Alaska Airlines from Savannah/Hilton Head International Airport to Lihue

Oh, brave voyager, envisaged on an ambitious quest from the southern sugar spheres of Savannah/Hilton Head International Airport to the far-flung tropical tedium of Lihue. Suspend your reality, shutter your Google window, and lean into this melodramatic, unconventional journey. An eccentric travel extravaganza, nay, an Odyssey complete with satirical seasoning awaits.

First things first, flights. You're no stranger to their song- a tantalizing melody of pit stops and pat-downs; they dance in the air like a puppeteer's delight. Direct flights however, are the sulky soloists unwilling to share the stage. Our voyage, dear comrade, hinges on the second act - a non-stop trans-Pacific spectacle, just as Kit Carson could've only dreamed of in his wildest, gold-seeking fever dreams. One-way or round-trip, it matters not. All roads lead to Alberta, or was it Lihue? Ah, what's a Hawaiian island next to a Canadian province but a blink in the great cosmic waltz?

Moving up the hierarchical ladder of stacked miracles of human engineering and sky-high delusions of grandeur, we have our classes. Ah, class-where the essence of humanity manifests in spent airfare. For us humble scriveners, Economy class is where we summon our tales. High above the clouds, wedged between a snoring businessman and an over-excited tourist, inspiration strikes amidst tiny packets of peanuts. Premium Economy, that's where desire lives, only a tantalizing armrest away. It's where your foot space expands just enough to tease your memory of terrestrial normality.

First-class is but a dream. A realm of reclining leather thrones, free-flowing champagne and a silence that would make a monastery feel like a rock concert. Business class, it's curiously named, isn’t it? As if paperwork and presentations would be anyone's choice of pastime, skyrocketing at 37,000 ft towards a tropical paradise in the Pacific.

In-flight services, the Mozart’s symphonies in this airborne concert - sweet serenades of half-portion meals, an artfully arranged tray of color, almost good enough to eat. A cornucopia of overpriced peanuts and deep-frozen sandwiches, lovingly reheated, only a credit card swipe away.

The pathway to the North, to Lihue, launders your airfare, cleanses it of its metropolitan pretenses, binding you inextricably in her spell. Connections flights call out like sirens from Los Angeles, San Francisco, even Seattle – the latter a mischievous flirt, reminding you just who Alaska’s long, lost lover is.

Ah, Alaska! Poster child for social distancing with a populace density of just over 1.2 individuals per square mile. Imagine the freedom, that exhilarating isolation - as if every man, woman, child, and beaver were to enjoy their personal island on the Hawaiian archipelago, unperturbed by the tempestuous external world.

We've danced around it long enough. Let's discuss the Giant iceberg in the room - the flight cancellation policy. The cruel mistress that can banish you to another day of waiting, another sleep cycle spent away from your azure dreams. Oh, to navigate this treacherous landscape of unpredictable volcanic activity and the random butterfly effect of a misplaced luggage at the source!

Keep these in mind, O journeyer, as you embark on this outrageous escapade. Or ignore all, just mindlessly shuffle towards that gleaming bird of steel and dreams. After all, to laugh at the world's absurdity is a privilege, but to dance with it is sheer bliss.

Sweet traveler, bundle escorting you through the lunacy that is air travel, carry you gently, firmly, unabashedly to the heart of your desired wonderland, the much-lauded Lihue. Sleep tight, dream of far-off lands, the morrow is another flight.