I’m not a serious bucket list kind of guy but I’ve already chalked up two items on this trip. The first was riding on the outside of a cable car in San Francisco yesterday with Esme. Then this afternoon I found myself swimming at Waikiki Beach with a pretty girl (Esme, that is) and with Diamond Head in the background. Esme and I hit the beach right after checking in to the Waikiki Resort Hotel. The water was delightful: pleasantly warm yet refreshing with light wave action within the area protected by a breakwater. Tomorrow is surfing lesson day but surfing isn’t on my bucket list. It’s not happening for this old guy I’m afraid.

This has been a travel day, pretty much uneventful except for a thirty-minute delay in leaving San Francisco. United claims it took that long to clean the cabin. That, plus a long wait for our bag put us at 4 PM reaching the hotel. But we got checked in with our tour guide, Mel, and at the front desk with plenty of time for our quick dip.

Dinner at 5:30 was a buffet affair. After, Mel and his co-guide Mike gave an introduction that emphasized Hawaiian heritage. They both have native blood and will be bringing Hawaiian and Polynesian culture to this experience. They particularly emphasized the importance of grandchildren (moopunas) )learning from their grandparents (kupunas).

The ice breaker exercise was for grandparents to introduce their grandkids and then for the grandkids to introduce their grandparents. Esme said, “These are my grandparents Jon and Judy. They travel a lot.” Pretty much sums us up, I’d say.

Tomorrow is surfing in the morning and then our self-propelled visit to Pearl Harbor in the afternoon.

Our hotel, the Hotel Riu Plaza, has a great breakfast buffet, which got us going after a pretty good night’s sleep (“One of you guys really snores,” reported Esme without naming names). That got us ready for our 8:00 AM pickup for the Muir Woods trip.

Our van took us and a half dozen or so others over the Golden Gate Bridge to a viewing area on the far side for photos. Then up over the third-highest mountain in the Bay Area (Mt Tamalpais) to the Muir Woods entrance and parking lot. Our Guide, Jerry, showed us the way to the park ticket office. Our Golden Pass got all three of us in without fee.

Jerry the guide, by the way, is a font of knowledge about all things San Francisco. His narrative was nonstop going and coming and while some, including the four-year-old in the group, might have found it excessive, Judy and I at least enjoyed it.

Muir Woods, as you probably know, is home to coastal redwoods that are the tallest living things going. (The giant sequoias are bigger around but not as tall.} Despite being in prime tourist season the crowds, while significant, didn’t detract from the atmosphere these trees and the surrounding vegetation create. Esme was active with her phone and my camera taking pictures to capture the experience.

It turns out that 95% of the redwoods had been cut down to build Victorian mansions in San Francisco. Most of these were destroyed in the 1906 earthquake. The remaining five percent had been purchased for preservation following the guidance of the naturalist John Muir. After the quake the San Francisco city fathers seized the protected land claiming eminent domain. Muir’s friend, President Teddy Roosevelt intervened and the land became part of the national park system.

After the Muir Woods tour Jerry took us to Sausalito for what turned into a one-hour lunch stop. We ate sandwiches at a neat deli featuring sour dough bread.

 Sausalito was a shipyard where Liberty Ships were produced, one every 21 days. “Rosie the Riveter” came to symbolize the women who built these workhorses of WWII. My dad,  Lt jg Phil Rick, commanded a Liberty Ship in the South Pacific. The Antelope had taken a Japanese torpedo before he took over. It had no engines nor any armament and was towed from one spot to another while waiting repairs. It was officially designated as a “hulk.”

 Sausalito was famous in the 1950s as home to a number of Beatnik poets, including Jack Kerouac and Allen Ginsberg, Hippies invaded in the 1960s and today it remains an active arts center.

We came back from our trip for some hotel downtime before setting out for our afternoon adventures.

A San Francisco cable car ride had always been on my bucket list – fairly near the bottom of the barrel but still something I’d aspired to since becoming addicted to the Rice-R-Roni jingle (“The San Francisco Treat”). Now I’d move up the list. It’s a great way to see San Francisco especially if you hang on to the outside of the car, up and down the hills, as Esme and I did. We went out the Mason Street line, getting on near our hotel and getting off near Union Square. Judy and I stayed at the St. Francis hotel right on Union Square on our previous trip.

Judy made friends with our car driver who, at the end of the line, escorted us to the Hyde Street line for the return. This meant we skipped another 45 minute of standing in line. And this way we saw a different part of the city on the way back. We got off at Lombard Street – the iconic crooked street. Then it was a 15 minute hike back down hill to the hotel to prepare for dinner.

I made reservations for 6:15 at Cioppino’s, an Italian seafood restaurant near Fisherman’s Wharf. We split a Caesar’s salad. Esme had fettuccini alfredo, Nana attacked and emerged victorious from her encounter with a huge Dungeness crab. I had the signature dish – Cioppino, an Italian fish stew featuring crab, shrimp, mussels and other unidentified swimming objects. Really good grub, setting us up for the coming week of pineapple and poi in Hawaii.

One thing we’ve learned about Esme so far is that she loves to shop. The Muir Woods gift shop was a big attraction for Esme and Nana too. Esme, however, spends most of her time shopping for others. “I think Griffin would really like this.”; “This is Perfect for Mom; “I’m getting this for Dad” and so on. 

So we’re back home at the Riu, ready for bed and our flight to Honolulu in the morning. We’re all excited to meet our fellow travelers at the welcome dinner tomorrow night.

There was a piece on the radio yesterday bewailing the sorry state of air travel. Our first calamity today was that the trekking poles we packed in Judy’s carryon didn’t make it through security. I had to go back, check her bag and do TSA all over again. 

I had passed through TSA the first time with no problem but flunked on my return. They had me do the hands-over-head machine which clearly showed my belt buckle. The agent said he’d need to do a physical exam and offered a private screening room for the procedure. I declined. He then gave me a pat down that would do a proctologist and a urologist proud, if you get my drift. 

Then, to top it off, the passes Jeff provided us for the Delta Skymiles lounge didn’t cover Esme. Costs us $50 to settle into the lap of luxury. 

Travel is, indeed, a real pain these days.

The flight, delayed slightly, arrived on time after a smooth seven-hour ride. The checked bag arrived safely, albeit the last one off the conveyer belt. We opted for a taxi because it was a shorter walk than the Uber area. Big mistake. The ride was more than twice the price guaranteed by Uber. Slow traffic on the Embarcadero was the problem.

But we arrived with plenty of time to check into the Hotel Riu Plaza Fisherman’s Wharf (a former Sheraton). Nice hotel and a 15-minute walk from Pier 33. That’s where we boarded the boat to Alcatraz.

First, however, we were all getting a bit peckish from hunger so we hit the grab-‘n-go facility in the hotel for sandwiches and pizza.

Alcatraz is something you need to experience to appreciate. Judy and I had been to the Rock two years ago. What made it fun this time was to see Alcatraz through Esme’s reaction as a first-time visitor and maybe as someone who is seriously contemplating “bad guys” for the first time.

The cell block audio tour, coupled with the stark reality of the cold, bare-bones cells brings the place to life. It’s a testament to society’s attempt to corral hardened criminals. It brings home the reality that there are some really bad people in the world. And it brings home the reality that many of the Alcatraz inmates are seriously disturbed people, through mental disease, maltreatment as youth or both.

By 6 PM we were all fading. Plans for a pasta feed at Pier 39 fell by the wayside. At the risk of exposing us as derelict grandparents, I must report that dinner consisted of a pretzel for Esme, Corn dogs to her guardians followed by two shared churros, all purchased from a kiosk on the Embarcadero.

There never was any doubt in our minds but we resolved one question for sure today. Esme is an excellent traveling companion. She’s pleasant, fun to be with, holds up well when tired and only complains when there’s something worth complaining about. Esme’s a keeper. But we knew that all along.