We arrived in Honolulu relatively unscathed. Got checked into our hotel rooms at the Hale Koa hotel in Waikiki. We spend a couple of uneventful days visiting the beach, the Bishop Museum, and just lounging around. Then closterphobia sets in. We've been in and out of hotel rooms, other people's houses, minivans, trains, and airplanes for almost a month now, and I am in serious need of a room that is not connected in any way with the one that our children are sleeping in. Not to mention that it would be nice to shower and pee without an audience. We're having to pay out of pocket for all of our meals, and it's needless to say, expensive. Our hotel rooms are equipped with a mini fridge, but no available cooking surfaces.
So, in the effort to get us out of the hotel, I take the initiative and call the housing office at Ft. Shafter. Nothing available for three months. N-O-T-H-I-N-G. So I called Schofield Barracks. Nothing. I then call the Navy, and the Marine Corps. Again, nothing. No housing availability whatsoever. Great. So, I get on my trusty laptop, pay $9 to get on the internet in our hotel room (boo), and begin searching for houses.
The house search takes THREE DAYS! We looked at exactly zero houses in the first two days. We burned up two tanks of gas driving all over the island looking at houses. If you've never been to Oahu, housing here is very very different. Not only is housing here extremely expensive, its, well, small. The first several houses we drove by were a combination of tiny, ugly, dirty, nasty, or in bad neighborhoods. And another little hitch: people don't put FOR RENT signs up here. You either have to be an internet guru or actually know someone who knows someone. As we're sitting in the driveway waiting on another realtor to show us another too-small house, I use my trusty blackberry in a last ditch effort to find something worth it. Bingo. Two houses pop up. So, I call. First phone number is disconnected. Second phone number goes to voice mail. I leave a message, figuring it'll be another two days of nightmarish hotel hell before we get a call back. The house is an ugly orange-sherbet color in the picture, and honestly doesn't look that appealing, but at this point I'm about ready to camp on the beach. While we're still waiting (realtor is by now 15 minutes late), my phone rings. It's the realtor for the other house. He happens to be at the property right now, and he can show it to us now. So, we ditch the too small house with the late realtor for the possibility of another prospect. We program the address into the new GPS, and off we go. (BTW, I'm still a HUGE GPS fan). The GPS guides us down a small, two-lane road. At this point, my husband begins to question my real estate sanity. "Where the hell are you taking us?" he asks. My sarcasm kicks into overdrive, and I reply,"Yes, I have found us a beat up trailer in the sticks." I receive the traditional husband grunt in reply. Our little two-lane road passes a really smelly water treatment plant, then a golf course. Other than the smell, this is looking promising. The two lane road comes to a stop light on a four-lane, manicured road. The houses are....nice. There is a park.....there is mowed grass....there are palm trees lining the streets....there are crosswalks.....A couple of turns later and we arrive at the orange-sherbet house. From the street, it's not so orange. It's more of a light terra cotta. The neighborhood is quiet. In fact, there's not much noise at all. The front door is standing open, so we herd the kids in the house to look. Brad, the realtor, is waiting to greet us. The house is cool, calm, and has a vaulted ceiling in the entryway. There are two living spaces, a dining room, kitchen with an island, office space upstairs, four bedrooms and 2 and a half bathrooms. AWESOME!!! This is the first and only house we've actually be inside in our three day search. It's perfect. Other than the fact that it's 30 minutes from Ft. Shafter, where my husband will be working. My glorious husband knows that I have reached my hotel room limit, and gallantly takes one for the team. He agrees to commute every day so we can get out of the hotel. Bless you, honey!!! We sign the paperwork, pay our deposit, and hustle back to the hotel to begin packing.
When we arrive back at the hotel, there is a message from the movers. Our household goods are available for delivery the next day. Good thing we found a house, huh?
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