A Walking Allegory

Waikiki on Thursday morning from da plane PHOTO:KCS

If it's true that most stories are allegorical, as esteemed British travel writer Jan Morris opined in her final book, Allegorizing, published in 2021, then what to make of my story of walking to the airport last Thursday?

Sometimes we are faced with decisions that offer very few options. That's where I stood when I dropped our rental car off at remote location from the Lihue airport on Kauai. It was either start walking or forget about catching the plane.

I consider myself a walker and have never been shy about hiking to get from one place to another, whether in urban, mountain or suburban landscapes. Thursday's landscape would best be called industrial-tropical. Jungle meets industry. And it involved a time limit.

So what is an allegory, anyway?

According to Cambridge Dictionary, an allegory is "a story, poem, picture or other work in which the characters and events represent particular moral, religious or political qualities and ideas." 

My Story: That there would be no taxis available in Lihue at 8:30 on Thursday morning never occurred to me. Especially within a mile or two of the airport. Surely Kauai Cab would be nearby. 

"No cabs available." Came the answer when I called.

I tried Uber: "No rides at this time."

The morning was full of sun, clouds and rain. It was coming down cats and dogs in Kilauea earlier on our way to the airport. The sun was shining in Kapa'a. Lihue looked unpredictable and felt like a simmering sauna.

I had dropped off Barbara and our luggage at the airport, then sped off to Island Cars to return our $40-a-day rental, a good rate by today's standards. We had booked in early March.

I knew the agency wouldn't open until 9 and they were short-staffed. Their instructions: Just leave the key under the driver's side floor mat and the door unlocked. You can call a cab for a ride to the airport.

Nada. No cabs. No Uber.

Distance to airport: more than a mile.

I curse and spit and express bad thoughts. I pull myself together and praise myself for taking Barbara and our bags to the airport first. I am solo and unarmed.

I'm walking," I texted my wife.

At least it's not raining. Although it could at any second.

I'm dressed for our flight home in a pair of light-weight KUHL trousers, slippers (Hawaiian name for flip-flops), $800 vintage aloha shirt and a $6 Hawaii tourist cap from the ABC store. I might as well have been wearing a track suit. I was off and walking, holding a steady stride, dodging chuck holes in the asphalt and trying not to step on a chicken, looking for a path to the airport.

I would find a short-cut, a back way through the jungle. 

Most vehicles are arriving for work, not leaving, or I might hitch a ride. I pass Pacific Tile, Kuhio Motors and Two Frogs Hugging furniture store. 

It's 8:45. Our flight departs at 9:45. I have plenty of time. I can easily walk a mile in 15 minutes and have time to burn.

I receive no reply from Barbara. I wonder what she thinks about me not being there.

I stick to the main road at first, following an asphalt path. I feel exposed in bright colors, a lonely man on a vacant highway. There is no shade. I pass the Kauai Veteran's Center and Museum. I think of the many islanders who have fought and given up their lives and limbs for the United States. I ruminate on the concept of sacrifice for a higher purpose than myself. We seem to have lost this idea of patriotism, of giving up something for the greater good. We are more self-centered. Our wars are distant, packaged. We cannot agree on vaccinations during a pandemic. This is how we celebrate freedom. Get a gun.

Think kindness. It’s out there, too. We take it for granted.

I begin to perspire. Eighty-degrees on the island is completely different from 80-degrees in Santa Cruz. My pores open up. My mind runs free. I'm not comfortable trudging in long pants. I'll be a sweaty mess for our flight.

Yes, there it is! The short cut. I see green, not quite a jungle but not concrete, either, a swath of lawn untrammeled. Like a thoroughbred race horse I view the straightaway and finish line, but my feet are sore. My toes hurt. The cap on my head is preventing my scalp from breathing, and squashing what little hair I have left on top. I slow to a comfortable saunter as I touch concrete, feigning casual aplomb.

I enter the airport grounds with very little spring left, however. Mentally I am a monster. An elder man among boys and girls. I trekked more than a mile in tropical heat, bushwhacking and bullshitting with myself.

The small, understated Lihue airport sparkles amidst rain-glistened greenery. A welcoming station for travelers, open to tropical breezes with shade and rain cover.

"Oh, there you are," says Barbara, as if I had wondered off to the bathroom and back. Her phone is in her backpack. She never received by texts.

Final Notes:

We made our 9:45 flight to Honolulu. Barbara was detained at the security checkpoint, had her carry-on bag emptied and inspected, creating a minor bottleneck.  Every seat was taken on our flight from Honolulu to San Jose. We all wore masks. Hawaiian Airline's Airbus a321neo airplane is the major competition to Boeing's maligned 737 max. The interior is sleek with one aisle down the middle. One-hundred and twenty economy seats are squeezed three per side off the main aisle. It's tight. You can pay for upgrades. The plane features a narrow body, is supposed to fly lower and faster. Our flight heading northeast to Cali was less than five hours of discomfort.

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"Old age is the right to be absolutely ourselves. Laugh, cry, satirize it, my friends, when your time comes -- but make the most of it, too!" -- Jan Morris, 94, from her posthumous book, Allegorizing.