Molokaaaaaaaaaiiiii!

Normally I’d be telling you this around September, but logistical demands have meant that Mr. Gleemonex and I will be taking our big vacation in May this year. My requirements are simple: sun, warm temps, beach. We are huge fans of Hawaii, having been there five times so far (Kauai twice, and Maui, the Big Island, and Oahu once each) and seriously considering moving there, so this time we thought we’d do Molokai since we haven’t tried it yet. But it wasn’t panning out — bad flight times, mega-expensive flights, nothing in the way of hotel choice (like, Expedia couldn’t book it at all, when I tried them for reference purposes).

Next choice: Maui. UNACCEPTABLE flights (like, either $900 each for a non-stop, or $700 each for one that stopped in Honolulu, with an EIGHT-HOUR layover, and arrived back in SFO at 5:50 a.m.). Plus the hotels were fucking ridiculous — the place we stayed in a few years ago, a nice but not spectacular joint on Kaanapali beach, is running over $400 a night these days. Bitch, it didn’t cost that much back then, and I ain’t payin that now. Even the Kaanapali Beach Hotel, a locally-owed, un-schwank place, was $205/night. So … no.

I priced all the other islands — Kauai, our first love; the Big Island, where we ate the best of anywhere we’ve traveled (with the possible exception of Paris); Oahu, where we’d avoid Honolulu entirely in favor of the north and east shores; Lanai, impossible unless you’re Bill Motherhumping Gates. No dice. So I broadened the search: Los Cabos. Puerto Rico. San Diego. Turks & Caicos. Miami. South Padre. Punta Cana. Florida Keys. The entire goddamn Caribbean. I was about to give up. Until I went back to the Molokai idea.

Epiphany: condos! We’d stayed in one our second visit to Kauai, and that worked out fine. And lo — here’s one, in the best area of the west side, for a magical $75 a night. YAY INTERNETS! We take that, we pay the extortionist price for the flight (oddly, less than the last time I looked), and we’re good to go!

So in less than three weeks, we will be on our way to the Most Hawaiian Isle, a place that’s 38 miles long, 10 miles wide, and holds fewer than 7,000 permanent residents. Even among northern Californians, who go to Hawaii like Texans go to Padre or SoCallies to Vegas, Mr. Gleemonex and I together know exactly one person who’s ever been there. Ain’t a stoplight on the whole island, no fast food, no K-Marts … it is gonna be SO AWESOME.