Because we couldn’t wait even one more year for the more traditional milestone, Marge and I went to Hawaii for our 24th wedding anniversary.

After all, everybody else has already been there. At least that seemed to be the case when we announced our travel plans.

Lance and Laurie Haslund, Burien’s peerless patrons of the arts, sat us down and wrote out a must-see list.

Highline Times proofreader Connie Case added her recommendations.

And Marge’s boss, who grew up in the Hawaiian Islands, generously assembled a suggested itinerary.

Armed with all this expert advice we flew off to Oahu, ending up at the Hilton Hawaiian Village on Waikiki.

The Hilton is more like a small city than a village—22 acres, 3,386 rooms, six pools, a dozen restaurants and 90 shops. I bet some jaded tourists never leave the village.

The first thing we noticed was that we must have missed the big news while in the air for six hours. Apparently, Japan had suffered another terrible earthquake and the entire population had been evacuated to Oahu.

The second thing I noticed was that it was going to be hard to remember the names of those two Oahu spots that the Florida professor known as “Dr. Beach” (what a gig!) had proclaimed are among the top ten beaches in the U.S.

The Hawaiian language contains only 12 letters—five of them vowels and most names start with K, W or H. Proper pronunciation was way beyond me. I was never going to recall the professor’s No. 2 pick, Kahanamoku Beach.

The first night we hit the first in a string of bars recommended to us by various hip rental car agents and bellboys. I think we got confused and thought we were celebrating our 24th birthdays instead of our 24th anniversary as during the week we hit places with names like “Rum Fire” and “The Edge.”

So relatively bright eyed, we set out Monday morning on our weeklong adventure in Paradise.

But, despite all the pre-trip mentoring, I’m sad to report we made about every rookie travel mistake possible.

We drove out along the north shore past some of the most glorious roadside beaches anywhere. Our destination was the Polynesian Cultural Center—on the required list of all our experts.

But Marge’s boss had tipped us off that the island’s best roadside shrimp truck was in the next town past the center. We kept on going, expecting to double back.

Did I mention this was Memorial Day Monday in the middle of surfer heaven? Even surfers got to work so they can afford to hit the road to their favorite beach—on Memorial Day!

It was a 90-minute wait for the shrimp plate, followed by the kind of traffic jam you see after a Husky football game.

I regrouped Tuesday morning as I pulled on my oversized, stained and faded Jimmy Buffett t-shirt and old sneakers –ready for FUN!

Marge looked at me and grumbled, “I’ve got to upgrade.”

Later, she claimed what she really said was, “I’ve got to upgrade YOU.” But for a few moments there I was worried I would be replaced before I made it to our silver anniversary.

Anyway, that’s how we ended up in a Sports Authority at an indoor mall looking for men’s sandals and Hilo Hattie’s buying Hawaiian shirts while the sun shone beautifully outside.

Wednesday, we set the GPS for Pearl Harbor. Little did we know GPS doesn’t work so well in directing drivers to restricted military bases. So we didn’t realize that big exit was for the Arizona Memorial AND a stadium—not for “Arizona Memorial Stadium.”

We circled back during an open and candid dialogue between driver and navigator. But touring the U.S. Missouri and standing on the spot where World War II ended was awesome.

We wanted to see more at Pearl Harbor but had to catch the luau party bus with Cousin Kii back in downtown Honolulu.

By Thursday we finally started to get our act together.

Marge wanted to try snorkeling at the pristine Hanauma Bay Nature Preserve. However, it didn’t seem logical to risk drowning just to see exotic creatures in the sea when there were so many interesting sights right there on the beach.

But once I finally got the hang of it, I had to admit snorkeling has definite possibilities.

Friday morning, we drove to Dr. Beach’s 7th best American beach—Waimanalo Bay Beach Park. It was a sparkling sandy white beach smack in the middle of a 75-acre park.

And when I saw that classic lifeguard shack with the rescue surfboard propped up casually next to it, I looked around intently for David Hasselhoff and the Baywatch beauties. No luck but at least I could say I had seen one of the country’s best beaches.

But with our trip ending the next day, I despaired of ever finding the professor’s runner-up to his best beach, Coronado Beach near San Diego. Where in the world is Kahanamoku Beach?

The Hilton marks the beginning of the weekend on Friday night by shooting off fireworks 24 floors up in the sky. We were staying on the 22nd floor. That’s the most up close and personal fireworks display I’ve ever witnessed.

And how about that fabulous beach and lagoon down below we’ve been admiring all week? I checked the guidebook to gets its name.

You gotta be kidding me! Kahanamoku Beach!!

Don’t get me wrong; despite our early miscues, we had great fun.

We’re seeking recommendations on the next Hawaiian island to visit.

But next time, Marge is going to upgrade me at Southcenter before we leave.