It was a trip we could not afford to take, to attend an event I was not willing to miss. In short our son, who’s been living in Honolulu for three years, was appearing in his first professional opera, in a principal role to boot, and we had never been to Hawaii because of this or that financial issue. Well, no excuse was going to keep me at home this time.

But wait. People don’t travel to Hawaii to see an opera.

Oh, no? These people do. Walk with me, dear reader.

It was a cold February morning when our son-in-law, a remarkable gentleman with a heart of gold, dropped Karen and me off at Chicago’s O’Hare Terminal 1, where we quickly checked our bags, secured wheelchair service for my wife, and proceeded on a long walk through the TSA security checkpoint and on to our gate. In no time at all, we were aboard a Boeing 787-10 Dreamliner and, after the our three hundred and some fellow passengers found their way to their seats, we were ready for a nine-hour sprint to the island of Oahu.

Despite flying economy, where we paid a small fortune to acquire three adjacent seats, each measuring 17.3″ wide and having 3″ of recline ability (per specs provided by United Airlines), our flight was reasonably comfortable. The windows didn’t have those pull-down shades. Instead they darkened electronically with the touch of a button. Less than an hour into the flight, they fed us breakfast. Six or seven hours later, we had a tiny salty/savory snack and a can of pop. The cabin temperature was above freezing, but I can’t say by how much. Fortunately, blankets were provided. Each one weighed a few ounces and was slightly wider than our seats.

Do I enjoy flying? No, not especially. Those who follow MGD Time know that I love taking road trips. Unfortunately, one cannot drive to Hawaii. But I digress.

In no time at all, give or take nine hours, we were in Honolulu. And after what seemed like an extraordinarily long walk from our arrival gate to the baggage claim, we grabbed our bags and proceeded outside to get picked up by our son. When John arrived, he ran over to hug us and drape leis over our heads. Then we quickly loaded up the car and headed into the city.

Let me say this about the city. Like nearly every other city of consequential size, Honolulu has some really nice parts and some not so nice parts. Parts of Waikiki reminded me of Chicago’s Magnificent Mile with it’s upscale shops, restaurants, hotels, and more. But just like our cities on the mainland, one needn’t go very far from the best places to find the homeless, the uncared for mentally ill, and questionable looking storefronts that may or may not still be in business, and at which travelers wouldn’t likely stop to find out.

What’s different about this city is that it’s on a tropical island in the middle of the Pacific Ocean. As a result, the beautiful parts are that much more beautiful. The sad parts are that much more sad. And as my son pointed out to me, those who have hit bottom in life can’t exactly thumb a ride and go elsewhere. They have in effect become prisoners of the island.

Unfortunately, son number one’s opera was opening that evening, and his call time was fast approaching, so he needed to hand us off to his future mother-in-law Kim, who was also in town to see John perform in his first opera. So once in the city, we pulled into the Hawaii Opera Theater company’s parking garage to switch cars. It’s a relatively small parking lot underneath a building, but I felt important because, as a posted sign announced, we were in a private parking area and nobody was asking why we were there. In fact a few people even waved and said hi to our son, the professional opera singer.

In due time, we were being dropped off at our hotel, the Hyatt Regency Waikiki Beach Resort and Spa, a twin-tower resort and convention complex complete with its own shopping mall, spa, tour services, restaurants, coffee shops, and more, so much more that they charge a daily resort fee to cover all of the “free” stuff you get by staying there — whether you use any of it or not. And before you say a word, I didn’t pick this place; that was our son’s doing. He knows a guy. What can I tell you.

Down at street level, space is at a premium and the undersized drop-off/pick-up/valet horseshoe drive is vicious busy most of the time. But once you step on the property, you’re on vacation and made to feel that way. By our son’s prior arrangement, we were given an accessible room with a view of the ocean from our balcony. A lifelong fan of waterfronts, I could have stood out there for hours, but my stomach and my wife reminded me that we needed to eat before it got much later.

As we were both too tired to strike out on our own, we opted to dine at one of the less fancy restaurants on the premises, a poolside establishment on the third floor that opened onto outdoor seating, the pool, and yet another view of the ocean, which I wasted no time taking in once we had ordered our meal and drinks.

I tend to avoid eating at hotel restaurants unless I’m there on business and have little or no choice. They tend to be overpriced, especially the bar. Now put the hotel in Hawaii, where most things costs more anyway, and then put it in Waikiki, where everything tends to be more expensive, even for Hawaii. I had a cheeseburger and fries (cue up Jimmy Buffet if you must) while Karen had the tempura fish and chips with a side of pineapple coleslaw that was actually quite tasty. She had a coke; I had two pints of a local beer. We walked out $80 lighter. Welcome to Hawaii.

The following morning I was up and out on our balcony, watching not only the swaying palm trees and ocean, but a fair number of surfers who were out hoping to catch a wave. Our first full day on island was an absolute hoot: the Aloha Stadium Swap Meet, a giant open air marketplace in the shadows of a large sports stadium that is no longer in use. Here one can find all manner of authentic Hawaiian souvenirs, crafts, foods, and more, all at prices that are below what what they charge at the tourist traps. Two bucks to get in (one for locals), free parking, and lots to see, but do wear sunscreen.

This happened to be Karen’s birthday and John wanted to make it special in his own way. After picking up some groceries and wine, we went back to the kids’ home in Manoa Valley, where our son prepared his version of stuffed peppers, a favorite of Karen’s, and along with some dear friends of John and Emma, Kim, Karen, and I spent the evening eating, drinking, and sharing many stories. Not very touristy, right? That’s exactly how Karen wanted to spend her birthday. It was awesome!

Karen and I had Sunday morning to ourselves and made the most of it by hanging out at our hotel and relaxing until it was time to get ready for our son’s matinee performance. Even though I’d like to convince you that I live for mornings like this, the truth is that it had been years since I spent a vacation morning doing nothing. Alas, my vacation schedules tend to take on some of the same characteristics of my work schedules, i.e. neither restful nor relaxing. But yeah, this was a nice way to just be somewhere, if only for a few hours.

A year or two ago, someone from the Hawai’i Opera Theatre, Hawaii’s premiere and oldest opera company, invited our son John to participate in their master class and he accepted. In short order, he began working for the company via some minor productions as well as their educational programs at area schools, both on Oahu and on Hawaii, aka Big Island. Last April, he was approached for a principal role in The Riot Grrrl on Mars, an English adaptation of Rossini’s Italian Girl in Algiers, one of HOT’s mainstage productions. After determining that this was not a practical joke, John accepted, a contract was executed, and eleven months later, Karen and I were in Hawaii to see our son, the opera singer.

We arrived at the Neil S. Blaisdell Concert Hall an hour early in order to hear a scheduled talk about the opera given by the musicologist Elina Hamilton out on the lanai. Neither Karen nor I had ever attended an opera, and I’m pretty sure this was the first time either of us had ever gone to hear a musicologist talking about one. Regardless, Dr. Hamilton turned out to be a delightful speaker and we were getting quite excited about the show.

The concert hall is of modern design and well thought out, with an unobstructed view from every seat. Although the opera is in English, I was thankful that the performance featured supertitles above the stage so that folks like me could follow along. The only drawback to supertitles is that they appear above the entire stage space, nowhere near the performers, so I sometimes found my head rapidly and relentlessly bobbing up and down as I tried to follow both simultaneously.

The opera itself was hilarious. Our son, who played Gnip, the captain of the Martian Guard, appeared confident and comfortable in his role. The brief YouTube video that I am including here is the only available clip that I know of from the live performance. For his proud parents, it was over far too soon, yet I remain glad that we had been there.

We waited outside to see John briefly before he and his fiancée headed off to an after-event involving supporters of the opera company. Karen and I went back to our hotel and as it had been pouring rain all evening, ended up back at the same restaurant before turning in for the night.

The few days that followed were devoted to spending time with John, Emma, and their friends, as well as with Emma’s mom. We went places and saw things, but not so much as tourists than as visitors. John and I even found time to slip away one evening to enjoy a few glasses of wine and some privileged father-and-son discussion time. That may not sound like much, but it’s one of the things I miss most about not having my son closer. This was our first in two years.

John took great pleasure in showing us around the island, to places outside of the city, where the natural beauty of Oahu could be experienced firsthand. Every so often we would stop somewhere to get out and look around. Yes, I spent plenty of time appreciating the ocean, but I was also quite enchanted by the abundant tropical flora. In the Midwest, we have four distinct seasons, sometimes all in the same week. In the Hawaiian Islands, they have two, wet season and dry season. We were there during wet season, but only one of our days could actually be described as rainy. On the other days, every so often, it would rain for a few seconds and then stop. Most of the time, it was sunny.

I remember one such time that I found most extraordinary. We had stopped at one of many beach parks around the island and John and I had wandered off to look around and chat. At one point, we sat down on a concrete bench with the beach to one side of us and a large Banyan tree across in the distance. The sun shone brightly as we surveyed the view. Then it started raining, not hard but not a drizzle, either. We looked up to see not a cloud in the sky above. The only possible culprit was miles away in the distance, and we could only assume that the wind had carried airborne rain from that cloud across the island to drop on us. This is not uncommon. It’s also why there are so many rainbows in Hawaii.

I found the Banyan Trees particularly captivating. They are plentiful on the islands, although not a native species. Also known as strangler figs, what begins as one tree eventually looks like an ever-expanding cluster of them. As I understand it, the branches drop aerial prop roots that in turn develop into woody trunks.

During one of our excursions, John showed us a huge Banyan tree with an open space in the center, presumably where the host tree once stood. I strolled into the open center and turned about, looking in awe at the many tall trunks that surrounded me. Had I been there on my own, with copious amounts of time to spare, I’d have remained in that space for a little while, just to breathe and appreciate the stillness within. I rather enjoy meditating with trees.

Karen and I had been looking forward to visiting the Bernice Pauahi Bishop Museum, aka Hawaii Museum of Natural & Cultural History, because John had worked there for a period of time and told us much about this institution. Named for Princess Bernice Pauahi Bishop, the last legal heir of the Kamehameha Dynasty, this is the largest museum in the state and houses the world’s largest collection of Polynesian artifacts. If you want to gain a better understanding of the original Hawaiian people, their history and culture — and how much of that culture nearly disappeared and why — this is the place to go.

I was astounded as well as saddened by much of what I learned, but I was also heartened by the activist revival of Hawaiian language and culture, which continues to this day. While touring the museum, we got to meet several of John’s former coworkers and learn about what each of them does for the museum.

While walking around at the museum, our son pointed out several exhibits that he had built. Until I saw these, it had never occurred to me that our son is capable of building fine furniture, yet chooses not to do so. He has his passions and follows those. I only wish I could have been more like him when I was younger and truly pursued my interests instead of merely dabbling in them.

I have to tell you about this place we stopped at while John was taking us around the island. We had been meandering up toward the North Shore of Oahu and wanted to stop somewhere for lunch. After doing some quick research, John drove a little farther and pulled into what might best be described as a food truck court on the Kamehameha Highway in Kahuku, and went directly to Taro Hut, a one-of-a-kind experience featuring, among other things, amazing smash burgers served on purple taro buns along with taro fries.

Taro is a tropical root vegetable and a staple food of the islands. This is what poi is made of. All I can say is that the purple taro buns were delightfully light as well as tasty. taro fries are less greasy than their potato counterpart. They are very crunchy outside and tender inside. The flavor is hard to pin down, definitely not a potato, but tasty nonetheless. Taro Hut is a true find and gets two thumbs up for me.

The last place we visited before preparing for our red-eye flight home was Pearl Harbor. We didn’t have much time, so we weren’t able to do a full tour. We were, however, able to board a boat to the USS Arizona Memorial. This was for me a somber, sobering experience. It’s one thing to watch videos or read about Pearl Harbor, or to hear someone else talking about it. It’s another thing entirely to be there, to stand there over the wreckage and the remains. The only way I can describe it is to say that I felt the presence of those who lay below.

I have never served in the military but I have a great deal of respect for those who have. It has long been my nature to celebrate life and mourn for the loss of life “before one’s time.” Thus it was impossible for me to visit Pearl Harbor and not be moved by the experience.

Then it was over. In what seemed like no time at all, Karen and I were back at Daniel K. Inouye International Airport, making our way through the USDA and TSA checkpoints before journeying clear across the facility to our departure gate. We spent the night flying back to Chicago. I don’t think either of us slept very much during the flight, but we did doze now and then.

It was a trip we could not afford to take, but I’m damned glad we took it. We got to see our son and future daughter-in-law for the first time in well over a year and witness John’s entry into professional opera. Karen and I had finally made it to Hawaii, maybe for the only time, but who knows. I had taken my first trip off the North American continent. And we had gotten a taste, albeit a brief one, of a Polynesian paradise.

I don’t know whether this is unusual or not, but I never found myself wishing I could stay and live in Hawaii. Oahu is a beautiful place, especially away from the city. The ocean views and plant life are both awe-inspiring to me. And not once during our trip did I complain about the temperature. But I always felt my role to be that of a visitor, that I was there to experience and appreciate this island in the middle of the Pacific Ocean and then go home.

As always, thanks for hanging with me. For whatever it’s worth, it’s windy, cold, and snowing outside my window as I finish writing this for you, but it sure feels great to be home!