The Contented Cow Blog

Building Workplaces That Work

OK, last post from Hawaii. It’s time to get back to reality.

For the past nine days, my wife, our two kids (teenagers), and I have been enjoying a wonderful vacation in Hawaii. First time for all of us. Oahu and the Big Island of Hawaii.

We’ve had a great time. On Oahu, we saw Pearl Harbor, Waikiki Beach, Diamond Head, Punchbowl Cemetery, and spent lots of time doing nothing, on the balcony of our hotel room. On the Big Island, we had a perfect view of Mauna Kea from the lanai of the villa, the week’s use of which we were gifted by good friends; visited Hilo, Anaeho’omalu Bay, went to a luau, and took a helicopter ride over the smoking caldera of Kilauea, which has been erupting for the last 24 years. What a show we got!

The trip didn’t provide much to complain about, and even if it had, I wouldn’t complain about much. I count myself very fortunate indeed to have been able to spend 9 days relaxing in one of the world’s most beautiful destinations, with my family. The food was (mostly) great, the scenery was magnificent, and the time together was irreplaceable. I mentioned these kids are teenagers?

But if you will allow me one rant, and one alone, I would like to throw down about what I have now discovered to be, in my experience, the most fouled up commercial airport in the whole of the United States. I haven’t been to all of them, but having now traveled to all 50 states, I’ve covered an awful lot, and there is nothing to compare to Keahole Airport, in Kona, on the Big Island. I’ve been to third-world airports that look better, and run better.

The day we left Kona to return to Honolulu for our trip onward to the mainland, the newspaper West Hawaii Today reported that hotel occupancy rates were down on the Big Island, and offered a few expert guesses as to why. I can tell you why, and you need look no further than the Kona International Airport. I certainly won’t visit the island again through this port of entry. First, the architects of this place never thought to include any actual buildings in the design. The whole thing is open-air. How tropical. It’s not so much an airport as an air patio. Not unlike the old airport at Tortola, British Virgin Islands, before they used some of the tourist tax to build a sparkling new one that you could lock up at night. I have to admit, I used to like the chickens meandering through the old airport, but the new one is better.

But this isn’t the British Virgin Islands; it’s the United States, Hawaii, in fact. A state whose primary industry is tourism… by air. And it’s not just that the airport’s al fresco. Say what you will about air travel in the US, the majority of airports have at least figured out how to convey travelers from the building entrance to their respective aircraft, with some degree of success. It may take a long time, the TSA agents may stop the line occasionally to inspect some kid’s backpack in order to justify their continued employment, and in most airports, the culinary choices are inadequate and overpriced. But at Kona, everything’s a jumble. There are lots of signs, but they’re all wrong and tell you to go to the wrong place. After joining one mob to, hopefully, check in for your airline, you are then expected to know to go to another mob, the entry point of which is unclear, to take your checked luggage to a tent, where overworked and overheated TSA agents have to sort your luggage onto carts by flight number, while you stand, perspire, and watch. And if you should misinterpret the joining place of that (or any other) mob, be prepared to incur the wrath of all the other hot and bothered passengers who finally figured out where to hook on, and don’t appreciate your trying to jump the queue.

One of the incorrect signs is the one that tells you that you should plan to check in for your 20 minute island hop flight 90 minutes before departure. That’s a good way to get left behind. Two hours of standing in mobs in the 90 degree heat will allow you to rush onto your plane last and endure the glares of those who knew better and arrived three hours early.

The Kona International Airport processes about 1.5 million passengers per year, roughly the same as the Tulsa, OK airport, and yet is a fraction of the size, if you count the square footage of the concrete you have to congregate on. Kona possesses a total of two, that’s 2… the second number… of metal detectors, compared to Tulsa’s 6.

And then, if your experience is anything like ours, after you’ve waited nearly an hour in the full sun in the only place on the island not blessed with delicious breezes, when you’re three people away from the X-ray machine, twelve crew members will suddenly jump in front of you (OK, fair enough), and then, a frantic woman, in peril of missing her flight to Maui (there are only 23 of them a day) will be ushered in front of you by the very same private security agent who, ten minutes ago, threatened to send you, your entire family, and your 3-pack of carry-on Dole pineapple to the back of the line on suspicion of trying to gain linear advantage over another party. Madam Maui will be sporting an ankle bracelet made of gun metal, and worn on the inside of her pantyhose, and all of this will need to be removed, in front of you and your family, blocking access to the X-ray machine by any of the people who have actually ever flown on a commercial aircraft since 9/11.

There! That feels better. Having said all that, here’s the one point I want to leave with you. Take a break. “Use your vacation time”. “Get away”, unwind, “relax”, unplug. I didn’t know I felt so lousy until I took 9 days to take it easy, and now I feel great. You don’t need to go to Hawaii, or any other island paradise, or anyplace particularly far away, or expensive. But find a place, make the time, take people you care about, or go alone, but go. We’ll all like you better when you get back.

Aloha.

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