10. Various guests brushing off their best dance moves and entering “the circle” to entertain us all.

Mike busts a move

9. Juan, the overzealous bartender who got his mixer/alcohol ratios mixed up all night long.

8. The food, which would have sent us all into food comas if it weren’t for Juan’s drink mixing skills.

My brother and I enjoying a delicious meal

7. Some of us guests hijacking the band’s equipment and playing our own rendition (I was probably playing in the wrong key)

Move over, wedding singer, there's a new band in town!

6. Instinctively catching the bouquet and upon realizing it, immediately chucking it as far away as possible (better talk to my therapist about that one).

Not too thrilled to have caught the bouquet

5. The ability to take a breather in a hammock and try to recover from Juan’s drinks.

The groom's brother taking a moment at the wedding to chill out for a bit

4. The after-party, which took place at the pool (no pictures allowed- some events should not be made public!)

3. Monkeys make an appearance just before the ceremony, and a howler monkey decides to test his lung capacity during the ceremony.

Even the monkeys want to see this glorious occasion!

2. 42 people travelling from afar to be a part of this monumental occasion.

1. The new Mr. & Mrs. Vriesinga saying “I do”

Gorgeous bride!

Stunning walk to the park

I woke up half deaf on Tuesday. I was hoping it was a clogged ear due to pressure from crashing around in the ocean with the waves the previous day, so I fervently hoped that it was simply one of those problems that when ignored, went away. The rest of the day was spent lazing around at the beach and the pool; I hoped some more wave crashing might unplug my ear. I realize this sort of self-medication and over optimistic thinking isn’t generally the best way to diagnose and cure medical ailments, but one can hope, right? Everyone was up partying that evening but I just couldn’t do it due to the pressure in my head and the feeling of being and off balance all day. Something was off and I went to bed early, hoping a good night’s sleep would cure all.

Glorious Beaches

The next morning we woke up bright and early to hit up the Manual Antonio national park, as apparently the wildlife makes the most stark appearances in the morning. I still couldn’t hear and still couldn’t walk with total balance, but what can you, right? Suck it up and make the best of it.

Mother and baby

The mission was to see a sloth. My friend Mandy has a sort of Kristen Bell-like obsession with sloths, something that she claims she had a love affair with prior to Kristen’s viral video. Her mission in this trip, and possibly in life itself, was to see one of these slow critters, as Costa Rica allegedly has the most sloths around.

Woodpeckers

There were almost a dozen of us traipsing through the park, looking for wildlife. We opted to forego the guide at the advice of some fellow travelers. The problem is that a herd of Esser’s is generally not quiet nor observant, so we were dismayed that we were only seeing mischievous monkeys jumping through the trees occasionally. We did see some stunning views of beaches, and I must say, they rivaled the best ever beaches I’ve ever seen in the world- comparable to New Zealand, Philippines, Thailand and Fiji.

Stunning vantage point

We realized when hiking that if we were quiet and just stayed behind a more keen and observant group of hikers, that there was indeed wildlife to be seen. Leaching on the coattails of more avid wildlife watchers, we saw a marmet, different kinds of monkeys, iguanas, woodpeckers and butterflies so vivid it was as if they were glowing. The sloths were elusive, though, and thus, slightly dejected, we decided to head back, consoling ourselves with the fact that we had seen some pretty cool things that morning.

And upon exit of the park, where a group of tourists were congregating and pointing, Mandy squealed as she heard one person mutter, “Sloth.”

And thus, we saw not only a sloth, but a mother one at that, with a baby nearby. Mandy squealed, “This is the best day of my life!” To which an eavesdropping tourist replied with a smile, “Happy birthday!”

The hiking through the rainforests of the park was amazing, but I was still feeling off, half deaf, and dizzy and irritable. I knew I needed to see a doctor.

My mom graciously offered to accompany me; something that made us chuckle as it has been years and years since she’s taken me to the doctor. We took a cab and found the medical center. There was no wait to get in and a beautiful woman greeted us and invited us in her little office.

The medical center

“Doctor?” I asked.

“Ci.”

“English?”

“A little bit.” That turned out to be an exaggeration, but somehow through motions and charades, she understood my ailment. She cleaned out my ears and while it was amazing to be able to hear again, it was painful.

“Inflammation,” She said. “Infections.” And then the very sad words, “No swimming for three days.”

Bummer.

She wrote out in Spanish the drugs I needed, charged me $40 (cash only) and sent me to the pharmacy where they gave me pills and drops. Mission accomplished, and I started to feel better as the day wore on.

Costa Rican prescriptions

But unfortunately that wasn’t an isolated medical mishap in the group, and was certainly extremely minor to what transpired that night.

Well deserved breakfast after hiking all morning

My grandmother, a spry 76 year old, who had traveled here with all of us to see her grandson’s wedding, was getting out the shower that night, and slipped. She is staying at a house with my Uncle and Aunt who summoned my parents immediately. Sadly, the result was worse than we wanted to believe. She was sent to San Jose in an ambulance, and it was determined that she needed a hip replacement immediately. They flew her home the next day via ambulance. She is okay, but these events were very sad.

After a series of unfortunate events, we arrive in Jaco

My first whiff of trouble brewing was via text. I was just leaving my hostel to meet Meaghan, Kevin and Mandy at the airport when Meaghan sent me a text: “Don’t come to the airport. I fucked up.”

What on earth is that supposed to mean?

There’s this Esser gene that runs in the family- the scatterbrain gene. We all have varying degress of it, and I myself don’t claim to be insulated from this occasionally pesky trait. So bearing this faulty gene in mind (we blame our father), let us not be too hard on my dear sister Meaghan for booking her flights–and our friend Mandy’s and her husband’s– to San Jose, California instead of San Jose, Costa Rica.

It was the beginning of the gong show that ensued on Saturday, when I was patiently awaiting for their noon arrival at the hostel. Despite some mayhem, they got lucky. They flashed some green and managed to get on a flight to San Jose COSTA RICA from Houston (where they were on a layover, frantically running towards their gate so they wouldn’t miss their flight to…what…California!??! MEAGHAN!! THESE FLIGHTS ARE GOING TO CALIFORNIA!) When I went to the airport to meet them a couple hours later, the board told me the flight was delayed (it wasn’t), so I had my ass parked at a cafe killing time with a novel. Meanwhile, they were roaming the airport wondering where the heck I was and how to get ahold of me. We eventually collided paths, much to their relief.

But their rental car reservation was firmly planted in California. We decided to go to my hostel, regroup, and reformulate a plan– possibly staying the night. Of course there was no room in the inn. We finally decided to rent a car through the hostel to go gallivanting through Costa Rica, but when the guy at the counter called his connections, the cars were sold out. Default to plan B, a bus to Monteverde. Yet when guy at the counter went to book the tickets he realized he had the times wrong and all buses had departed for the day…

Thus, being shut out again, we decided to bus it into the city to catch a bus to Jaco, where the bride and groom were hanging out for 2 days. It was dark by now, and we were tired and hungry, but determined to be optimistic. Until the guy at the ticket counter told us in broken English that there was no room on the bus. We begged him to help us out, to which he shrugged and said, “Standing room only.” We took a cab for $100.

Our cabbie whisked us away in a dilipated Hyundai that more than occasionally bottomed out, breaking the speed limit the whole way. After an hour an a half, he dropped us in the crazy streets of Jaco. Stranded in the dark, barlit lights of the main drag, we set out to find accommodations. Of course we didn’t know that it was a motorcycle weekend, which meant no vacancies anywhere. So as we trodded from hotel to hotel to hostel– luggage in tow– we got turned down again and again, like an ugly guy during prom season. I began to think we were going to be sleeping on the beach. We were hungry and tired and trying to keep our chins up– marginally successfully, I might add.

One of our roommates for the night

Dejected, we hit an Internet cafe to see if we could get in touch with our friends. No luck. The lady working the counter took pity on us, and after several attempts on the phone, she found us Diego, a tattoo-decorated guy who had a room for us. Off the beaten path. With no bed sheets (“But I will get you some!” He promised.) He showed us pictures of a roomy enough place (“king sized bed!” he promised- they were doubles if that. “TV!” He upsold us- our iPad screens were bigger than the 1960′s contraption sitting in the corner). But hey, it was a room. Nevermind that fact that it seemed to be in the middle of nowhere and we literally needed 4 keys to navigate the four locks that enclosed this place as if it was Fort Knox. And of course we had some critters to cohabitate with. The lizard wasn’t too alarming; the cockroach was. We just felt lucky to have a roof over our heads for the night and to be together. What’s travel without a little craziness, right?

Moral of the story? Do not let Meaghan book your plane tickets.

Tired and dejected, we finally eat while we wait for Diego to put sheets on our bed

The Elusive Hostel is a Welcome Sight!

I’m in Costa Rica and it feels great to travel again. I know it’s a short stint and it’s a destination wedding, but for just a couple days here I can pretend to be a backpacker again, living life like I did in late 2009. In some odd sappy bout of sentimentality, I feel like I’m doing what I’m made to do when I can treat the world like my sandbox. And while it seems ridiculous to blog about a trip that is primarily a destination wedding–especially when my primary readership (i.e. my mom) is also going to be here–it’s something I still feel compelled to do. To me travel without reflection and blogging is like a morning without a fresh cup of coffee. It just doesn’t work for me.

Of course I’m not a backpacker this time round, and my disguise is so thin I’m not even really trying to pretend. Maybe it’s my rollie suitcase, or the fact that I have an iPhone, iPad, and laptop crammed into a locker with other valuables like jewelry. Or perhaps it’s the fact that I’ve been camped out on a hostel couch for the evening uploading files to Home Depot and trying to get last minute work obligations off my plate before I can really relax. Whatever the case, even though I know I’m a poser, I’m loving hanging out in this little common area, TV blaring with bad sitcoms, people coming and going, and various smells permeating the air as my fellow hostelers take their turns in the kitchen (I got there first after hitting a local grocery store and hours later still feel as if I have committed the deadly sin of gluttony).

I actually had a reservation at a Hilton Hotel with a shuttle from the airport to the hotel– and all for free thanks to hotel points. But for some reason I found myself cancelling it. I booked a bunk bed in a hostel instead, dorm style. I’m not sure why I feel compelled to travel this way. I mean, I’m no longer a fresh-out-of-college-on-a-tight-budget kid. There’s no need for me to pinch pennies by hosteling it. Is it my refusal to grow up? An old habit? My slight addiction to chaos and experiencing the unknown? Maybe I am just desperate to relive my around the world adventure of 2 years ago. Or perhaps it is a subtle act of rebellion, an assertion of independence. If I am honest with myself, I am still bothered way more than I would like to be that my plus-one to this wedding is not with me as originally planned–the result of a series of unfortunate non-events–and a bustling hostel is a good way to keep any sad and sour thoughts at bay.

I did start to question my decision to travel down and dirty when I turned down a cab to the hostel and opted for a local bus system instead. I only had to ask two people as I walked down the street, suitcase compliantly rolling along behind me, when I found my bus. At least I hoped it was my bus. The sign on it matched my destination. After I jumped on the bus only split seconds before the driver was about to pull away, I had no clue how much to pay for the ride. I held out a fistful of foreign coins as he impatiently plucked a couple from my hands. I could feel a zillion eyes on me, the foreign white girl fresh from the airport who obviously can’t speak a lick of Spanish. As the bus zoomed away, I loudly asked the driver to show me where the stop before the hospital was.

He shook his head, unable to converse in English.

I tried my hand at Spanglish. ¨Hos-pee-tall?¨

He gruffly nodded, made some impatient gestures, jibbered stuff I did not understand, and waved me to find a seat. I sighed as I clobbered down the aisle of the moving bus with my suitcase, trying to find a seat, very aware that I was being scrutinized with a mixture of fascination and amusement. They were probably also wondering why I didn’t take a cab.

I had no clue where to get off this bus or if I was even heading in the right direction. But for some reason this thought didn’t alarm me like perhaps it should have. I knew I’d figure it out somewhere, somehow, even with the language barriers.

As the bus chugged along I observed the vaguely familiar Central American feel- loud, dilapidated cars, shacks among gas stations and hard days restaurants, people walking everywhere, small motorbikes wheezing like smokers…It’s got a decent vibe and seemed to be about what I expected.

As I was observing this new country with a glorious backdrop of mountains, the bus stopped and the driver said something at the front in Spanish, loudly. I had no idea what, but in a strange sort of telephone-game like chain, punctuated by a lot of loud “Senorita!”s, I somehow knew I was being told to get off, even though there did not appear to be a hospital anywhere close by. So I disembarked the bus and stood on the side of the road with no clue whether I needed to turn left, right, or go straight.

Of course I choose the wrong way, but with the help of an English-speaking local, I was eventually rerouted and found my hostel. In a weird way, it felt homey and familiar to me when I checked in. I threw my stuff on a bottom bunk and met my roomies for the night: two fellow Canadian females, one of whom grew up one hour from where I did. Small world. I asked one about her friend and she informed me that her friend is her wife and they are on a two month honeymoon.  This is why I love hostels. You never know how you’ll meet.

So tonight, today, for 24 hours, I’m reliving the solo backpack dream, even if it is punctured by Skype messages from China informing me of shipment delays. The smell of tropics is in the air and I’m about to crash on a cardboard-like bunk bed in a room with two Lesbian strangers. The Hilton can’t beat that!

Travel blogging has to take a backseat for now (just for now- not forever!), but by request here are some links to the most popular posts:

Wonders of the World:

Great Wall of China | Machu Picchu | Pyramids of Egypt | Petra

Other Incredible Sights Around the World:

Glaciers of Pattagonia Argentina | One of the Best Day Treks in New Zealand | Angkor Wat | Abel Tasman in New Zealand | Hawaii | The Salt Flats of Bolivia

Excitement:

Bungy Jumping in New Zealand | Bike Ride Down the “World’s Most Dangerous Road” in Bolivia | Scuba Diving in the Philippines | Motorcycling in Laos

When Things go Wrong:

The Scariest Travel Experience Ever in Morocco |  An Encounter with the Manila Police |  The Harrowing Bus Ride to Bolivia | Problems in the Laos Mountains |  Communist Vietnam Customs

Truth is Stranger Than Fiction:

Crazy Moments in the Philippines | A Real Protest in Tiananamen Square China | Forest Fires and Wild Boars in Fiji | Adventures in Israel | Kenny G in Thailand

Funniest Menus Around the World:

China | Laos | Philippines

Reviews:

Dubai | Surfing in the Philippines

I’m on a flight to Toronto. I’m going home. Like most events, it seems like yesterday I just left, and yet a lifetime ago. I realize with a quick mental recap that this will be my 20th flight in just under 13 weeks.

I’ve come to the conclusion that traveling the world alone is by the far the most difficult and most amazing thing I have ever done.

There are things I will miss and things I won’t miss. I’ll miss meeting great people, the sheer freedom to roam as I want to, and experiencing crazy and awesome things on a daily basis. I’ll miss blogging and my deep sleeps and the ability to crack open a book whenever I darn well please. Most of what I won’t miss is backpacked related: living out of it, carrying it, or packing it up. But I also won’t miss the stress of getting myself from point A to point B, airports and airplanes, or sleeping in different beds almost every night.

Am I ready to come home? That’s another paradox because the answer is yes and no. I can’t wait to see my friends and family. If I had to resume my old life I would be depressed at the prospect, but really, I can’t help but feel that the adventure is continuing for me. I’m taking off to North Carolina. I’m starting a business. I have a whole new life out there waiting for me, a prospect that both frightens and thrills me.

People ask me if I’ve had any startling realizations out here or if I’ve done any soul searching. That was never my intent, but I would say that yes, I am changed. Perhaps not in big ways like a caterpillar to a butterfly, but in small, subtle ways. I think true, lasting change is gradual anyway.

I could probably blog for days about what I’ve learned and realized and how I’ve grown, but a lot of that is personal. To paraphrase, a lot of it boils down to a few key words: acceptance, letting go, figuring out what I want out of life and what I need to do to make it happen, positive thinking, and shedding the past,

I am extremely lucky and blessed to have had an opportunity to do this, and not a day goes by where I don’t acknowledge that. However, I had lots of help along the way. The number of blog hits I got blew my mind. The comments and personal emails of encouragement I got from friends, family, and sometimes acquaintances helped stave off the inevitable loneliness at times. Special thanks to Darren who took the time to email me every day. Sometimes checking my email or the blog comments at the end of a long journey, tired and wondering why I was in the middle of nowhereville was the only thing that kept my sanity.

I need community. Bottom line. How great to travel the world alone and realize that I was never really alone.

I just looked down at the clock on my computer and an unexpected feeling of excitement grabbed me. In ½ hour I’ll be landing in Canada! In several hours I will get to see my family and friends for New Year’s Eve! Someone will be there for me at the airport! I’ll wear that backpack for the last time! I feel giddy, like a little girl.

They say the best part about going away is coming home. I wouldn’t go that far, but it’s close.

Despite the sadness that my trip is over, I have a great time reuniting with friends and family on New Year's Eve.

Just another crazy day in my travel world

I‘ve turned into a grungy traveller. Like getting hungry, it’s a gradual thing. I rarely put on makeup. Combing my hair just seems like such a bother. I usually just wake up and shake out the waves, going for the Bohemian look, though more often then not it resembles a blonde pile of Christmas tree tinsel. A tshirt that’s been worn many times? Sure, another day can’t hurt. I brought my old clothes on the trip and they are showing their wear like an old lady who smokes. I’ve gotten so bad that one day I didn’t realize I had my shirt on backwards until I was about to board a plane that afternoon. In Hong Kong I realized that there was a hole in the butt of my well-worn jeans only after I had been out for a couple hours.

So when I’m in Hawaii I’m gearing up for regular life, and I decide that this should also include the restoration of self grooming. First stop: outlet stores to buy a few necessities, like jeans. Next stop: the hair dresser. Time for a cut and color, something I have neglected for 6-7 months now.

Ang hooks me up with her friend’s salon and drops me off at a 7 storey building across from a large shopping mall. I meet Janine and she attacks my hair with a vengeance, putting goopy die on small strands of hair and wrapping them in tin foil. An hour later I look like an alien with my frizzy hair up in foils. I grin at myself in the mirror. I look utterly ridiculous. Thank goodness I’m contained behind a mirror in the back of the saloon.

As my highlights settle under a loud hairdryer, I’m immersed in my book and the sound of the dryer, oblivious to the world. My tranquility is short lived when Janine rushes up to me with a grimace.

“You’re going to hate this, but the fire alarm just went off.”

“What?”

“We have to evacuate the building.” I laugh and then cringe. “You’re kidding.”

But as she whizzes away the hair dryer I can hear the alarms and the metallic voice across the intercom: “Evacuate immediately. Evacuate immediately.”

It’s not clear if it’s a drill or authentic, but I sigh as I grab my purse and take one last look at myself in the mirror. I can’t help but laugh. Going out in public like this? Ludicrous!

There’s lots of people evacuating this 7 storey building like lemmings. I’m prominently on display, people eyeing me with a mixture of amusement and pity. At my hair dresser’s prodding, I make my way down to the parking garage where I chill out with a couple other customers. Lucky for them they were in the middle of haircuts or low key dye jobs. They’re all Asian and my blonde fro is like a siren on my head. The black plastic smock I’m wearing is a far cry from fashionable wear.

People pass in the parking lot, their eyes and heads following me as they turn the corner because they just can’t seem to look away. This time their looks are a concoction of amusement and bewilderment.

We’re out there for a good 20 minutes before we are informed that a pipe has broken. Janine checks my color again.

“We gotta take this out, or you’ll get brassy,” she says with a sigh. “Let’s go to the salon at Macy’s across the street and get you shampooed.”

So Janine and I march off to Macy’s. Walking through a busy department store looking like this isn’t desirable. I can only laugh. But as I’m inundated with the stares, I realize it’s not so different from the Middle East. I pretend this is normal and I have chosen to go shopping looking like this.

It ends well. My hair doesn’t turn brassy. After the shampoo we’re let back into the building. Though I look like a drowned rat in a smock as I walk back through Macy’s, it’s such an improvement that I feel like a queen.

My hair dresser is very apologetic. I assure that as long as she didn’t break the pipe, I don’t blame her at all. I pause, then admit, “You know, stuff like this on my trip keeps happening to me. Nothing bad, just everything crazy. So trust me, I’m not surprised.”

It's gorgeous

I don’t want to do lots of sight seeing in Hawaii. I’ve done enough sight seeing for a while, and I‘m happy just to drink in the scenery and spend my last precious few days on the beach. Ang plays the perfect host and takes me to nice look out points and beaches.

One day we go to the North Shore and watch some guys surf that Bonsai Pipeline, one of the most famous surfing spots in the world. It’s amazing to watch this in person. It’s highly dangerous in that area and only for extremely skilled surfers. The massive waves make such a perfect “c” shape as they roll over, that the surfers actually get caught in the way. Sometimes they are able to shoot out the side before the wave closes, and other times it envelopes them in the salty, ferocious water. It’s amazing watch and we do for hours.

Fun to watch real surfers

Surfing is a cool sport to watch because you want to root for everyone. You want everyone to catch the waves.

Speaking of surfing, I give my new found skills a shot and fail dismally. It’s not an easy sport! My confidence waned with my first attempt. I don’t have a lot of control over the board yet and I get dangerously close to some lady who yells at me. I apologize profusely and do feel terrible, but she’s not forgiving. It dampens my enthusiasm. Kon and Ang assure me after watching her that she’s just a beginner and not a very good one, so she really had no right to ream me out.

Kon patiently tries to help me, and I give it an attempt, but the waves seem much choppier than I was used to in the Philippines. I’m facing the vast ocean, paddling out to be able to get a wave and one catches me perfectly. The only thing is that I’m not in position- I’m backwards on my belly. The wave whooshes me backwards, propelling me backwards towards the shore. It’s kind of fun until I realize that I’ve come within inches of plowing into another surfer. He’s a little more cool than the last lady but it doesn‘t help my confidence.

Factoring in the conditions, the amount of people I’m clobbering into and my extreme amateur status, I decide to call it a day. Surfing is incredibly difficult and at least I can say I gave it a shot in Hawaii. Ang tells me that I need to come back in summer when the conditions are better.

CHILLIN’

Ang and Kon are within walking distance of the famous Waikiki area, so I peruse that on my own one afternoon like a bona fide tourist. We do various other things such as peruse a market and inhale more stunning scenery. Of course we hang out at the beach, too.

Kon is into spear fishing and makes a remarkable catch one day. We go to the local Chinese restauarant where they steam it for us. It’s amazing and fresh and cooked to  perfection. Kon and I partake in tradition and each eat an eyeball for good luck. The actual eyeball is slimy but flavorful, but the white thing behind it is tasteless and chewy, sort of like eating Styrofoam. It’s not something I’m jonesin’ for again anytime soon.

The restaurant cooks Kon's massive catch...deeelicious!

The days pass by quickly. It’s a relaxing few days and I enjoy myself thoroughly, knowing that in a short time I’ll be chained to my office desk, neck deep in marketing projects and pulling out my hair dealing with things like US bank accounts and North Carolina driver’s licenses. But right now, I’m loving being here.

Ang greets me at the airport with a real lei, not a cheap, plastic one!

In some ways landing in Hawaii feels like being handed a bottle of water at the end of a marathon. I’m in North America. My friend is picking me up from the airport so I don’t need to figure out where I’m going and how to get there. The unmistakable tropical smell and humidity permeates my senses as soon as I get off the plane. The airline workers wear blue Hawaian shirts with flowers dancing all over the fabric and say, “Aloha!”

It’s Christmas morning and the airport is sleepy and quiet. I’m still the only white person amongst a sea of Polynesians and Japanese that just got off the plane with me. As I’m standing in the foreigner line to wait to talk to customs, a worker approaches me and tells me I‘m in the Visitor lane. I think she assumes I should be in the resident lane due to my blonde hair.

The guy at customs tries to be helpful, but is not. He is confused with my US working VISA which is stapled to my passport like it should be. He dislodges the staple and removes it from my passport with the explanation, “You need to keep this in a safe place.”

Huh? I thought stapled in my passport was a safe place.

Despite, he lets me in the country without a hitch and I can’t help but think, “Last customs stop in another country before I head home.”

My pending trip home is increasingly on my mind. Time is, once again, a runaway train and I want to pull the emergency brake but can’t get a grip, no matter how hard I try to slow it down.

Despite the fact that it’s Christmas morning, and her first Christmas with her new husband, my friend Ang greets me at the airport with a lei. She throws it around my neck along with her arms and it’s so good to see her. So good. I’m actually overwhelmed at how good it is to see a familiar face. The last familiar face I saw was my cousin in Spain. That was a couple months ago.

We drive back to her apartment with the windows open and I breath in the delicious smell of tropics. Bright flowers decorate the streets, vivid shades of pinks and whites and reds and oranges. I was made to be in warm weather and the tropics. I drink it in, knowing it will be over before I know it.

I have never met Ang’s husband, Kon. I figure a girl as cool as Ang would marry only a top notch guy, but I admit that I’m slightly apprehensive as we approach the apartment. I mean, the guy’s a doctor. Battling unfounded stereotypes, I still can’t help but wonder if maybe at best he’s pretentious or at worst he’s a know it all.

Of course he’s neither. He’s a total sweetheart and as we catch up that Christmas morning, he and Ang make me a delicious breakfast of eggs with feta, avocado and tomato, ironically some of my favorite foods. It’s the first home cooking I’ve had in months and it’s absolutely delectable.

My chilled out hosts make me a delicious Christmas morning breakfast, my first home cooked meal in months

After breakfast we head to the beach. As I lie there in the sun on Christmas Day, listening to the ocean and the chatter around me, I think that this is the way Christmas should be. White should entail sand, not snow. If my family was there with me, it would be absolutely perfect.

It doesn’t take me long to conclude that Hawaii has a cool vibe. It’s laid back and chilled out. It’s almost hard to explain, but the feeling there is really amazing. It’s like there’s a positive energy field there or something like that. The truth is that with me and Hawaii, it’s love at first sight. I always assumed it would be overrated, but I assure you, it’s not. It deserves every inch of it’s reputation.

Ang is a nurse and has to work the nightshift that evening, so I go for sushi with Kon and his friend, Omar. I chuckle internally at how much raw fish I have consumed for Christmas this year. Santa has been good to me; I love raw fish. Despite the delicious food, I feel like I’m only half there with conversation. I managed a nap that afternoon, but it was yet another overnight plane ride and once again, I’m exhausted.

It turns out that I’m in for a treat. Going to sleep that night is bliss. They have a fancy air filled sofa bed and lying on it with nice sheets and two pillows, I feel like I have checked into the Hilton down the road. It is by far the most comfortable bed I have slept in 3 months. I sink into the bed and I sink into my dreams and relish in my contentment.

I realize as I’m in a home environment for the first time in 3 months that it’s the little things I miss: Brewing coffee. Opening the fridge and pouring water from the Brita. Keeping shampoo in the shower. Leaving my netbook and wallet out and not worrying about it getting stolen. Warming up leftovers.

It’s so, so, good to be here.

It's not overrated. It's amazing here!