By the time we arrive in Copenhagen it is around 9:00 on Tuesday morning, thanks to the miracle of west to east air travel. After stepping off of the flight, we all pass through security, at which I hear one of the airport workers tell a woman is only a necessity for the passengers coming from the United States flights. During this process we are all confused about our film again as the blond-haired, blue-eyed security woman tells us our film won?t be a problem. (So which one is it?) Everyone has a terrible feeling that our pictures are going to develop as giant white blobs. At this point I am grateful I have brought the digital camera.

From the security point we walk through a gate where nice gentlemen stamp our passports. Mrs. Stoenner has been told that the airport in Copenhagen is relatively small so we will have no problem getting from gate to gate. She was misinformed. This thing is one long shopping mall from start to finish. I feel like I am at a mall with airplanes parked outside just for kicks! We start to pick up the pace because the flight is technically supposed to be boarding. However, as we start to discover, nothing associated with Italy or Italians is ever on time! Everyone is sitting in the tiny terminal reading a paper and we come in panting out of breath with rosy cheeks. I feel very foreign and very American. The girls are all talking very loud which is making me slightly embarrassed because as we are not in America anymore, no one is talking as loud as us.

Eventually we board the flight, which is more than half empty, and every one has seats separated from each other. The flight is relatively short in comparison to the last fiasco, and I am sitting on the aisle next to an older man at the window. Halfway through the flight I can look over him and see the Alps, which are absolutely breathtaking with the snowy white peaks and steep slopes.

When we land in Milan, we all head down to the baggage claim, where about 30 Middle Eastern looking kids (maybe they were Albanian) are either sleeping on benches with luggage or walking around the area. I remember what everyone has told me about sneaky little gypsy children and protectively clutch my purse close to me. Everyone?s luggage comes except for Hannah?s, so she and her mother go off to find it. Ten minutes later they have not returned so I go to find them where they inform me that they were standing in the wrong line?that?s Italian bureaucracy for you. While they wait in the line they hope is correct, the rest of us girls decide to go through Customs without them to let the tour director know what is going on. As I brace myself to go through customs, we walk pass German Shepards being held by security guards, who are definitely paying more attention to our behinds than our luggage.

Beyond the German Shepards I see a funny looking man with a clipboard who must be our tour director. So much for customs, I guess that was it. As we explain the situation, our tour guide, Mansel David, who looks like fatter Willy Wonka, takes us over to the group from Illinois. The airport security guards are possibly even more useless then the American TSA officers, as their main job is pretty much to walk around in groups wearing their crazy neon blue and orange jump suits, checking out women.

When we reach the Illinois group, they are composed of about ten high schoolers and ten parents/teachers. They are pretty calm and keep to themselves. Eventually Hannah and Mrs. Stoenner come to meet us and tell us that the airline is going to send Hannah?s luggage directly to the airport. Everyone walks out to the tour bus together where we meet Salvatore, who is to be our Italian bus driver until we arrive in Nice. Mansel then informs us that we must wait for the last group from Tennessee who has missed a connecting flight. So for the next four hours we spend our time wandering around the Milan Malpensa airport, which basically means sitting around looking at the Italians. I also discover that the men and women?s bathrooms face each other, and when one is exiting the women?s bathroom, one has a full view of men standing at the urinal.

Eventually the group from Tennessee arrives and we can begin our journey to Venezia. This group of kids is the most obnoxious group I have ever met. Most of them have just graduated and it is obvious they have come on this trip to do some drinking. The bus ride is expected to be about four and a half hours, but it ends up being much more due to the need for bathroom breaks and the traffic jams. I had the window seat during this time so I could look at all of the scenery, but I spend most of the time looking down into people?s cars. For the most part, people just look up at me and smile and wave.

The scenery along the highway is gorgeous, though much more industrial than I had imagined, and the people drive like madmen. Every five minutes there is a beautiful cathedral or a castle, something that I am definitely not used to seeing in the states. Eventually we arrive in a small tourist town called Lido di Jesolo, where we will be staying because it would be way too expensive to actually stay in Venice. There are people walking all over the place or riding bicycles, and hardly anybody driving a car. We drive for a couple of minutes looking for our hotel until we discover that the main street closes at night so that people can stroll without worrying about being hit by crazy Italians.

Our hotel, the Hotel International, is modest and located right off the main street. There is a neon green glow around the ground floor of the hotel, but it might just be the bright green awnings that are throwing me off. After about five minutes we proceed to our rooms, which means dragging our suitcases up five flights of stairs. I am rooming with Britt and Allie.

My initial reaction to our hotel room is shock. I was expecting modest conditions, but I wasn?t actually expecting to get modest conditions, if that makes any sense whatsoever. The room is about the size of our dining room, and contains three twin beds, a small TV and a bathroom, as well as a view down to the street. The window is my favorite part of the room because the windowpanes open and give way to a sea green colored shutter that can be opened and closed as well. The bathroom itself is an entirely different experience. When we open the door, a sink is straight ahead, a toilet and a badÅ e, which is out of order, to the right, and a showerhead to the left. The shower is literally like turning on a hose without water pressure, and when we take showers the entire bathroom floods! Fortunately, not everything is drenched because there is a ?shower curtain? that looks like it is being held up by a broken umbrella.

After dumping our suitcases and looking longingly at our beds, everyone heads downstairs for dinner. Brittany, Allie, and I choose to sit at a table towards the back of the room. On top of the bright red tablecloth is a basket of stale bread (apparently the Italians love this stuff because it is hard everywhere here), a pitcher of water, and an assortment of oils. The waiters, whom I believe also own the hotel, bring everyone out a pasta dish, which reminds me of my dad?s macaroni and cheese with beef. By this time I am stuffed, but nevertheless we are encouraged to visit the salad bar before the second course comes. What?? I just had dinner! I pass on the salad bar and try to convince myself that I can eat a second course. The second course is a veal dish with beans. I was not convincing enough. I can?t eat it. Desert comes, which is a big bowl of fruit, and we all decide to go walk around the town for a while and see what is going on.

The main street of Lido di Jesolo is very vivacious. All of the tourist trap shops are open, though it seems no one is inside any of them, and everyone is either strolling the streets with their girlfriends or boyfriends, or sitting down to eat a meal. Keep in mind by this time it is about 10:30. The Europeans all eat very late. As we pass one restaurant the waiter says ?Ciao,? but none of us respond and he mutters something annoyingly in Italian of which I can make out nothing except for a lot more ?ciao?s.? We all guess he is saying something like, ?stupid Americans, I hate tourists.? Some of us decide we should get Euros for tomorrows trip to Venice, so we go in search of an ATM machine. Without any luck in that department, we walk into one of the chit shops and I see a woman singing along to a song in Spanish. I ask her if she speaks Spanish and she does! I am able to carry on a conversation with her, which is the highlight of the evening for me mind you, and she basically tells me that there is no ATM or bank near that is open at this time of night. Tired and spent, we all head back to our hotel rooms where we fall asleep to the sounds of really bad karaoke coming from the streets.

So the journey begins with a rendezvous at the parking lot of the Airport Hilton Hotel as I discover what an excellent packer I am (or think I am) while comparing my modest suitcase to the monstrosities of those of my friends. The tour company had asked us to keep the weight of the baggage under 44 pounds, and I think mine had only weighed out around thirty-five. Hannah, Brittany, Allie, and Natalie are all there waiting with their parents and everyone is excited with anticipation. From there we all drive to the airport, check baggage (with a little commotion over whether our film should go through the x-ray machines), take a few pictures while we are all Europe virgins, say our goodbyes, and proceed to the gate. The plane ride to Newark (which in fact is in New Jersey ? not New York as we have to explain to Natalie) passes rather quickly thanks in part to the crossword puzzle with which Hannah and I busy ourselves with.

Once in Newark we find the International terminal and go in search of food. Eventually we find a Sabaro and I am satisfied by a stromboli, American style. Behind us in the miniature food court where we eat is an Italian couple and I start to get excited about going to Italy (as if I wasn?t already excited enough). There are also a good number of men with yamakas, which is kind of strange, but maybe there was an Israeli flight around there somewhere. Eventually we walk down to the gate to board the flight to Copenhagen. At security we are held up for about 15 minutes (thanks to the ever pervasive problem of the film in the x-ray machine) while some Hispanic girl checks to make sure our film wont explode mid-way through the flight. We had been putting it off because once you passed the point of security there was no return and no food inside the gate area.

The Scandinavian Airline gate area is a large circular area with flights going to all parts of Scandinavia (go figure). I am surprised by the number of pale blonds in the terminal and feel at home. These are my people! The people waiting for the flight to Stockholm, Sweden are especially interesting. All of the younger one’s are very indie and there is even a band traveling together. I wonder if they were trying to catch a break in NYC and they are returning home. It seems like all of the cool bands come from Sweden anyway

After several hours and many card games later, we are ready to board the plane to Copenhagen. As we board, we are greeted by the flight attendants who all look alike (blond hair and blue eyes). This is beginning to be a pattern with the Scandinavians. Although it is an eight-hour flight, I am lucky enough to have an aisle seat next to Hannah. Across the aisle from me sitting at the window is an older Danish couple (who order quite a bit of alcohol throughout the flight). The older man smells terrible and I have the pleasure of smelling all when he periodically leans across me to remove items from the overhead compartment. In front of the couple is a funny looking man probably in his mid-thirties with a pale face, bug eyes, and a cherub nose. His calves are huge but his skin is so pale I feel like I can see right through to his veins and muscles. Hannah and I find it quite amusing how daintily he eats he food and drinks his tea, but then shoves his yogurt into his face. Behind us ten or so rows back is a Japanese group that could not have been louder if they had tried. I was under the impression that the Japanese were a quiet group, but these guys are the exception to the rule, and the bain of my existence as I try to sleep. The Danish people have apparently decided as an entire nation that it is a good idea to walk barefoot or in socks throughout the cabin, as no one is wearing their shoes.

The airplane food itself is a whole new experience. For dinner we are given the typical salad, bread, and meat combo, but for breakfast we are given sandwiches. And I?m not talking sweet bread, breakfast kind of sandwiches ? if such a thing even exists. These monsters are double layered, hard-core sandwiches with ham, cheese, tomatoes, mustard, peppers, and lettuce. The six of us look at each other with blank stares that would have said, ?What the hell do we do with these??ÿ What?s great is that the Scandinavian people down these babies like they haven?t eaten ? ever. During my wonderful meal (of which I managed to eat some creamy substance that resembled orange yogurt) I watch Tom Cruise?s eyes fall out of his head in Minority Report, one of ten movie selections available from the personal television screens in front of every seat. The super-cool television screens also let you see where you are currently located on a map as well as look at views from cameras located on the belly of the plane and from the cockpit.

For the house next door, summer went out with a (very big) bang. An electrical storm struck yesterday afternoon and a lightning bolt blew a hole the size of cannon ball shot. Being a short distance away we can tell you that the retort from the strike was deafening and the flash the color of sun with reddish peripheral tinge. I can only imagine that the structure must have rattled too. The occupants were unharmed but in the excitement of the moment the fire department got called. Aside from the gaping dark hole left in the wall, there was a small problem in that the charging FD brigade, traipsing upstairs in their black fire fighting boots, tracked a little wet mud. The carpet was installed new 2 weeks ago…

The S’man does the scuba. I’m proud of him. The second highlight was a free dive. Grabbing a lung full I pointed head down and kicked fins for the bottom. My arrival suprised a divemaster and her gang. I received silent underwater applause and, via hand signal, the depth from her wrist meter — 27 ft.

I don’t know why I was thinking our excursion today would be an lazy African Queen style sight see. The brochure didn’t specifically give away the surprise. Our Na Pali coastline exploration was aboard a HIGH SPEED Zodiac piloted by great-BIG-Polynesian guy. He gunned his twin outboards just outside of the breakwater jetty and in a flash of foaming spray we were leaping from wave to wave hanging on with both hands and a least one toe looped under a hike out line. So. This is what it’s like to be a Green Peace commando… Aside from the thrills we did see some shoreline cliffs that rated very high on our scenic beauty and splendor meters. Too bad that the famed waterfalls were mostly dry. The tour operator could have doubled their rates. The sun shone brightly on us today. What a rush!

a.k.a. Fanning Island is an atoll with population 150. Their main economic link to the world was a relay station for the Trans-Pacific cable until NCL started weekly lifeline visits. The people here don’t exactly rely on the tourists who arrive like clock work every Wednesday but an anthropologist could certainly do an interesting study on how outsiders have made an impact. Especially, when the cruise line one day (now that cabotage rules are being re-written) ups and stops coming. I’d read derogatory reports about this stop on the cruise so my expectations were rather low. Never the less, first born child and I decided to brave the life boat tender for a look see. We were pleasantly surprised and enjoyed our visit to this unspoiled place afterall.

We are enroute to the South Pacific. 110 miles from Hilo. Only 987 miles to go, which means that we’ll be entertaining ourselves shipboard for the next two nights and all of one day. Seas are reported ‘Rough’ which equates to 7.5 to 12 foot swell. Sure doesn’t look it from our station, deck 11. The wind is piping, however. 32 knots from the NE. You can see the spray blown off of some of the whitecaps in the turbulence of the lee side of the ship. Even still the boat is making 23 knots. Not too shabby.

AR standing amidst the carnage takes a healthy power bar break. Slipstream from a passing tourbus caused a little wobble from her front wheel. ‘Course, it didn’t help that she’d left the handle bars unattended while making a friendly wave and salute. (Don’t scare me like that next time 🙂 We enjoyed a beautiful ride on the crater rim of the Kilauea Caldera passing through rainforest and desert. Included was a side excursion tip-toe through the dark Thurston Lava Tube. Our guide described a lot about what makes the earth tick and offered up many explanations for what we saw before us. (Pele’s fault mostly) The desert area was in stark contrast to the typical and expected Hawaiian lush green tree fern flora. This devastation trail resembled a rock strewn Martian lunarscape. Steam, volcanic smoke, and sulfur gas oozed from primordial rocks. I overheard a bit of humor on the trek out of this historic natural hell. A woman perceived the volume of steam to have intensified from her observations when going in. Someone, in his calmest gentlemanly school teacher voice assured her: “okay everyone — let’s hurry back to the bicycles…”

Surfs up! I tried to catch the BIG ONE this afternoon and got beat up. I was a little late on the timing. The wave made an abrupt break and I fell over the top. Luckily I was spun broadside and thereby avoided the dreaded break-your-neck-head stand, but ended up body slammed on the shallow seabed just the same. The final insult before being held down, pummeled, and then raked across the rough sand by its turbulence. I have tender ribs and skin removed from my arm (roadrash) to vouch for my performance. Oh! Did I not mention that when I came up for a look around, the LEASH tethered to my boogie board (the other end is velcroed to my wrist) had somehow taken a dally around my neck? Talk about crossed up. Mother nature must have been ROTFL.

The Captain’s Choice SCUBA was a real highlight although sometimes the adventure is in the journey and this proved true today. Our Mexican piloto was a newbie and didn’t quite have the hang of the docking approach procedure. It was painful to watch as he would maneuver parallel to the pier but then was unable to raft up close. He would sea saw forward and reverse trying to close the gap but his technique wasn’t working. For one thing, the single screw craft (due to the direction of shaft rotation) would not back-to-right. If he’d only swing his vessel around he’d look like a pro. Heck, with the prevailing wind he could relax on the controls and drift down on it. Finally, after many tries his deck crew get a line ashore and I’m having my doubts, knowing that we will have to go through this same chinese fire drill to get back!

The reef that we dove was very fine. I saw some large snapper a few barracuda, an eel, and an extremely large lobster along with the usual grand colorations and schools of angel fish. Our dive master was careful to make sure that we respected this protected area. My old school understanding was that this meant that you couldn’t take items or game, but these days it also means ‘don’t touch/disturbe anything’. Those who so much as kicked up sand on the bottom were chastised. That’s okay but whereas you’d grab hold of a rock piece or corral head to steady yourself (to better view the reef in close up perspective) we could only drift with the current and float on by. 40 minutes later, when our air supply was exhausted, we’d surface and set a red diver balloon. Luckily our Mexican skipper would come find us.