Aloha, Honolulu

Honolulu is not shown on my itinerary, but we’ve made a stop here for supplies and fuel.  Some of the crew gets shore leave (not the waiters or housekeeping staff), but the Semester at Sea folk stay on board.  A few people are unhappy, like the student whose grandfather lives here and wants to go to dinner (or is that a ruse?), but most are content to have the bonus time to chat with friends back east.  I also see fat packages of mail that will be distributed.  Why this is unannounced and unexplained, I do not know.

Fueling took hours.  No official word on amounts, but when someone asked how many gallons, Jim (my boss, the assistant executive dean) said, “It’s measured in tons, not gallons.  Sort of like the peso:  just not a meaningful number anymore.

At least three times during the bunkering, a very polite crew member came on to remind us that no smoking was allowed. I’m assuming this is their way of letting us know that somebody just got caught. No wiggle room here, folks!  I know it was over five hours, but that’s a lot of fuel.

From Deck 6, I had watched the barge pull up, a delicate parallel parking maneuver using tugs to push it sideways towards us.  Objects this large take a great deal of energy to move, but also to stop moving.  Still, it was something of a surprise to find myself up close and personal when I returned to my room.  This photo was taken looking out my stateroom window.  The object next to the barge’s crew member is my hat, on the glass table behind my bed.