Day 112-- Last Day Before San Diego

13 December. 30°52’N, 123°43’W. Speed= 23 knots. Course= 070

“The storm of the century” never appeared. We’re now a little less than 15 hours before our scheduled arrival in Sand Diego harbor, and, other than a few gently rolling swells north of Oahu, the past 4 days have been smooth and relatively sunny. In fact, Thursday was a picture-perfect day on the Pacific: the sea looking like a massive, blue comforter, rising and falling in smooth waves; skies absolutely clear; temperatures in the mid 70s. It was as if SAS had negotiated with the gods of the sea and sky to engineer one final, perfect day on the water.

We sailed out of Honolulu harbor right at 1600 Wednesday the 9th, turned east, cruised about 2 miles offshore, passing downtown Honolulu, the beaches of Waikiki with the high-rise towers of Radissons and Outriggers dwarfing the beautiful, diminutive, pink grace of the Royal Hawaiian. Between us and the beach, a single boat towing two Japanese (no doubt) tourists suspended beneath a red-and-white parachute, both waving at the beautiful MV Explorer as we passed by. As we rounded Diamond Head, as if on cue, a couple of humpbacks breeched and blew water salutes from their blowholes. Then we turned northeast and paralleled the eastern shore of Oahu until, finally, it disappeared off the port stern. We’ve made, now, what seems like countless departures from some memorable ports, but the sail away from Honolulu will, undoubtedly, be the one I remember long after we step off the gangplank tomorrow.

The last three days—through this morning, in fact—have been harried and hectic, far moreso than I expected. I dug into some long-ago-turned-in journals on their Vietnam visit from my business communication students. I don’t know that the level of thought has improved much, but either their writing is getting clearer, or I’m developing a new ability to understand the Millennial language: like, ya know, like, it’s about the, like, the tunnels that were, like, ya know, narrow and I kinda, ya know, like got stuck.

Makes sense to me.

Then, by the deadline Friday morning, I had received all of the intercultural comm. take-home final exams. So beginning that afternoon and continuing well into yesterday afternoon, I was reading and grading 28 final exams. The was open-book, but challenging—many students will opt for a “traditional” final, knowing that “open-book” usually means “you’ll spend a long time digging through all the course materials to find the buried answer to this arcane question.” Most of the students did pretty well, finding the correct answers to the objective questions, and making decent connections on the questions that required more than regurgitation.

Yesterday afternoon, then, I started calculating final course grades, which was easy for the 7 students in my public speaking class : 3 A’s, 3 B’s, and a very generous “C.” More difficult for the 24 business comm. and 28 intercultural comm. students. In the end, I awarded more “A’s,” proportionately, than I did even in my most beneficent semesters at the Academy, and far fewer “C’s.” Nothing below a “C,” though I had several students who will carry away from their courses little more than vague memories of me seen through glazed eyes.

Last night was the alumni ball or ambassador’s ball. They can’t seem to decide what to call it, but it’s the ship’s version of a graduation dance. We began with dinner served in the dining room. I was invited to sit at the Captain’s table by Dianne Baker, who had outbid all other comers at the ship’s auction for the privilege of sitting across from Captain Jeremy Kingston and his wife, Apple. Dianne, in fact, had been the big winner, if that’s the right term, at the auction, outbidding all others for such prizes as a week in a studio apartment overlooking Central Park; a week in a Summit County, Colorado, cabin; 10 minutes of steering the ship on the bridge; the right to blow the ship’s horn as we sail into San Diego harbor tomorrow morning; and—the most prized of the prizes—two backstage passes to watch a Saturday Nite Live dress rehearsal. For that, I believe she paid over $2,000. Dianne made the auction a great night for SAS.

The Chapels, Jim and Shamim, and a few others were also at the table. All in all, it was a pleasant evening of shrimp, onion soup, not-quite-filet-mignon, and a decent wine that took us to about 10pm, when the students adjourned to the union for the dance, and I went back to my cabin to enjoy the remainder of a quiet evening and think abut today’s packing.

After submitting grades into the UVA system this morning, I packed what I could into the two book boxes I had picked up from the assistant dean’s office and the one large box I bought at the UPS store in downtown Honoulu. Between the three boxes, my large duffle bag, and, of course, my golf clubs, I’m sending most of my stuff home via UPS. I’m hoping the rest—some clothes and odds & ends—fits into my rollaboard and backpack. We’ll see.

So tomorrow morning at 0800, it all ends. We dock at 8, US customs starts clearing the ship immediately, the first passengers—3 students who came out on top at casino night, followed by the all-“A’s (is it just me, or are the priorities a little confused?), followed by the winning “sea” in the Explorer Olympics—should disembark around 1000. The faculty and staff follow, probably clearing around 1100. Then I locate my boxes and bags from among the 2,000 pieces that will be collected in a dockside warehouse, I schlep them to the UPS representative, hand them over, and depart for the San Diego airport.

I expect to spend the next couple of weeks decompressing and digesting. The decompression will take place mostly on my couch, watching TV, reading the newspaper, enjoying home. The digesting will be another matter, drawing together all of the experiences from the past 4 months and coming up with something to take away from it all. I have new feelings about the world, very different, in both good ways and not-so-good ways, from my feelings before August 21st. I have strong opinions about SAS, who provides an incredibly rich experience for all of us: students, faculty, staff, lifelong learners, families. And I have strong opinions about the students, a very select slice of American 18- to 22-year-olds.

But I need to think about all that. Meanwhile, tonight we have convocation, the final event of the voyage. And I should get ready.