The Story of the Not-Greatest Day in Hawaii began with a long study session, was followed by a yummy dinner, and ended with a boat ride. The Not Greatest Day, was, for all that, not the worst not greatest day ever, somewhere between the only moderately not good to definitely leaning toward bad day, on the scale of Day quality, to clarify.
Perhaps that did not clarify. Tuesday began with a morning full of studying World History. I was in the hotel by myself, which was not terrible. I got a lot of work done. I learned about the colonization of the Americas. A summary would state that it was not awesome to be a native american. A very euphemistic summary.
In the afternoon Tenley, Dad, and Rico came back from a snorkeling trip. Reports stated that it was fun. It was then time to prepare to leave for the planned nighttime activities. Riley and Mom returned from their investigation of Hawaii Pacific University, impressed by its location, but indifferent to its academics. So it goes.
We left for Kona, one of two biggish cities on the island. We ate dinner, I was healthy and ordered a salad, all the while stealing greasy onion rings from Tenley's plate. Good times, man!
We left for the night activity, all peppy and excited. As we walked to a dock outside the King Kamehameha Hotel, we discussed the coolness of the engagement which we were about to participate in.
You may be wondering what we were discussing and I shall tell you! We were about to snorkel with Manta Rays! I am using many exclamation marks (!) but I fear it is not communicating how cool I still think this is! Here is one more!
We approached a big, wobbly-looking boat. Energetic college students gave us waivers to sign, should we encounter the Loch-Ness monster. They were so fun and cheerful! We would definitely be friends land-side I thought, impressed with my use of the word land-side.
We boarded the boat and ascended the stairs to the upper lounge area, where we continued our discussion of our super creative tourist-activities. I prided myself on my immunity to sea-sickness. After a 45 minute journey up the coast we arrived at a probable looking location and stopped. I wondered why we hadn't left from the dock 300 feet away, but dismissed my qualms. Think Manta!
We dawned our wet suits. After a struggle with my zipper I was ready to commune with the rays.
We entered the water, and waited for our wet suits to heat up. I felt proud of my knowledge of the mechanics of wet suits. (Crash course- a wet suit creates a layer of water around you that is the same as your body temperature. It is supposed to take a second to start working, and I kept this in mind as I floated in the chilly night water.) I wondered it was a problem that water rushed in through my sleeves and neck hole, onto my back, but truthfully it did not seem very important. I was thinking manta.
We all braced ourselves for the arrival of the mantas. We remained braced for...a while. After a half hour or so it occurred to me that perhaps I did not like the cold water rushing on to my back. I felt guilty about it, but my enthusiasm waned. Well, its nobody's fault, really, the lack of mantas.
Minutes passed and as I listened to Rico make involuntary cold puppy noises, I wondered if I could warm up on the boat a bit. My intention was to return to the water after a few minutes. I communicated this to the super nice swimmer guy, and he obliged. My communication was a series of semi-articulate brrrrr noises and a shivering motion, accompanied by a sheepish smile. I may not have been operating at 100% of my mental capacity. I sat on one of the metal benches that formed the perimeter of the boat, I felt oddly confident that I would not follow through with my intention to return to the water, the temperature of which had been steadily dropping since our arrival. A few moments passed and Riley emerged from the water looking peppy still, but slightly worse for wear. After another five minutes Rico joined us looking like, well, a 95 pound sea-sick fashionista who had been floating in chilly water for the better part of an hour. She smiled obligingly and shivered in a corner, wondering what the weather was like in Fujisawa. A forlorn college student guide shouted into the water to "Think Manta" and rung her hands fretfully. These were dark times.
My mother emerged from the water and when I jokingly urged her to "Think Manta" I received the a look equivalent to the wrath of one thousand unfriendly poodles. Soon everyone quitted the water and the guides insisted the whole situation was very unusual and that everyone should dry off and have a Mai Thai. I peeled off my wet-suit and thanked my lucky stars that I had brought dry underwear.
I remained as motionless as I could, my hair plastered against one side of my face, a face that had gone almost completely without color. The boat lurched forward, passed the more logically located dock, and swayed offensively back and forth. As the temperature dropped further still, I felt my pep die. No pep, spongebob, no pep!
The movement of the boat grew more bothersome to me. The smell of my sneakers, frightful enough to curl even Riley's hair, did not aid my now enraged stomach. The smell of the bathroom where I changed did not help either, and neither did being in small stinky room with no windows and the world's most noxious sneaker fumes. I don't like wearing socks, what can I say?
I returned to my mother's side. Since I had left her, she had braced herself against a way, assumed the fetal position, and covered her head with a towel. I could not tell you how the towel helped sea-sickness, but I also did not feel brave enough to ask.
I stared at the horizon and convinced myself that I was not seasick, since I had done voyageurs. I'm not sure how these two ideas were connected, but as I mentioned earlier, I may not have been operating at my full brain power.
My stomach was revolting. It fought to gain my attention. I would not let it. I sat quietly on the bench, looking like Andy Serkis in the Return of the King, not when he is Gollum, and not when he is Smeagol, but in the doubly horrifying in between phase. (The part when he grabs the fish out of the lake and eats it. I didn't do this, but I looked like I had the potential to.)
I sat, my face colorless, and my body increasingly certain that vomiting was on the horizon. I wasn't sure what the procedure was; the last time I vomited in public was in elementary school, after eating a portion of "wacky" cake that had been left behind by a fifth grader. Ah, those were the days!
I was confident that you weren't actually supposed to throw up over the side of the boat and that this was one of the misconceptions people got from watching Disney movies. Or maybe it was just that you weren't supposed to brush your hair with a fork. (This doesn't stop me from trying.) I was informed that vomiting of the side of the ship was just fine after vomiting on the deck approximately six times. I exaggerate. Four times. I have a sneaking suspicion that the college interns received a generous tip from my dad that night.
I felt renewed and rejuvenated! I was a rising sun! When I told this to my mom she said I would make her sick. Some people.
When we got off the boat my dad jokingly mentioned that for all that, I was the only one who actually got sea sick. Over the next half hour, everyone but my dad and Riley excused themselves to vomit in a shrub. Do you remember what I said about there being dark times?
I stood in the hotel lobby and smiled, for I was no longer ill! Being sea sick is one of the top 7 worst things, but Not being sea sick is one of my top 4 favorite things. This is good, because I live in North Texas.
So in conclusion, we might not be cut out for a seafaring life. I think Rico put it best when she said, "Can we do no more boat?" I can roll with that.
Notice the distinct lack of pep.
*the warning light did turn out to be nothing.