(I want you to know that I am spending good money on internet access, so blogging may be kind of rushed.)
Well, we made it, after eleven hours in transit, only five of which were actually spent going anywhere. Getting there, when it involves modern air travel, really isn’t any portion of the fun.
Getting to the airport had an extra element of adventure, as our ride (Megan’s friend Raquel) was under the impression that we were leaving from Oakland, rather than the more accurate San Francisco. Fortunately, we got it straightened out before we actually got on 880, though time constraints caused her to have to drop us off at the BART station. Which was entirely not a problem, because getting through security took all of about seven minutes. Plus a little extra on the other side, because they pulled Megan out for further searching, seeing as she is such a highly suspicious individual.
The Pride of Aloha is a US-flagged ship, which means it can sail around Hawaii without having to stop in at a foreign port, but it also means that it has to have an all-American crew, which costs more than the usual Caribbean/Eastern European mix. So I think that to remain competitive, they have had to cut corners in other places. Like the beds, for instance, which are highly ergonomic slabs of concrete, each with one thin blanket. Or the soap and shampoo, which come out of dispensers in the bathroom. But it’s all good. After all, how bad could it be? We’re in Hawaii.