Smart but Evil

Having stayed out until the early morning hours, getting up the next day was difficult to say the least. Not only is jet lag involved, but a slight hang over and lack of sleep to boot. But we were in a new country with things to see and people to do, uh, I mean meet. Honest.

Deb was actually worse for wear than I was. She hadn’t been drinking for a few months (due to a new diet) and had kept pace with me (and the Brits) drink for drink. Let’s just say the porcelain god got more than a few offerings that morning.

After a quick nap on my part and some restorative sleep on Deb’s part, we get dressed, find some food and coffee (coffee!!!!) and decide to do some light sight seeing of the nearby places. We walk to the London Bridge to get some air. The London Bridge is not what you think. It’s just a plain, flat bridge. From it, you can see the Tower Bridge, which is the famous one everyone thinks of when you say London Bridge. We look over the water and take pictures.

We walk along the river’s edge and head toward London Tower. The lines are short, so we get tickets and head in to see the crown jewels (which they won’t let you take pictures of, go figure), the Bloody Tower and other fun historical sites. They even had cos-players acting out scenes from something on the lawn. It was hard to tell what since the sound didn’t carry that well to where we were perched on the wall walk.

And men at that time thought well of themselves…

We then went to visit St. Paul’s Cathedral where both Deb and I lit candles for my Mom.

Then we went back to the room for a nap. Yes, we were tired, though not hung-over anymore.

We got up around 8pm and went to the pub downstairs for dinner. It wasn’t bad, though not rave worthy. We had our first pints, then moved on to the Glad, where we’d had luck before.

Tonight, though, they have a local band with interesting folksy music and a completely different crowd. I call the English German and ask him to come out. He comes, a bit reluctantly (he wanted me to just come over, but like I said, it’s more fun when they work for it) and we crawl the pubs again, hitting a few new ones.

Here, Deb meets an interesting guy. And now the dilemma. We have two destinations. We have one key for the room. So, we walk Deb and her dude (I can’t remember his name, but I didn’t take him home, so it’s ok) back to the hotel, open the door, then head to German’s place. Since I’m not completely schnockered this time, I look around a little. His roommate is either an artiste or a serious hobbyist. I ask, but he’s not sure about what she does. (Apparently, it’s typical to not know your roommates, the way we don’t know our neighbors.)

Another night of fun. I wake up early again (very early) and worry about Deb. I rarely worry about my own safety (I can kick and run with the best of them) but I constantly worry about others. Call it a flaw. So I roll out of bed, get clean up a bit, say goodbye (which was difficult with him looking so cute), head to the Underground and walk into the Twilight Zone.

The gate is closed for the Underground station. I notice this young, sort-of cute guy sitting by a pillar, obviously waiting. So I ask when it opens. He replies, “I think at the half.” That’s only about ten minutes away, so I decide to wait. The young guy offers me a seat next to him by the pillar. I walk over and stand, but he insists, “Come on, have a sit.” So, I sit next to him and start chatting. I learn he’s from Ireland and he tells me his name, but we must all remember my skill with names of random men.

He offers me a drink of whatever he’s got in a bottle, but I decline. It’s 6 o’nothing in the morning! But he’s been awake all night, riding the Circle Line in protest. (The London Mayor outlawed open containers on the Tube, so the locals were up in arms.) Then the conversation goes like this:

Dude: “Are you married?”

Me: “No.”

Dude” “Would you like to be? We could be done in about 15 minutes…”

Me: *laugh* “Um, no, but thank you for asking.”

Then there were a few compliments and he actually leans over for a kiss. I lean away. He tells me his ego has been crushed (somehow I doubt it) and I think, yeah, done here, and go find alternate transportation (a bus, yes, I can actually figure out a bus schedule hung over and sleep deprived. I rock!)

I still wonder what he would’ve done if I’d said yes.

The flight to London was long. Air Canada is a pretty decent airline with personal entertainment centers and fairly good food. I met Deb in Toronto and we flew into Heathrow together. We dozed a good portion of the way.

Landing in Heathrow was uneventful. We gathered our luggage. Deb brought two big suitcases, a carry-on and a large purse. I had one big suitcase. We stood in the immigration line for a while to be processed. Boring. But we were in London, so we were happy. At the desk…”Yes, ma’am. Two weeks. Totally recreational. No, we swear we won’t become illegals (we lied).”

We got through, then got to learn about the Tube. While traveling, we’d decided to use all public transport. Renting a car in a foreign country seems like asking a bit much for our first trip and the UK is supposed to have a good transport system. So, we head where the signs tell us to go.

We get what’s called an Oyster Card and fill it with an unlimited week’s travel, which the agent recommended for us newbies. That was the best purchase ever. Well, maybe not, but it was a good one. We look at the Tube map and try to find our station. The nice agent shows us the best route. We thank him and wander off to find our first train.

The Tube really is the easiest form of transport. Trains run every five minutes to most places. The only downfall is that not every station has an elevator or escalator. Most do. All the ones from the first day did, so our trip was fairly easy, while not completely simple.

We got off one station too early. It wasn’t that far to our hotel from the early station, it was just that we had luggage. Rolling luggage over cobbles is not recommended. It turns out that our hotel really was right next to the station after the one we got off.

We drag our suitcases up two flights of stairs. The room is a decent size with three twin beds. One gets our suitcases. We go out to find food. We head off to the left and wander down a few streets. The first pub we find doesn’t serve food, but we have a drink anyway. The second one serves Thai food and we both enjoy some, along with another drink. We get our first picture taken.

We head back to the hotel and crash for a couple hours. We wake up at about 8 p.m., clean up and head out for our first night. Once downstairs, we turn the other way and realize that we have a Pub next door. We both feel a little sheepish, but we go in to explore. We met our first set of random London boys. They’re a bit odd and keep inviting us to their apartment, which we decline. We move on.

The next Pub we hit was more interesting. Deb decides she needs to smoke, but the rule is that she’s only allowed to bum them from other people. We meet some much more interesting people and decide to Pub hop with them. We hit six Pubs in all.

Pubs in London are interestingly set up. They buy liquor licenses according to how late they want to stay open. The later they stay open, the more the license costs. It keeps the locals moving around.

One of the people we met is a German immigrant who has a lovely English accent when he speaks, and I think is yummy to boot. Apparently he thinks I am as well, because after a bit of convincing on his part (I made him work for it, it was more fun that way), I make sure Deb gets back to the room and then go home with him. (Hey, he was cute and I was drunk. And Germany was still on my list.)

He lives in a gorgeous building not too far from our hotel ( a few stops on the Tube). And fun was had. What a way to start my UK adventure!

Every three months, the Santa Cruz mountain wineries hold what they call a “passport” day, when any participating winery opens its doors for public tastings. A lot of these wineries only do tastings by appointment on a typical basis, so it’s a nice change if you’ve been tasting in the Santa Cruz mountains during normal tasting hours/weekends.

This April, James – one of the guys who’d previously worked at my company – invited me to go with him and a group of people I’d never met. Hmm, a whole new group of people I haven’t offended yet? Sounds like a good time to me! (It didn’t hurt that the guy who asked me to go is also good looking and fun.) The only draw-back is the sketchy details about when and where to meet. I’m told I’ll get a call the Saturday morning with more information. O-kay…

The morning starts a bit frantically. The night before ended late (er, actually early in the morning, around 3:00 am) and I’m sleep deprived, but I wake up at 8 am anyway. (I’m actually grateful that it wasn’t the usual 6:30, time may not heal all wounds, but at least it increases your sleep time.) I make coffee and watch some TV. I check on Sarah, who tied one on after the fireman auction. I decide I should eat something. I start to worry. It’s 9:30…9:45…when the call finally comes (I had permission to call him at 10 am if he hadn’t called me). Whew!

We’re supposed to meet at 10:45 and he and a friend will pick me up at around 10:30. Right. I slam through a shower, pick an outfit that’s fun and flirty, but not too hoochie (it’s a day thing and I’m not sure the guy is actually interested in me that way, but just in case…) and start the waiting game again.

I’m antsy. James calls around 10:30 to let me know that they’re still coming, but running late. I wait. Impatiently. Finally, they show up and we’re on our way. Yay!

Then, we get lost. I just have to say, MapQuest sucks. It never seems to list the street names conveniently, so you’re never sure what cross streets are where. James calls the people we’re meeting to let them know we’re on our way, and after a few more false turns, we find the place. The really messed up thing? I’ve actually been there before. How sad am I?

Luckily (or not, depending on your view), we’re not the last ones to arrive, so we don’t feel so bad. The final people count is 13. We discover that instead of a 15 passenger van, it’s a 10 passenger van, so we’ll all be good friends by the end of the day, whether we want to be or not! =) Introductions are made, several times. I warn them all, I’m terrible with names. If I remember half, I’m doing well. We load up and the wine tasting journey begins!

I somehow score a front bench seat (apparently someone decided no seat switching during the day, to better keep count of the drunks, I’m sure) next to a nice, young (cute, but way young) guy named Terrence (I think, forgive me if I’m wrong) who is a sailor by profession. We chat about his last race (in Mexico, they did well in their class). We wind around the hills and get to the first winery, Picchetti. It’s very prettily situated. There’s even a peacock.

James buys my passport (as thanks for work-related stuff, still no clue about intentions there), we get stamped and we taste the wines. They’re all pretty good. I end up buying two bottles of the Sangionese (which I can’t say correctly).

Then we’re off to the next stop. It’s the Ridge which has a spectacular view. We decide to taste wine, then have lunch at their picnic benches. The wine is iffy, in my opinion. Two were not bad, but one had a definite off-note. They only offered three. After sating our stomachs, we take a group photo. We are a fun bunch.

We head off to Naumann, but miss the turn-off. So we head to Fellom Ranch. It’s a pretty place. The wind is picking up a bit and the wine is in the shade, but they have a heater, which we huddle by. We get the pour and huddle up. All their wines tasted young, like they needed to age a bit. The best of the lot was the port. It was decent, but how often do you drink port? We still have bottles we bought years ago.

We get back in the van and try to go back to Naumann. Big mistake. It was packed. There’s no way in hell we can get down the driveway. A Cadillac comes out and tells us there’s no way we will make it down. We move on, but the car behind us tries to go down and makes a huge traffic jam, which we see after we turn around and head down the hill to the last winery of the day.

We head to Cooper-Garrod. This winery makes up for the last two. All the wines are good. They have a Cabernet Franc that is fabulous. Even there Chardonnay is good, and I’m not a Chardonnay fan. I buy three bottles of the Franc and one of the Chardonnay. James buys the vintner’s have case, one of each of the wines we tasted. Several other people buy the Franc and other wines. We loiter for a while.

All in all it was a good day. We head back to the Trader Joes where we met. I give the person who was responsible enough to drive a bottle of the Franc. James lets her pick one of his vintner’s pack at random. I like to encourage people to drive my drunk ass around.

James and his friend Tony drop me off. I still have no idea about his intentions, but he’s fun to hang around with, if nothing else. I hope to get to do it more. I walk into the house, put the wine away and fall asleep for two hours. I call that a day well spent.

So, as something different on a Friday night, friends and I decided to attend the 6th annual Bay Area Firefighter Bachelor Auction. Held at the Red Devil Lounge in San Francisco, it was a fund raising event for a society that helps burn victims recover, definitely a worthy cause. But the web site was sketchy with the details. Still, an evening watching hot firemen beg for money is always fun.

And boy, did they beg. After some initial confusion about how we were getting to SF, we finally met in front of the club and wandered in. The place was interesting to look at, with table around the edges of the bar area, an upstairs area that was reserved for the “VIPs” (people who were willing to pay more to get in and meet and greet the firemen), and a dance floor with a stage at the front where the auction would take place. We ordered drinks and milled about.

The burn foundation did not do a good job of providing information to renters before the show. While it is a charity event and you know that they want your money for as little in return as possible, giving people advance information can make a big difference. The group date you got to go on with your fireman was an afternoon of wine tasting, which was nice. In Livermore, which was not so nice. On June 29th. When I will be out-of-town. Bidding starts at $150. Ok-ay. That would’ve been nice to know beforehand. There are only 10 firemen for rent.

After being subjected to the VIPs for an hour, the bachelor firemen came down to mingle with the potential buyers to try to raise our desire for them. Some were successful, some were not. One was just obnoxious, he really thought he was all that.

Then the show begins. The MCs ask for donations for things not hot firemen. And, what’s the point of that? You want my money and I don’t get a fireman? Hmm, nope. What’s that? A $10 donation for a shot and a glass? That I can do! Several times. Well, ok, just twice. And I swear, there was no alcohol in those shots. Because after two drinks and two shots, I don’t even have a buzz.

All the firemen come out and introduce themselves. Name, rank, serial number…no wait, that was something else…name, where they work, and their favorite candy. Most are not that memorable. Some were, like the guy who said his favorite candy tonight was you. Cheesy, but funny. A decent response for the evening. We groan and laugh. The last guy is so obnoxious. He says he’s worth the most. He thinks he’s hot. The four of us agree, yuck. They shuffle backstage.

The first one comes out to do his thing. He struts and dances. He rips his shirt off. We cheer. Bidding commences. He’s sold to a cougar for $450. The next one is similar, and the next. They vary a bit, but mostly they come out, dance and tear their clothes off as their price goes up. The oldest one (who we expected to be cheap) goes for $650 almost immediately. Some take longer. The cheesy one goes for the most, $1200. The obnoxious one goes for $800 after what felt like an hour of annoying dancing.

While we enjoyed the show, there were many things the foundation could’ve done to make more money:
1. More alcohol. People who are drunk, make bad money decisions and spend more.
2. Bring in the gay men. While cougars are happy to spend their ex-husband’s money to rent a cute fireman, gay men are much more likely to pay higher prices. The show was in SF, but there was a disturbing lack of gay men in the club.
3. More information up front. I can’t save up to buy a fireman if I don’t know what the cost is going to be. Even the starting cost. Or the date for the group date. I can’t buy a fireman if I’m not going to be in town.
4. Blonde bimbos should just have to pay more at the door. We ended up standing next to three platinum blonde bimbettes who were fake from head to toe – fake hair, nose jobs, collagen lips, fake tans, fake boobs, fake nails, liposuction. Paris Hilton wannabes. They weren’t even that good looking. But the firemen went gaga for them. They got at least three ripped off shirts thrown directly at them, but each time they flicked the shirt off with disdain, like it was a dead possum. They didn’t bid once (I guess they couldn’t afford it after the latest botox bill). But they took pictures of lots of the firemen on stage. And whatever they were talking about was pissing Sarah off to the point of violence. I think women like them should be banned from reality and only appear in porn films and LA.

So, we leave the bar to meet up with other friends and end up seeing some of the firemen from the show. They thank us for coming out and we all chat for a while. Sarah gives one of them her number. Ha. And she didn’t have to pay $150 or share him with 9 other couples. You go girl.

Because Kevin was being deployed to Iraq, Loretta and I decided to take a quick trip to Seattle to see him before he went. We both pray that he’ll be ok and away from most of the fighting, but you never know when in a war zone.

This was, of course, the day after her 40th birthday party and we’re both tired. Add an early morning departure to that, and we’re just happy we haven’t killed the perky flight attendants or anyone else.

The out-bound flight is uneventful. We land and then have to figure out how to get to our hotel. We try the bus, but it’s taking WAY too long to get there. So, we opt for a cab.

The hotel is small, but nice. Half of Kevin’s platoon is in the lobby area, hanging out until they have to go back to base at 8 p.m. We check in, get Kevin, and head up to the room. It has a great view of the space needle (which I requested specifically. What’s the point of being in a hotel in downtown Seattle if you don’t have a view of the needle?).

We go have some tasty crab and sangria, then go see the aquarium. They’re feeding the octopus when we get there, so we have to see it. Those things are fast and tentacley. But it isn’t interested in eating, just racing around and looking preditorial.

We look around, take pictures, and head back to the hotel for drinks. We chat about politics, family and listen to stories from his unit mates about Kevin’s ability to push people’s buttons. No change there!

Then it’s time for him to go back to base, which we both hate. I really don’t like this. I tell his unit people that he’s not allowed to dive in front of them or to go without his body armor. I really hate this. I tell him to take care, dying is not an option. Neither is maiming, unless it’s the other side. And while I feel like crying, I don’t. I watch the limo drive off (yeah, at least they get limo service back to the base) and Retta and I wander back into the bar for a few more drinks.

Did I mention that I really hate this war? I wasn’t in favor of it before, and now, it really sucks. I hope it ends soon. Be safe, little brother. And don’t poke sticks at strange objects.

Loretta turned 40 this year. To celebrate this milestone, we threw her a big party with a luau theme. I ordered decorations (which others helped put up), got Retta to pick a menu, cooked and organized the event and hoped to god that everyone would have fun (which they did).

As an added bonus, Retta and I did our first public fire-eating performance, which was really the highlight of the night for both of us. We performed pretty early in the evening, since you can’t drink before fire-eating.

Retta was happily smug about her performance. And I must say she did outshine me in the flair department (mostly because I still get stage-fright and was concentrating on not trembling or accidentally breathing in the fire). But we did have a lot of fun and impress our friends.

By the end of the night, we were exhausted, pleased with ourselves, and still had to pack for our trip to Seattle in the morning.

On Saturday, Bridget and I slept in, due to late-night activities and slight hangovers. We had appointments for massages at 10 am, so had to get moving by then. I felt rather bad for the masseuse since neither of us took showers. We must’ve reeked of alcohol.

Bridget had never had a professional massage before (the half-assed ones from her ex don’t count – 5 minutes of light rubbing followed by ‘oh, now it’s my turn’ leaves a bit to be desired…) She wasn’t quite sure what to expect. I knew that she would love it.

We showed up on time (barely, even though it was right downstairs) and signed in. The courtyard where we waited was pretty, with a little waterfall and green foliage, downright restful. It would’ve been heaven, if not for the slight headache I had which made the sound of the falling water echo in my brain (more proof that I lost my mind long ago).

We got called in and I got to explain to Bridget that she had to get naked. Bridget hates to get naked. She’d keep her clothes on in the shower if she could figure out how to get everything washed without a lot of hinderance. Which I find amusing, since she likes to wear bikinis. But she does strip down and slide under the sheet. She even has me take a picture for posterity!

Our masseuses come in and it’s an hour of pure bliss, chasing away my headache. I have her work extra on my shoulders and feet. The time flew by too quickly, as it does when you’re really enjoying something. The masseuse leaves us our water and we slowly come back to reality. As I expected, Bridget loved it and wished it could’ve continued for longer.

We get dressed and wander back out to the courtyard, moving slowly. The sound is less echoey with my headache gone. We lounge for a while, enjoying the serene environment.

When we get moving, we decide to spend some time in the hotel pool before we have to meet my Aunt and Uncle for a “progressive dinner” with their church group (a fancy and time consuming way to host a pot luck ). We swim and relax.

Then we have to get ready for the pot luck. We meet the Aunt and Uncle at the church, have appetizers and make small talk with people we don’t know and will likely never see again (plus, most are twice our age). Usually this is a recipe for fun, but since relatives are involved and they have to see these people on a regular basis, I can’t get too wild or cantankerous (which is a shame because I’m good at both). So, we chat politely for an hour. Then we move to the next person’s house, 20 minutes away, where we have salad and chat politely for another hour. Then we go for the main course. Where we chat politely for another hour and secretly plot our escape. We decline dessert, begging off for packing purposes.

We say goodbye to the Aunt and Uncle, thanking them for everything. They really are wonderful people. We head back to the hotel and hit the bar. It’s not as populated as the previous evening since there was no luau. But my cute bartender is there. So I flirt and get a Mai Tai. And as I flirt, a young, cute guy sits down next to me. He’s a Roman archeologist (all of 24). His family has left and he’s by himself for his last night on Hawaii.

Bridget and I agree that he’s cute. Young, but cute. I plan to try to hook them up, if only for the evening. We plan to hang out for the night, go to bars, have fun. I get another Mai Tai. We wander off and I try to catch my bartender’s eye (Garrett), but he’s busy. So, we’re off! As we walk, I try to move so they walk next to each other. I encourage them to find things in common. But as we chat, it seems that I have more in common with him. Drat. This isn’t going to be easy.

We head to a not-so-busy club, where we can chat. I start a tab and (yep! Mai Tai!) get another round for everyone. We drink, they dance. I get more drinks. Then we dance. He gets drinks. Bridget goes to the bathroom. He asks, “so, do you have a boyfriend?” and I say “nope. No one permanent.”

And then there was kissing. I didn’t even see it coming (too many Mai Tais). And I’m thinking, how am I going to explain this to Bridget? Then, there was more drinking. Way too much drinking.

We head back to the hotel, where there’s more kissing. And part way through the night, I realize, I don’t remember his name. I’m sure I got it at the beginning of the evening. But I can’t for the life of me remember what it is.

In the morning, I ask Bridget what his name was. She just laughs at me. To this day, she still won’t tell me. So, I’ve named him Jason.

On Friday, we take our time waking up. We have tickets to the luau that night, the Aunt and Uncle are coming, and I have to get the tickets printed. Except I don’t have Internet or a printer. Crap! One task made more difficult. I resolve to talk to the manager later.

We go to the grotto and I use up my underwater film while snorkeling. There are a surprising amount of fish in the hotel’s private grotto. I figured there would only be one or two terrified fish, but no, there are tons of terrified fish to further frighten with a camera. We spend a couple hours lounging and swimming.

Then we go shopping. We wander the stores and learn that you can send coconuts by mail. And decorate them. So, we do!

We also find extremely cool scrapbooks for this trip (yes, blogging is cool too, but not as easy to whip out at parties – don’t iPhone me! There’s also something satisfying about holding a book of memories). And then it’s time to head back to the hotel so I can figure out how to print the tickets.

On the way back, I see a coffee shop with free Internet. I go get coffee (I need some) and start chatting with the barista about the Internet and my ticket predicament. In an understanding mood, she allows me to use her computer and print the tickets there. She’s now my favorite person in the world and I tip her well.

So we go get ready for the Luau. We get our dresses and head down to meet the Aunt and Uncle. We’re all dressed in our Hawaiian finest.

The best part is the open bar. We each get two drinks, get two for the Aunt and Uncle and wait for dinner. They dig up a kahlua pig, cooked in the traditional manner – in the ground. It smells tasty.

We get our dinner, more drinks, and wait for the show. Which is fabulous. There are dancers and fire eaters and stories. We watch random audience members try to hula with hilarious results. We ogle the male dancers and get pictures. I even get to talk to the fire eater.

Then the Aunt and Uncle head home. Bridget and I head to the bar. We ogle the bartenders. We meet the most obnoxious nouveau-riche group of people who try to hook us up with their creepy friends. I have nothing against people who have made their money within their own lifetime. In fact, I applaud it. But don’t expect me to bow to your money. And don’t tell me your gorgeous niece is fat when she’s not (she was normal sized, but not anorexic which I guess she was supposed to be). We escape and try our luck at a local club (which fails miserably) then go to bed. It’s massages in the morning for us!

Wednesday evening, we checked out of the Aunt and Uncle’s house and into the hotel – the Royal Kona Resort. Our reservation was for the garden tower, but when we checked in, I explained to our lovely reservation clerk that it was our first (and probably Bridget’s only) trip to the Big Island (staying in a resort) and was there anything slightly nicer available? She moved us into the Ali Tower (which had been newly remodeled) with a garden view (but you could still see the ocean from our balcony). It was a great room. We settled in and went to bed early for our tour of the island in the morning. Apparently there are 13 types of climate zones in the world and the Big Island has 11 of them, so we were going to see them all!

We got up early so that we’d have plenty of time to get around the whole island. We kept getting warned that it takes 8 hours to drive the whole island, and that’s just driving time (now I know it really only takes about 5 hours of driving, unless you’re miss Daisy, which my Uncle probably is).

We hopped into the Jeep and started the trip right, by stopping at Burger King for breakfast sandwiches and coffee! Then we started the real trip. The road north was interesting. Obviously the desert or semi-arid area of the island. The roadside was dry brush and dark rock (on a volcanic island, go figure!). As with any rocky country with bored teenagers near it, graffiti coated the landscape to either side of the road. But these teenagers (or other industrious folks) had gotten creative. Instead of using spray paint, they used white rocks. I tried to get pictures, but they blurred while from driving and I wasn’t about to stop traffic on a two-lane highway for graffiti pictures. Bridget did get a nice shot of Mauna Kea, the highest mountain peak on the island (and in the world, if measured from the ocean floor).

We were aiming for a road that would’ve saved us an hours drive, but somehow missed any signs indicating the road (there were none. Turns out it was a continuation of our favorite road -Palani).

But we got to see the climate change from arid to rainy to VERY rainy (apparently, it rains a lot in a rain forest, whodathunk?) We drove until we found the first of the waterfalls we wanted to see, Akaka falls. They were gorgeous. And rainy. Admittedly, there were breaks in the rain, but we were always a little soggy.

Then we had lunch (during which it rained) and saw Rainbow Falls and the Boiling Pots. Now, we heard the boiling pots were “just up the road”, and decided to try hiking a path to see them. This was our first indication that we were dressed completely inappropriately for this adventure. We were in our sandals and sleeveless shirts hiking in muddy, rainy forest. And did we bring jackets? Of course not, Hawaii is warm and sunny, right?

We continued on to the volcanoes, feeling the temperature drop with each mile. We’d planned to hit the volcanoes around dusk to see the lava flows better, all glowy in the dark. Our first stop is the souvenir shop – to pick up jackets for our dumb asses (but hey, now I have a cool volcano jacket). And we drive to the volcano craters and look around. Did I mention it’s raining again? The craters smoked and glowed a bit. We got to walk through an old lava tube. We saw lava flows from the past. But no flowing lava.

We drove down the windy path until it was almost full dark, to see the lava flow down the mountain into the ocean. And we drove. And drove. We finally came to the end of the road and got to hike a mile to where the active flows were usually visible and an old lava flow had crossed the road. It’s full dark and we see…nothing. The lava decides that it’s not flowing today or at least not visibly. It’s flowing into the tubes.

So we get back into the Jeep and drive around the rest of the island, about 2 hours, back to the hotel. Bridget decides she’s tired and goes right to bed. It’s only 10 PM and I want a drink. So, I wander down to the hotel bar and have a Mai Tai. I also strike up a conversation with a guy from Australia, who didn’t get his helicopter tour and is hoping to get one tomorrow. He’s ok, but just interesting to talk to, not hot. The bartender, on the other hand, is hot. But working. So, after my drink, I wander up to bed. Tomorrow is for using the resort to its fullest.

Bridget and I decided that we wanted to try scuba diving well before our trip was finalized. We debated about when to go, whether to get certified before-hand, etc. In the end, we figured that we’d play it by ear and try it out. The Kona Boys in Captain Cook helped immensely with that.

When we stated our desire to Uncle Eugene, he stopped off at the Kona Boys Surf and Scuba shop. They had what’s called a scuba tour, which means you get an hour or two of instruction, then you go on two 30-minute (or so) dives. If you like it, you can go on toward your certification. If not, you got to dive. So, we signed up for the day after Christmas.

We arrived at 8:00 a.m. The instructor-in-training was there to fit us out with wet-suits, gear and flippers. I bought a cheap, underwater camera (the one I ordered hadn’t arrived…grumble). And off we went, to the city of refuge, one of the premier scuba and snorkel locations in the world.

Once we got there, we were given all the basic instructions. This goes here, that goes there, check your equipment, use toothpaste for anti-fogger, here are the signals for underwater, etc. We practiced putting on our rigs. We inflated and deflated our vests. We got weight belts. We got geared up and trudged over to the water.

Then we were at the water, a place called two-step (there are two natural steps down into the water). We launch ourselves into the water and release the air from our vests. As we sink, it’s a whole different world. Mostly full of bubbles and the sound of me breathing into my own ears. I sink. I look around. According to our instructor, if you say you don’t freak out a bit during the first five minutes, you’re lying. And I did. Not to the point of panicking or thrashing, but getting used to breathing through a tube clenched between my teeth is a bit disconcerting, with bubbles constantly being expelled and no peripheral vision, yeah, I’m a little uneasy. But my instructor, a master diver, has me take his arm and swim for a few minutes to get my bearings and then I’m fine.

Because we weren’t certified, we had both the master diver and the instructor in training with us. That way, if one of us freaked out, one could take the freaked one up and the other could keep an eye on the remaining brave soul. Luckily, both Bridget and I are naturally inclined toward water. We love swimming and caught on to the rhythm of it quickly.

We swam for 30-minutes the first dive to a depth of 30 feet. We saw coral, fish and two sea turtles! It was fabulous. Our instructor took our picture with one.

After we surfaced, we took a break and discussed our breathing techniques, swimming abilities and vowed to do better (even though they were both amazed at how well we did. Apparently, I’m a good breather and Bridget is a total natural.I needed to stop swimming with my arms).

We had a snack, water, then went back for our second dive. This time we went down further. We swam to the edge of the reef and I did have to pause momentarily. It looked steep. But after a couple seconds, I was ready and down we went to 70 feet. It was truly amazing.

Then we came up to reality, tired as dogs. We thanked our instructors and went home to nap until it was time to pack up from the Aunt and Uncle’s house and check into our hotel…