0
0
There is nowhere more romantic than Hawaii. So when the internet said that the cheapest way to get to Arizona for a conference was via Honolulu I literally swooned. Who knew I’d end up on a honeymoon?
Turned out, this trip was to be abit like marriage and camping. Overrated.
It all started out well, with a relaxing, chauffeur-driven trip to the airport in my own car. Thanks Sach.
After that the wheels immediately fell off. Got to the check-in desk, handed over my passport and started filling in standard forms. When I looked up the check-in girl had left her post and taken my passport with her. Twenty minutes later I was still standing there, like a shag on a rock, with a rapidly increasing queue forming behind me and everyone directing nasty looks my way.
I craned my neck to see where the girl had gone. She was 50 metres away with a crowd of staff around her. I began to sweat. Had my identity been stolen? Was there a flag on my passport? Was I about to be arrested?
The girl finally returned and said: “Ms Keyes, can you please collect your bag and come with me?”
I replied: “Can you please tell me what the problem is?”
“Just come with me please.”
My heart was pounding by this time. I retrieved my bag from the weighing machine and followed her to the service desk. I looked around but there were no police. Phew.
The check in girl handed me over to the boss who said: “It appears that you don’t have a ticket. Can you please check your bank account to see if the payment was processed?”
Much farnarkelling later and it was established that I hadn’t, in fact, paid. They were able to process the payment and issue the ticket. Disaster averted, or so I thought.
But no. At the security line, my favourite French jeans that I’ve worn through airports all around the world made it seem like I had a “suspicious item” in the front of my pants. Old mate made me walk through again, this time, hitching the jeans up to Harry High Pants level. The b*%$ was still there. Of course the blokes couldn’t pat me down, so they called a girl over. She wasn’t having a bar of it either.
Then they started talking about taking me into a private room. More sweating. I countered with: “how about I just unzip the jeans and show you?” They looked even more alarmed at this.
Just in the knick of time a more sensible security girl came over and asked if I minded if she patted me down, to which I of course said “no, go ahead.” Low and behold – success. Her hand came away unscathed and I kept my pants on.
By the time I got to The House, which is the lounge I could access after just joining Priority Pass, I was nearly in tears.
The receptionist was lovely, made me tell her everything then ordered me to go and drink a glass of champagne ASAP.
The bartender did a sterling job of keeping that glass constantly filled. I also met a nice girl in the lounge who gave me some Valium. So the new rules are: don’t take drugs off strangers except Valium for a long flight. And don’t wear suspicious pants. I can’t remember the rest of the day, thanks to the Valium.
Now we get to the Honeymoon part. I arrived at the Sheraton Waikiki, my favourite Hotel in the whole world. They gave me my room 4 hours early. I went straight to the beach for sit swimming, followed by floating in the infinity pool while watching the turtles. I was surrounded by honeymooning couples. It was like an invasion. Christian, the singer at the Edge, sang me a great version of Don’t Stop Believing. If I only you knew, Christian. There is no hope.
I headed to Rum Fire, which is my favourite bar and the one where we saw Flippa from Hawaii Five-0 play last year. Adrian, the barman greeted me like an old friend and said: “Where’s your friend?” He missed you, Karen.
Five minutes later a stunning young woman sat down on the single seat next to me. I saw the flash of a big diamond on her left hand. I thought to myself, here is another honeymooner. What a shame. I idly wondered where the husband was but carried on having a drink and chatting with Adrian. The next time I looked over, there was no sign of the diamond.
Five hours later we were still there, drinking and sharing a meal. I was right, she was on her honeymoon. Unfortunately, it appeared that she’d married Wayne. Remember him? Wayne Kerr.
Wayne sent way too many text messages, despite her telling him she was fine. Eventually he turned up and sat on the other side of her in passive aggressive silence.
Adrian didn’t need to be told. He started putting our drinks on Wayne’s bill. We bought as many as possible before closing time.
At the end of the best night of her honeymoon I strongly encouraged my new friend to go home and watch the Heat. Especially the part with Rojas being interviewed, where he suggests to Sandra Bullock that she should run like she’s on fire.
We may have also discussed some of Tina’s other rules, like “it has to be better than staying home on the lounge by yourself.”
The two Tina rules I didn’t mention were: just do nothing and you can’t rule anything in or out. In this rare case this advice did not apply.
On a positive note, at least I went on a honeymoon in Honolulu.
