The Gate Traveler

After two pleasant days of sailing in perfect wind conditions, we sailed into Kewalo Basin Harbor, between downtown Honolulu and Waikiki. After a brief consultation, we decided to book a hotel instead of sleeping on the boat. We all needed solid ground beneath our feet, especially Rue.

I found the Turtle Beach Resort on my phone, and we all headed there. The resort lobby welcomed us with a hint of orchids in the air and the sound of waves rolling through the open windows. After grabbing the keys to our three-room suite, we settled in and went to the hotel restaurant. The place smelled terrific—fresh seafood and butter sizzling away. Rue, of course, wasted no time charming his way into the hearts of every kid within sight. Before I knew it, he was trotting to the water slide attendants, tail wagging like crazy, clearly intent on negotiating his way into a few runs down the slides. That dog could talk his way into anything.

I opened the computer, and we started planning our week in Hawaii. We mapped out our week, with Alfonsen trying to pack in as many workshops as possible, while I mentally vowed to spend most of my time lounging by the beach. After a long and arduous discussion, our itinerary looked like this:

Day 1: Sunday

• Morning:
  A hike to Diamond Head Crater, with panoramic views of Honolulu and the Pacific Ocean.
  I planned to take A LOT of pictures.
• Afternoon:
  Waikiki Beach: Afternoon of relaxation on Waikiki Beach, swimming, sunbathing, or a surfing lesson.
  The lesson was mainly for Alfonsen—Mahya and I had a ton of points.
• Evening:
  Dinner at Duke’s Waikiki with live Hawaiian music.

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Day 2: Monday

• Morning:
  Visit Iolani Palace, the only royal palace in the United States, and learn about Hawaiian history.
• Afternoon:
  Ala Moana Center: Shopping and dinner at one of the largest open-air shopping centers in the world.
• Evening:
  Magic Island Lagoon: Watch the sunset at Magic Island.
  And, of course, picture time.

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Day 3: Tuesday

• Morning:
  Snorkeling at Hanauma Bay.
  Maybe we will even get a skill for it (or at least, that’s how I convinced Alfonsen.)
• Afternoon:
  Lunch at Nico’s Pier 38.
  Fresh seafood sounded great.
• Evening:
  Luau at the Paradise Cove.

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Day 4: Wednesday

• Morning:
  Bishop Museum: Exhibits on Hawaiian culture, history, and natural sciences.
  I warned the peanut gallery to shut up about old things dug up from the ground. I liked them, and they could keep their opinions to themselves.
  Mahya opted to join me—I think she still hoped to chance upon long-forgotten runes, but Alfonsen declined. After a Google search, I booked him a Haku Lei-Making Class.
• Afternoon:
  Lunch at Helena’s Hawaiian Food.
  Authentic Hawaiian dishes. Yey!
• Evening:
  Slam Poetry Workshop.
  Mahya didn’t want this workshop and said she would spend the evening on the beach. Alfonsen was ecstatic about another workshop, and I wanted the skill.

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Day 5: Thursday

• Morning:
  Hula Workshop in the Polynesian Cultural Center.
• Lunch:
  Lunch at Aloha Tower.
• Evening:
  Sunset Dinner Cruise.
  We put this down as a maybe, since we sailed a lot and weren’t sure we wanted more sailing.

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Day 6: Friday

• Morning:
  Manoa Falls Hike.
  Picture time.
• Afternoon:
  Lunch at Rainbow Drive-in.
  I wasn’t sure about the “Drive-in” part, but all the sites raved about this place.
• Evening:
  First Friday Art Walk: A guided tour of art galleries and live music in Chinatown every first Friday of the month.

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Day 7: Saturday

• Morning:
  Honolulu Zoo.
  This we chose mainly for Rue. In Beijing, we discovered he loved the zoo.
• Evening:
  Dinner at the Poké Bar.

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We spent the rest of the afternoon relaxing at the hotel pool. That evening, I checked the Archive and saw an update from the Traveler Sonak.

 

Tr. SS Greetings John Rue, I boarded the ship in Southampton, and according to the published schedule, I should arrive in New York in the morning in ten days. I will update you on my progress when I am in New York.

Tr. JR Hello Sonak Susil, We are also on our way to the United States and will arrive there in about eleven to thirteen days. I believe we will meet in Las Vegas in about two and a half to three weeks.

 

During the hike to Diamond Head the next day, I had a great time and took plenty of pictures. The sun was already high, but a cool breeze kept the heat from being unbearable. The trail wound upward, a mix of rocky steps and packed dirt, with wildflowers scattered along the edges. Every so often, a gap in the trees gave us a glimpse of Honolulu below, the ocean stretching like a never-ending blue carpet. The air was salty and fresh, mixing with the earthy scent of the trail. I could hear the distant crash of waves far below, along with the occasional chatter of other hikers passing by. When we reached the top, the panoramic view was worth every step. The city spread out beneath us, tiny compared to the massive sweep of the Pacific. It was breathtaking.

The afternoon at the beach was fun, but the beach was packed with tourists, so Mahya and I gave up on swimming and lounged under the umbrella instead. The sound of waves crashing mixed with the constant chatter around us, but it didn’t bother me much. We both had books in hand, soaking up the salty air and the sun’s warmth without the crowds’ hassle. Occasionally, a breeze would send a sprinkle of sand our way, but other than that, it was the perfect lazy afternoon.

Alfonsen went off to his surfing lesson and, of course, showed off some insane athleticism. Within twenty minutes, he was riding waves better than the instructor. It was almost annoying how quickly he picked it up. The two of them disappeared shortly after, leaving Mahya and me shrugging at each other. We headed to dinner without him, figuring he’d resurface eventually, probably with some wild story.

He strolled in the following day, grinning like he’d just scored big at the casino. There was a lightness about him—his shoulders were loose, and a casual, easygoing vibe replaced his stiff, formal tone. I didn’t need to guess what—or who—had put him in such a good mood. It definitely wasn’t the surfing. Still, I wasn’t about to pry. Sometimes it’s better to let him enjoy his moment without me poking fun. Besides, I’d rather not jinx the rare sight of a relaxed Alfonsen.

The visit to the royal palace was enjoyable but a bit of a letdown. I went in expecting something with an authentic Hawaiian vibe—maybe some traditional design, bright colors, or at least something that screamed “island royalty.” Instead, it felt like we had stepped into one of those old castles from France, all dark wood, ornate furniture, and European-style architecture. The air inside gave a heavy feeling as if no one had aired it out in years, and it had a faint smell of polished wood and old fabric. It was impressive, sure, but not what I had imagined. No tropical flair, no hint of the islands outside, just more of the same old royal grandeur we’d seen before, minus the personality.

They didn’t know what hit them when we rolled into Ala Moana Center. We hit those stores like a hurricane, grabbing everything from designer clothes to random souvenirs. By the time we were done, I’m pretty sure they were ready to put up a statue in our honor. We must’ve dropped over fifty thousand dollars between the three of us. With bags in hand and credit cards smoking, we walked out like champions of retail therapy.

After this visit, Mahya commented, “Shopping therapy is Earth’s greatest invention,” her voice was full of satisfaction as she admired the bags in her hands.

It was too late to go to the lagoon, so we had dinner in the shopping center, and Alfonsen disappeared again without a word.

“Maybe tomorrow he’ll also sound normal,” I said, raising an eyebrow as I glanced at Mahya.

“Here’s hoping,” she replied with a slight chuckle, shaking her head.

The snorkeling at Hanauma Bay was a blast, with the fish in Hawaii looking as vibrant as you’d expect—bright colors darting in and out of the coral, like something out of a postcard. Neither of us gained a point, but we didn’t care. The water was warm, and being surrounded by that underwater world was enough. It felt like we were in a completely different realm, with the sunlight filtering through the water in shimmering beams. The experience alone made it worth it, point or no point.

In true Rue fashion, Rue tried to join the hula dancers at the Luau, drawing amused laughter from the crowd. No one expected his graceful paws to imitate their footwork, and everybody quickly pointed their phones in his direction. The garlands around his neck only added to the ridiculousness, but it was impossible not to smile. He looked so cute with the garlands as he danced with the hula dancers. I wanted to take pictures, but he wore a glamor to resemble a Tibetan mastiff. Finally, I couldn’t help myself and did it, anyway.

Mahya and I enjoyed the museum. We didn’t discover any forgotten runes, but the displays were interesting, so we didn’t care. Or, more precisely, I didn’t care. Mahya still grumbled quietly about old stuff. Rue stayed at the hotel to play with the kids on the water slides.

Alfonsen vanished without a word after the Luau. An hour before the Slam Poetry Workshop, he strolled back into the hotel, smiling and looking relaxed. He offered no explanation. Mahya raised an eyebrow at me, and we exchanged a knowing look, but neither of us pressed him for details. I enjoyed the Slam Poetry Workshop and wrote two poems about our cruise.

 

Joy of the Sea

From Shanghai’s bustling quay, we embark on the northern sway,
Where the compass needle twirls, our sails unfurl to play.
Past the isles of Japan, where cherry blossoms lay,
A whispering sea breeze carries us on the Pacific’s grand ballet.

Chorus:

Oh, the joy of the sea, as we sail the world so free,
From Shanghai’s port, we depart, to the vast and open sea.
Japan whispers soft farewells as we sail with glee,
Marshall Islands’ beauty tells of nature’s tapestry.
Hawaii’s hula sways. In our hearts, it will be,
As we sail away, with the waves in perfect harmony.
California’s Golden Shore, our final jubilee,
Each stop’s a treasure more in this sailing odyssey.

The aisles of Japan fade, a memory profound,
As we chase the horizon’s line, where sky and water compound.
Through the Marshall’s tranquil realm, our memories are crowned,
With tales of ocean’s past, where nature’s bounty is abound.

To the Marshall’s scattered crowns, jewels of the ocean’s fray,
We glide through atolls and lagoons, in the sun’s eternal ray.
Hawaii’s aloha spirit, in the waves’ majestic spray,
Bids us farewell as we pass in the night’s serene display.

Hawaii’s shores beckon, with their hula dance renowned,
We linger in their warmth, in the aloha we found.
But the journey calls us forth, to where the dreams are homeward bound,
To California’s golden gate, where our spirits will be unbound.

With each knot and starry guide, our vessel charts the way,
Through the vast and open blue, where dreams and dolphins stray.
Until at last, California’s shores rise up to meet the day,
Our northern passage complete, in the golden state’s embrace we stay.

With each island left behind, our hearts with joy are wound,
For every wave we ride, brings us closer to the mound.
Of California’s welcoming arms, where our spirits will be unbound,
As we complete our northern trek, with our sea-faring love profound.

 

Whispers of the Pacific

 In the vast blue expanse where the sky meets the sea,
Lies a trail of islands, ancient and free.
From the shores of Nippon to the atolls so grand,
A seafarer’s passage through time’s shifting sand.

Chorus:

Oh, sing me the song of the ocean’s embrace,
Where the zephyrs play and the dolphins race.
In the heart of the sea, where the world finds its pace,
We sail through the whispers of the Pacific’s grace.
In the dance of the waves, in the sun’s warm kiss,
We find the joy of the mariner’s bliss.
With the stars as our guide, over waters we’ll trace,
The endless journey in the Pacific’s vast space.

Marianas’ guardians of the deep ocean floor,
Caroline’s jewels, Micronesia’s lore.
Isles of beauty, where spirits still dance,
Echoes of history, in each wave’s advance.

Voyagers of old with sails unfurled,
Navigating the mysteries of an uncharted world.
Guided by stars and the ocean’s soft call,
Finding their way, a lesson for all.

Here, the wind carries tales of the brave,
Of mariners resting in a watery grave.
Yet, the islands beckon with promise and light,
A haven for souls in the still of the night.

So let us set sail from Yakushima’s green land,
To the Marshall’s lagoons, where palm trees stand.
For in this great ocean, where dreams intertwine,
Lies the heart of adventure, a treasure divine.

 

On our way back to the hotel, Alfonsen complained, “It is not fair that I did not get a point.” His voice was filled with frustration as he crossed his arms.

“Maybe poetry needs more than one workshop,” I suggested, glancing at him with a smirk.

“But you did get a point,” he shot back, narrowing his eyes.

“Yes, but I also wrote poems. You didn’t,” I replied, shrugging casually, trying to hide my amusement.

He looked thoughtful, took out a pen and a paper, and scribbled on the page all the way back to the hotel. At one point, he huffed, growled, crumpled up the page, threw it away, and informed me, “See you tomorrow morning,” and disappeared.

Oh well …

The Hula Workshop was fun, and we all earned points. It never hurts to earn more points. We chose not to go on the dinner cruise and spent a fun afternoon at the beach. It was still too full of tourists and too noisy, but it was also nice. The location helped me relax, even with all the hubbub around.

The hike to Manoa Falls was absolutely worth it, and yeah, I went a little crazy with the camera again. The trail was lush and green, with the air thick from the humidity, carrying the scent of wet earth and tropical plants. Every turn had something worth snapping—vines hanging down, birds echoing through the trees, and the occasional glimpse of sunlight breaking through the canopy. When we reached the falls, the mist from the crashing water felt like a reward after the climb.

I sighed audibly, the sound heavy with frustration, and Mahya glanced at me, raising an eyebrow. “What’s the matter?” she asked, her tone a mix of curiosity and concern.

“We found this place on the internet. Magical worlds don’t have internet. How are we supposed to find all the cool stuff to see?” I replied, gesturing toward the falls to encompass the scenery.

“World information?” she suggested, tilting her head thoughtfully.

I shot her a sideways glance. “I thought you don’t like world information. That it’s a spoiler.”

“I don’t,” she said, shrugging with a small smile, “but you can use it if you want.”

Her unexpected concession made me chuckle. That cheered me up.

Mahya and I enjoyed the art walk and bought two pieces each. Alfonsen disappeared before the walk.

Rue didn’t have fun at the zoo and tried convincing us to let the animals go. It was new; in Beijing, he didn’t care. He kept shouting in our minds, “Free animals! Freedom!” It was stressing him so severely that we left after a couple of hours and went to the beach.

Alfonsen’s surf guide joined us for dinner at the Poké Bar. He was a huge Kānaka Maoli man named Keoni who never stopped smiling, even for a moment. Keoni told us stories about the islands and the tourists coming to Honolulu and kept us laughing most of the evening.

He also called Alfonsen, Al. Every time Keoni called him ‘Al,’ Alfonsen’s jaw tightened slightly, his lips thinning as if he bit back a protest. Yet, he stayed quiet, either out of politeness or resignation, I couldn’t tell. Mahya and I exchanged a look with an evil smile. Al didn’t know it yet, but his name had forever changed.

Towards the end of dinner, Keoni asked me, “I hear you’re American. But where are Al and Maya from? I can’t place the accent, and whenever I ask Al, he avoids the question.”

Alfonsen stiffened beside me, his telepathic voice sharp, “Please don’t say anything.” The unspoken fear in his words mirrored the tension in his shoulders.

“Relax, I’m not an idiot. I’m a Traveler, too,” I reassured him silently, trying to calm his nerves.

I laughed aloud and said, “He’s not avoiding the question; he just doesn’t know how to answer you.” I waved my hand dismissively, then leaned in with a grin. “You see, the three of us are children of diplomats. You think I’m American, but my passport says I’m German. My father was posted in Washington when I was young, and the accent stuck. I also lived in Spain, Israel, and, in recent years, China.” I paused, noticing Keoni’s intrigued expression before continuing, “Mahya is English but grew up in India, France, and Russia and has been in China for the last three years. Alfonsen is Austrian—or at least that’s what his passport says—but he was born in Egypt and grew up in Egypt, Costa Rica, Romania, and China for the last five years. So when someone asks me where I’m from, I say I’m from Earth. Mahya says she’s from everywhere, and Alfonsen never knows what to say, so he doesn’t say anything.” I smirked, giving Alfonsen a playful nudge.

“Oh, so you all met in China?” Keoni asked, his eyes widening in realization.

“Yes,” I replied with a nod.

“He told me about China. I thought he was talking about a trip there; I didn’t know you all lived there,” he said, his brow furrowing as if pieces were clicking into place.

“Yes,” I confirmed. “Our parents are posted in Beijing.”

Mahya and Alfonsen asked me simultaneously, “How did you think of such an answer?” “How the hell did you come up with it?”

“The first thing you learn in foster care is the art of bullshit,” I answered both of them.

Keoni spent the night in our suite, and I sent a heartfelt thank you to the inventor of earplugs. In the morning, we said goodbye and set sail on the last leg of this journey.