I recently returned from vacation, during which I somehow earned the reputation as the “office jetsetter.”
As someone who has a 99-percent empty passport, I found this distinction amusing and—mostly—puzzling.
In fairness, I traveled a bit further afield than Burlington County last month. I ventured to Hawaii, which required 20 hours on airplanes, round trip. So, I was more of a jetsitter than a jetsetter.
The flights gave me plenty of time for reflection and a head start on my now-annual vacation tradition: making obvious observations that I can somehow work into a column and make my boss feel better since I was thinking about work during my time off.
So, without further delay, the witticisms:
A pain in the knee
One of the best parts of flying is when the person in front of you decides the 31 inches between the front of her seat and the front of yours is simply too much space. Concerned about your safety and comfort, she reclines her chair enough to ensure you’re firmly wedged into your seat, no matter what kind of turbulence befalls the airplane.
Such a kind stranger sat in front of me on my flight home from Honolulu, and she seemed content giving less than two inches of cushion (I measured) between my knees and her seat. She practically sat—or lay—on my lap for the entire 10-hour, 5,000-mile flight. (I know, I know—“Cry me a river; you went to Hawaii. Economy class to Paradise not cushy enough for ya, Kahuna?”)
To reassure her of my well being, I would periodically check in with her during the flight. I would vary my methods, just to keep things fresh. Some times, I would vigorously play video games on the touchscreen embedded into her seat’s headrest. Other times, I would stretch my left leg into the aisle by her seat and wave my socked foot at her. Just to say, “Hi.”
But mostly my greetings were accidental, the result of attempting to move my legs or, say, breathe.
Most people, when faced with 10 hours of socks in the face, knees in the back and pokes to the head, would adjust their seat’s position to achieve greater personal comfort. But not this brave soul.
After we landed, she groggily turned to her travel companion and said, “I didn’t sleep one bit.”
Where ‘Lilo and Stitch’ was filmed
A guide’s job is to make the area being toured seem as important as possible.
So, when one guide drove us through a village on the island of Kauai, he tried to impress his group by announcing, “This is the town where Disney’s ‘Lilo and Stitch’ was filmed.” I actually was impressed for a millisecond, until I realized the movie in question was animated. A cartoon.
The driver eventually acknowledged that scouting for “Lilo and Stitch” and not the actual filmmaking was done on Kauai. But, then, we drove by an open field with a dramatic, mountainous backdrop that looked straight out of Steven Spielberg’s “Jurassic Park.” The driver informed us that we weren’t mistaken; the location had indeed been a setting in the film.
This information fully convinced us to accept the guide’s notion of Kauai as a full-time movie set. Not that he needed to do this.
The Hawaiian islands are places with vivid, varied landscapes that occasionally seem like they shouldn’t be mashed together on one dot of land.
So, several times during the week, I and others around me used the only reference point we had, and compared our surroundings to Hollywood magic. A lava tube was “just like a ride in Disney World.” A spectacular sunrise was “something you’d see in a movie.” When we hiked under the jungle canopy and into a downpour that materialized from nowhere, we joked it was like we were at Rainforest Cafe—where a pre-programmed “thunderstorm” magically appears every 20 minutes.
There was a time people would say the opposite—that a movie or a theme park was just like real life. But it appears a physical experience is no longer necessary. In 2013, a magical time is only as far away as the nearest movie theater or WiFi hotspot.
Here comes the sun
In July, Hawaii receives 13 hours of sun each day. In mid-July, Hamilton receives a tad less than 15 hours of sun.
So, Mercer County actually enjoys more summer sun than Maui. (But don’t gloat. Winter temperatures in Hawaii are only about seven degrees colder than in summer. The average low in January in Maui is 64 degrees.)
My internal clock got all out of whack on vacation, with darkness coming earlier in the day on top of the six-hour time change. Thanks to the earlier bedtimes, I managed to see four sunrises in one week. I believe this is more than I’d seen in the rest of my life combined.
But I was glad for the experience, and at least one was more than worth the effort of crawling out of bed before dawn.
On Maui, there is a huge volcano called Haleakala, which forms about 75 percent of the island. Haleakala has a crater that is more than 10,000 feet tall, 7 miles across and 2 miles wide. Although Haleakala could still erupt, its summit has become a popular place to watch the sun rise. Watching the sunrise atop Haleakala even has been listed as one of the “1,000 things to do before you die.” Or while you die, should the volcano decide to spew while camera-wielding tourists are snapping 800 photos of the sun coming up.
To get to the summit, you have to wake early—usually around 3 a.m. It’s about a two-hour drive up the winding mountain road from most tourist areas on Maui, and park rangers can turn people away if the summit gets too crowded. It’s also cold, somewhere in the high 30s when I visited.
As the sun rises, it begins to light the red, dusty crater and reveals that those on the summit are standing above the clouds. It quickly becomes clear there are few places on Earth you can experience something like this. And, suddenly, rude airline passengers, annoying road detours and the constantly breaking “home” button on your smartphone don’t really matter.
It sounds hippy-dippy, but I started to feel, in that moment, the only thing that mattered was now.
Out of the frying pan and into the fire
Of course, vacation ends eventually, the Free Spirit version of you has to go back to whichever Hot Yoga studio whence it came, and you re-commence suburban traditions like complaining about the weather.
I jumped back into it with gusto because I didn’t realize that, while I was gone, someone decided to make the entire state of New Jersey a Hot Yoga studio. The temperature in Newark when I stepped off the plane was 97 degrees, also known as “60 degrees warmer than it is at the summit of Haleakala at sunrise.” I would’ve run up a 10,000-foot-tall volcano to get some relief from the heat.
But it was a fitting welcome since it reminded me of the charms of New Jersey in summer. Also, of the charms of air conditioning.
But the demand for cold air in the summer seems to be stressing a few people—not to mention, the power grid—out.
I came home from work one day during the recent heat wave to find the house warm and the air stagnant. It seems the air conditioning switched off at times during the day. The thermostat read, “Saving.”
Research revealed that PSEG customers—in exchange for a new thermostat and a one-time rebate—can allow the utility company to remotely switch off the air conditioner in your home at times of peak demand. I hesitate to admit this freaked me out a bit, especially after the revelations that wireless carriers and Internet companies are letting the U.S. government snoop in on our records.
This is dangerous stuff—I couldn’t help but imagine what spies could do with the knowledge I ordered pizza on Monday and like to keep the house at 72 at night.
But, then, the heat wave broke, and the “Saving” message went away. And I moved on to other pursuits, like talking about how busy I was at work and how it seemed like every road in Hamilton was under construction.
If I had learned anything on my summer vacation, it was to spend my moments on the important things, you know?
Connect with Rob Anthes at facebook.com/robanthes.
