• Ordinary people. Extraordinary romance.

    Ordinary people. Extraordinary romance.

You’d think a big, sophisticated city like Las Vegas would have the newest, spiffiest technology in the world.  Well, you’d think wrong.  It’s lacking a simple little thing called wi-fi.

Seriously, finding an open connection, free or otherwise, sucked up almost two hours of my time Wednesday night.  We rolled into town late afternoon.  Aaron and Holli were hot on the trail of an apartment.  They needed some financial information from us, because, apparently, the property management folks need to know if you’ll pay them rent.  Go figure.  I needed to access my bank account and send them a pdf of my statement.

No free wi-fi at the McDonalds.  Or Starbucks.  Lots of networks, most of them locked, and the ones linked to a hotel requested $$$$, which would be charged to my room.  Kind of hard to do when I didn’t have a room with them.  Finally, I returned to my own hotel, ready to swallow its fees.  A call to the front desk informed me they don’t have internet.  AT ALL.  Not free, not for sale, not for a minute, not for a second.  NADA.

But….their sister casino has free wi-fi in the hotel lobby.  ONLY.  And it’s at the other end of Fremont Street, past some sketchy areas.  I gave up joining the revelers on the street, Elvis, Jack Sparrow, Death, the showgirls, Brett Michaels, Queen and the woman with the enormous breasts and tiny pasties, and trudged to the hotel where I finally got a signal.  I did my Mom thing and sent the information off, which helped result in us getting an apartment north of Pearl Harbor. (Yeah!)  It will be ready Monday, the day we arrive.  No hotel rooms after Sunday.  Also, no furniture, but it’s a small price to pay (ask me again next week).

What happens in Vegas stays there because no one can get a connection to tell about it.

Next time, get a computer with wi-fi and cellular.  Or don’t schedule your trip with a major household move.  Just saying.

Cheryl, on the road, day 8

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The Road to Hawaii, or how we sold (almost) everything, quit our jobs and moved to Oahu, as told by one family who is experiencing it.

So, last Friday, while packing, cleaning, mailing and signing papers to rid ourselves of Michigan (in a nice way), we picked up the mail.  Aaron and Holli had applied for a credit card to help them rent a car, etc.  It arrived Friday.  Problem – they were on a plane headed toward Honolulu.

We trekked to the nearest FedEx office and paid way too much money to have the card overnighted to a Honolulu FedEx office.  Saturday delivery guaranteed.  Guess what?  They mishandled the shipment and it won’t be there until today, Monday.  Meanwhile, Aaron and Holli’s attempts to find an apartment and/or job are hindered while they’re shackled to a bus schedule.

Way to (not) go, FedEx!

In unrelated news, Luke and I are in Colorado, making good time.  We all have new phone numbers with the coveted 808 Hawaii area code.  Major fights have been avoided, but there have been a few skirmishes.  The concept of “free wi-fi” is a loose one.  Stay hydrated.

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The Road to Hawaii, or how we sold (almost) everything, quit our jobs and moved to Oahu, as told by one family who is experiencing it.

We drive through more flat farmland, the corn brown, its leaves curled in protective cones.  Corn should not be this brown, not in August, but the drought has taken its toll.  The further west we go, the more burned the landscape.

We cross the Indiana, Mississippi and Kansas Rivers, the water low.  Creeks and smaller rivers are dry.  We stop at Hannibal, MO, boyhood home of Mark Twain.  It’s a sleepy town, caught in time, the edges sharpened a little by commercialism.  Benches line the sidewalks, which are cobblestone in places.  We stand on the shores of the Mississippi to say we have, then climb in the car and hit the road to Hawaii again.

 

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