ate our dinner, somewhat disappointed. I had expected to see a big, fat pig, with an apple in its mouth, staring at me from the low slung table, as I massaged sand in between my toes.

The real disappointment, however, was the entertainment. Well, I guess it was only a disappointment if you actually expected something entertaining. I had. And, to be fair, I did laugh at times. Because the show couldn’t have been more of a parody of what a Vegas “culture” production was had they tried. It started with the pareo fashion show – lots of ways to tie a pareo – look at all the different styles! Then came the “uncle” narrator, dressed in white pants, a very loud Hawaiian shirt, and lots of leis. And the oiled women and men, dancing traditional dances. Sort of. I was rather disappointed that for the hula they wore cellophane grass skirts, not the real ones. My favorite scenario: The scene opened with a chief tribesman and his woman exchanging good bye kisses as she sends him out to the jungle to hunt. Very Ozzie and Harriet with a tropical twist. Only moments after the chief leaves, his enemy enters the campsite and clubbed the woman to death. A very dramatic, faint to the ground, woe is me, swooning death. Then the dance began. The chief’s tribe, dancing a dance of revenge, stomping and whooping. Which would have been moving, except one of the tribesmen didn’t know the moves and kept glancing at the other warriors as he stood, not sure which spear to raise, which foot to stomp. His “ugh”s and “oomph”s came just a split second too late.

I was prepared to leave halfway through the performance (something I’ve never done), but Daniel suggested we stay. I’m glad we did. The last performance was the fire dancer. That was hot.

Day 14

Sand, even white sand, can get hot enough to scald your feet, even in October. I’m not complaining.

Day 13

Getting There

Drove all night on deserted highways through Wyoming, Idaho, and Utah. Arrived to the Salt Lake City International Airport at 5:30 am. Boarded our flight at 7:15 am, changed planes in San Francisco, and were greeted by the warm winds of the islands at 11:30 am. Life is good….

Testing

I learned something very valuable today. Bathing suit shopping is not a good boy/girl activity. Neither of us packed a bathing suit for our cross country journey (since we were planning to traverse the snow covered mountains, it didn’t seem like we would need one. We forgot to factor in the Hawaii detour.). After we checked into our hotel (in which all other patrons were white haired and using walkers, but it was right on the beach, so I’m not complaining…) the first item of business was to procure swimwear.

Here’s the synopsis. In the first shop in which the boy looks, he flips through a rack of swim trunks, picks out a navy pair, and bargains with the proprietor, getting several dollars knocked off the price (bringing it almost to single digits). He never even tries it on. Total transaction time: approximately 10 minutes.

In that same shop, I flip through racks of swimsuits, pick out six, he makes faces at four, I try to try on two (in the 2 by 2 storage area converted to a dressing room), self consciously walk across the store to view my selections in a mostly hidden mirror, thereby forced to rely on his reaction/commentary to decide on my selection. This is bad already. This process is repeated at several stores. The reason why? Here are the boy’s comments: “That looks like something you would wear.” “Well, it’s a bathing suit.” “Umm. Nah.” “I’m not very good at this, just get whatever you want.”

The end result, out of desperation, and wanting to get to the beach, not be shopping, I pay a ridiculous amount for a blue and purple one piece bathing suit. Total transaction time: approximately 1 1/2 hours.

As we’re laying on the beach, I notice I’m just about the only person not wearing a bikini. I make a comment to this effect and the boy replies, “Yeah, you should have bought a bikini. A pink one. Blues don’t really look that good on you.” This just makes me want to scream.

Day 12

Awoke to freezing rain and snow flurries. No bike ride today. No good tv shows. Read all of the tourist literature in the room.

Daunted by the prospect of staying at the Super 8 for another week, I called United again. We could book tickets, going to Hawaii, leaving tomorrow, returning next Thursday, the day the car is supposed to be fixed. Only catch, we would need to leave from Salt Lake City.

Well, we now have a Budget rent a car, a mapquest map to Salt Lake City, and a cheap hotel in Hawaii. Aloha….

Day 11

Jackson Hole, WY

mileage – 0

walked – about 3 miles

What’s To Do?

I woke up early, craving a cup of coffee. I bounced downstairs to the lobby, excited by the advertised “Complimentary Breakfast, 6 – 9 am” placard in our room. I was met by small travel boxes of cereal, no variety, and room temperature milk. I filled up my coffee cup and approached the front desk.

Hi! How are you this morning?

A blank monotone responded, “Fine.”

Well, we’re going to need to stay another night. Our car’s in the shop. What’s there to do in Jackson Hole?

“Nothin.”

I stared at him, surprised by his lack of enthusiasm. Well, this is a pretty major tourist spot, isn’t it? There’s got to be something to do.’

“It’s the off season. There’s nothin’.”

Nothing? Absolutely nothing? What do the locals do?

“Well, I suppose you could get drunk at one of the bars. That’s what most of the locals do. I guess you could see a movie. Or sumpthin.”

I mustered a smile and thanked him.

Later in the day the auto shop called. The parts won’t be here before Monday; the soonest the car will be ready will be Tuesday. We have a week to spend in Jackson Hole. We walked to the Visitor’s Center, the ranger there basically offered the same advice the desk clerk did. With the additional suggestions of the free geological talk at the library tomorrow night. Or renting bicycles (though it’s still snowing) to traverse the ski trails. It could be a long week.

How we spent our day:

Walked 1 1/2 miles into town

Local brew at the Million Dollar Cowboy Bar (where the barstools are saddles – cute, but uncomfortable after the first few minutes)

Couple of games of pool at the Million Dollar Cowboy Bar (Lori – 1, Daniel – 1)

Another local brew, bought by the bartender, after he heard we were stranded

Walked to the Visitor Information Center where we viewed lots of dead stuffed animals

Walked to the Snake River Brewery for a rather disappointing dinner

Walked to Albertson’s Grocery to buy food to make up for the disappointing dinner

Walked to our home away from home, the Jackson Hole Super 8

Watched “Top 10” series on the Travel Channel (Top 10 Most Holy Spots, Top 10 Mysteries, Top 10 Haunted Spots, etc)

Called United to procure mileage plus tickets as soon as possible to anywhere tropical. Mission impossible.

Day 10

Cody, WY to Yellowstone National Park (then towed to Jackson Hole, WY)

I slowly opened my eyes. No shards of glass, no blood. I looked down. I was still strapped into my seat. I looked over. Daniel was still strapped in as well. Our eyes locked. For moments, neither of us spoke, we just stared into each other’s eyes, trying to understand what had just happened.

“Are you okay?” he finally broke the silence.

I think so. You?

“Yes.”

We were so excited when we woke up this morning. The storm which was predicted to dump enough snow to close the park had only left a slight dusting, none of which stuck to the roads. As we entered Yellowstone, the Ranger suggested we head to Canyon, to see the gorge and the falls, then backtrack to Old Faithful, to see the most famous geyser in the world. There were few other cars in the park. We drove along, slowly, absorbing the magnificent scenery, even more so because of the crisp coldness of the air, the bleakness of the sky. Along Yellowstone Lake we witnessed a relatively small grizzly bear, foraging for food. We stopped the car, snapping pictures from a distance, whispering so as not to cause alarm. He lazily glanced up, looked us over, then continued pawing at the ground.

Minutes later, as I came out of the roadside restroom, I noticed Daniel waving animatedly in the car. There, just feet away from the car, was an almost pure white coyote. He, too, merely looked at us, then continued among his way. As we traveled, we marveled at the vastness of the lake, the juxtaposition of the hot springs spouting forth bursts of cloudy steam next to icy shores. We witnessed huge ravens fly, glide, soar, then perch just inches next to us. As we returned from a trail, we were amazed to see a herd of buffalo, there in the parking lot, just standing. Not moving, not making noises, just standing. We got into the car and heard a loud noise behind us. The buffalo, about 30 of them, were stampeding towards the car. One brushed the trunk, the others came within feet. In utter amazement we listened to their hoofs clop, clop, clop up the nearby embankment. We continued to the Canyon.

As we walked down the bitterly cold trail, we oohed and ahhed at the streaked patterns in the infinite descent down the gorge. More shades of yellow, and orange, and brown, than I ever realized existed. The colors completely visible because of the trees which have now shed their leaves. We made our way to Artist’s Point, where we were shocked at the magnificence of the Upper Falls, incomprehensible amounts of water, crashing down to the river, snaking through the gorge. As we stood watching, the flurries began. Ever so lightly, big, delicate snowflakes clung to our eyelashes and blurred our vision. As we shivered, I whispered to Daniel, We are so lucky. We are seeing Yellowstone Park dusted by snow. Think about how few people ever witness this.

We got into the car, and began the 40 odd mile drive to Old Faithful. A few minutes into the drive, the snow began falling more heavily. Struck by the beauty, I snapped pictures out of my passenger’s window of the pine trees, the boughs gathering a fine coating of white fluff. We continued to marvel at the beauty, Daniel driving more slowly as the snow began to accumulate on the road.

We drove back by Yellowstone Lake. We argued about whether we would actually die if the car slid off the road into the lake. I said yes, Daniel asserted no. I recalled one of the roadside information signs that talked about the irony of the lake – that the upper waters were cold enough to cause hypothermia, whereas the lower waters reached boiling temperatures. Daniel claimed we would be able to reach the shore before hypothermia set in. We then pondered what would happen if a blizzard suddenly hit the park. Would the rangers try to evacuate everyone? Or merely try to get them to shelter within the park? Or was everyone left to their own devices, hopefully with water and food in their respective cars?

As we got closer to Old Faithful, the roads became more treacherous. The temperature had obviously dropped. Snow was a couple of inches deep on the road, in places slippery. Daniel slowed down even more.

I saw the headlights in the distance. It appeared to be a truck, or a SUV. It was coming around a curve. As it got closer, I felt the back of the car fishtail. From there, everything happened at half, or quarter speed. I watched Daniel carefully maneuver the steering wheel, not jerking, not panicking. I felt the car continue to slide. First to the right. Then to the left. Back to the right. Just as the oncoming headlights passed us, I felt the car begin to spin. I watched the trees spin past me. I closed my eyes, took a deep breath, and let my body go limp.

We were lucky. We didn’t hit the other car, only the curb. We didn’t slide into the lake, testing our theories about how long we would survive in the freezing weather. Neither of us was hurt. The car, however, was hurt. The next 7 hours were spent waiting for the Yellowstone tow truck (no other companies allowed inside the park), being towed to the south gate (by that time all other roads in the park were closed), waiting for the tow truck from Jackson (Yellowstone trucks aren’t allowed to tow outside the park), then making the slow trek back to Jackson, about 50 miles. We’re in Jackson now. Probably will be for a while. The auto shop isn’t sure where they can find the parts, or how long it will take to get them here. This wasn’t on our itinerary, but we’ll make the best of it.