Gisenyi, Rwanda – June 7, 2011
Standing outside the Belvedere bus station in Kigali, surrounded by bags and impatient to depart the bustling city for our more pastoral destination alongside Lake Kivu, 90 minutes seemed too long to wait for our bus to arrive. As I began to negotiate prices for a car to take us three and a half hours away to the lakeside town of Gisenyi, a familiar face spotted mine through the crowd. Claude, a reliable and friendly driver, whom I had worked with in March, embraced me sincerely and offered his assistance. Despite the fact that he was scheduled to drive a busload of people across the country in a matter of minutes, he spent a good quarter of an hour negotiating the reimbursement of our bus tickets and arranging a very reasonably priced private taxi for us. His helpfulness felt like that of a real friend, an equal, rather than the false friendliness and awkward relationships I have often encountered here between service providers and service recipients. He was just one man trying to help his friend out.
The roads across Rwanda were windy and steep, but I slept through the first two hours, slowly recovering from the exhaustion of 3 weeks of trip leading. Before reaching the volcanic mountain region of Virunga, we stopped for tea at a friend’s house. Kitty, who I lived with in France, is now in her second year of Peace Corps in Rwanda. She lives in Gikenke, in a quaint home with courtyard and gardens and western style plumbing. Tea and cookies awaited our arrival and for awhile she told us about her experiences here and we marveled at her strength in living so removed from the western world, so isolated from her peers.
We drove on.
Near evening, we spotted the shores of Lake Kivu in the valley below us (although even the lake is at an altitude of 1000 meters.) In the distance, we could see the Congo, just a few kilometers away from Gisenyi. We took a twisting road lined with villagers down towards our bed and breakfast (the wonderful Paradis Malahide) and arrived with enough daylight to appreciate the beauty of our new home.
The Paradis is aptly named. We were greeted with warmth and quickly led to our individual bungalows. The round huts have thatched roofs and a view of the lake a few meters away. Our windows and doors open up to a breeze and the landscape is a magical blend of red, orange, yellow and purple flowers. Lantana, bougainvillea and a dozen other flowers I can’t name make a rich home for the even more stunning birds and lizards that also dwell in this Garden of Eden. Beyond the vibrant an colorful landscape, the gentle waves of Lake Kivu lap against the shores and lull us to sleep at night. In the mornings, we hear the distant laughs and voices of children mingling with the morning chatter of birds. I could stay a week – or a month.
The first night, we went a few doors down to the Restaurant Touristique. It was already late when we arrived and there was only one other table seated. We stepped up to the counter, expecting to be seated, and were handed a menu. We were asked to order before we were seated. Then, a waiter led us down some rickety steps to a deck beside the lake. There we were sat among the haphazardly scattered plastic lawn chairs that stood about. It took a few minutes for our table to arrive, but eventually the waiter brought us a table. A bit after that, he arrived with a tray bearing Ori’s beer and a box of wine. With difficulty, he poured wine from the awkward box into a small glass. I stood back to avoid the spray of the wine dripping from the spout and laughed at the uniqueness of the situation. My glass a bit as it only had half a base left, but it stood strong and the South African red wine – boxed or not – was quite good. We quickly toasted to the beauty of the place and the singular experiences such as these that make travel so worthwhile. Our good spirits remained as evening turned into night and the hour plus wait was worth every minute when we finally tasted the fresh grilled fish that had swum only hours earlier in Kivu.
Prepared just for us, we were served a spectacular dinner of fish, potatoes and grilled bananas. The food was hot and fresh, and while we couldn’t quite see our plates in the darkness, we used our hands to pick out the bones and eat around the head. Having eaten only vegetables, rice and fruit for the past 3 weeks, I enjoyed the treat of this freshly cooked delicacy.
We awoke earlier on Monday and sat at wooden tables overlooking the Lake. There is an island nearby and we enjoy our breakfast surrounded by flowers, birds and brightly colored lizards. The staff of the Paradis brings us a complete breakfast of fruit salad, omelets to order, toast, and sweet crepes for dessert. The coffee and tea are served in pottery and the plates are silverware are carved from wood. Throughout our breakfast, we listen to the sounds of hundreds of people bargaining at the market a bit further down the shore. The waiter tells us this is weekly market for the people of Gisenyi and Kiyuvo, a city about 6 hours south of here by roads.
After breakfast, we walk down to explore the market. Coal seems to be the main attraction at the market and is sold in huge sacks covered with leaves. Men and women carry the heavy sacks on their heads and make their way across the rocky shores without shoes. We see bananas being sold and dozens of pineapples being loaded off of wooden boats into the baskets that rest upon the heads of the women who line the shores. Many of the women have young babies tied snugly to their backs with fabric. We see a girl of eight or nine with a baby and another woman who could be a great-grandmother carrying both baby and basket upon her frail body.
A group of young boys do summersaults in black netting and play and giggle as the women next to them stick their arms deep into buckets full of slimy half-dead sardines. Further down the shore, we watch men unloading heavy loads of sand from the bowels of a rusty boat (ironically named “Titanic 2”). Barefoot as well, they balance their bodies on the swells of the lake and their heavy burdens on their heads as they walk a rickety plank towards the shore, the sweat visibly dripping down their backs. One of them has a big belt buckle with the face of President Kagame. We point it out and he smiles.
We are conspicuous, to say the least. Women, men and children all point t us and cry “muzungu.” They stare, unabashedly, they giggle and whisper about us in each other’s’ ears. I understand nothing but am curious. Some of them say, “Give me money,” but more say “good morning” despite the fact that it is already afternoon. AS I watch the men unloading sand from the ship, I sit down on a log beside two women. One has just finished breast feeding her baby. This baby, about four months old, is particularly adorable. She has a round face and puffy cheeks and as I smile at her and point, the two women eagerly pass me the baby. I touch her round soft head and smile into her sparking eyes. Ori and Zipa come close to take pictures and for a few blissful moments I am completely content.
… until I feel something warm on my lap, and Ori points at the trickle pouring between my legs. Diaperless, the baby has peed with joy as I cradled her and as her caretakers laugh hysterically, I gently hand the oblivious baby back to her mother. The warm wet stain on my pants doesn’t really bother me, but I waddle back to our hotel (a few blocks away.) A few of the villagers point at me and laugh – as if I had soiled myself – but I am glad for experience and mostly grateful that the baby only peed.
After a shower, we head into town. The hotel manager assures us we will have no problem finding a taxi on the road. After walking for awhile, the public bus stops to offer us a ride. We ask if they can take us directly to La Corniche, a restaurant that a friend has recommended. The driver assures us that – yes, he can take us directly there. 15 minutes later, we are deposited on a bus station above the center of town, on a dirt road. The drivers surround us, asking for money, but we are nowhere near La Corniche. One driver comes to our rescue with kindness (and good French.) While we aren’t given any direction about how to find the restaurant, we are allowed to leave without paying for the misguided busride. We wander the back streets of Gisenyi, tripping over rocks and sweating in the heat. After asking many locals, we finally find ourselves at the buffet. The Rwandan food is delicious – particularly a seasoned rice and red sauce that they serve. We receive freshly sliced avocado, savory cabbage and onions and fill our bellies beyond capacity.
Our attempts to negotiate a cab ride back to our hotel fail, so we set out on foot yet again. We find ourselves on the main road of Gisenyi, a wide boulevard that leads along the water to the border of the Congo and the adjacent town of Goma, just a kilometer away. The road is clean and in good condition and lined with tall palms and a sort of giant cactus tree that I have never seen. Between the road and the lake is a well-manicured park where residents play soccer and swim. Opposite the water are stately mansions, impressive villas We are told that at leats one – the most impressive we see – is owned by a Rwandan business man. The houses have gardens and buttresses and see befit for Malibu, or the Amalfi Coast.
Along the walk, where we run into a boy who wearing a graduation cap (he had just graduated high school and, smiling with pride, he told me in perfect French that he was headed to university in Uganda!) After 40 minutes or so, we come to the fancy Kivu Serena hotel and enjoy coffee and icecream beside their pool. The lobby is fancy and the décor could be that of a nice hotel anywhere in the world, but the service in slow and communication a challenge. We are grateful to be statying at a much more interesting auberge where the service is superb and the location nestled far from the center of town and a small inlet in the giant tht is Lake Kivu.
Today, we woke up later and enjoyed a slow morning beside the lake, reading, playing cards and swimming. Now, we await a meal of grilled fish and an evening of lazy meanderings in the city of Gisenyi.
Sunday, June 12, 2011
Saturday, April 16, 2011
I love Tel Aviv.
It took my body (and spirit) about two weeks to understand that I am really back in Israel, but after 10 days in Caesarea and two days in Tel Aviv, I felt a physiological switch.
And smiled.
And haven't stopped since.
Sure - Israel has traffic, and cigarettes and dog shit on every block, and incompetent staff at the cell phone company, but somehow, something about this place relaxes me. I'm still working like crazy, self-initiating into a blackberry addict, and I have a splinter in my finger that is menacing my dexterity and seems anxious to infect my entire right hand....
but so what?
Tel Aviv, especially, is calling to me. We are spending two weeks near Kikar Rabin in the center of Tel Aviv, cat sitting and apartment sitting for Ori's brother. It's awesome to be back with Tripod, and amazing to be wandering around this city, vibrant with life at all hours of the day, visiting our favorite spots and checking out new ones that have popped up in the past two years.
Today (86 degrees!) we spent the day with friends at the beach, parking just beneath our old apartment. We sipped frozen coffee drinks and lemon-mint slurpies and played with their sweet 9-month-old. Sure, most of our friends seem to have added a new family member in the past 12 months, but it hasn't changed things as much as I expected. The babies are still too young to be a major distraction (no terrible-twos yet) and there are always family members nearby to babysit.
We've spent all week reuniting with friends, out wandering the streets until 1 or 2am and returning home past coffeeshops and bars still bustling with crowds who can far outlast us into the night.
I had thought I was ready to settle into a house in the country, but I may need another year yet to explore this city. Nearly everything, and everyone, seems to be in walking distance, the beach is always a few blocks away, and the food is even tastier than I remembered.
Maybe these rose-tinted glasses will lose their sparkle, but I seem to remember this feeling of general contentment as a daily companion from my life in Tel Aviv. I miss my family and my friends, for sure, but not the feeling of general haste and preoccupation that, inexplicably, overcomes me in New York. It's a phenomena I can't entirely explain, but for now I am grateful for my total awareness and acceptance of the moment. I feel each day is a gift. And I relish it.
It took my body (and spirit) about two weeks to understand that I am really back in Israel, but after 10 days in Caesarea and two days in Tel Aviv, I felt a physiological switch.
And smiled.
And haven't stopped since.
Sure - Israel has traffic, and cigarettes and dog shit on every block, and incompetent staff at the cell phone company, but somehow, something about this place relaxes me. I'm still working like crazy, self-initiating into a blackberry addict, and I have a splinter in my finger that is menacing my dexterity and seems anxious to infect my entire right hand....
but so what?
Tel Aviv, especially, is calling to me. We are spending two weeks near Kikar Rabin in the center of Tel Aviv, cat sitting and apartment sitting for Ori's brother. It's awesome to be back with Tripod, and amazing to be wandering around this city, vibrant with life at all hours of the day, visiting our favorite spots and checking out new ones that have popped up in the past two years.
Today (86 degrees!) we spent the day with friends at the beach, parking just beneath our old apartment. We sipped frozen coffee drinks and lemon-mint slurpies and played with their sweet 9-month-old. Sure, most of our friends seem to have added a new family member in the past 12 months, but it hasn't changed things as much as I expected. The babies are still too young to be a major distraction (no terrible-twos yet) and there are always family members nearby to babysit.
We've spent all week reuniting with friends, out wandering the streets until 1 or 2am and returning home past coffeeshops and bars still bustling with crowds who can far outlast us into the night.
I had thought I was ready to settle into a house in the country, but I may need another year yet to explore this city. Nearly everything, and everyone, seems to be in walking distance, the beach is always a few blocks away, and the food is even tastier than I remembered.
Maybe these rose-tinted glasses will lose their sparkle, but I seem to remember this feeling of general contentment as a daily companion from my life in Tel Aviv. I miss my family and my friends, for sure, but not the feeling of general haste and preoccupation that, inexplicably, overcomes me in New York. It's a phenomena I can't entirely explain, but for now I am grateful for my total awareness and acceptance of the moment. I feel each day is a gift. And I relish it.
Wednesday, January 12, 2011
1-11-11
Bonaire, Holland
There’s a crew of parrots chattering away in the tree just beyond my porch. I can’t quite see them because they are brightly backlit by the sun setting just beyond. The palm trees are dark green silhouettes against the sky and water beyond them. It’s about 6 o’clock, I’m in shorts and a tank top, and the steady breeze that blows east to west all day here is making music in the leaves, setting the rhythm for the birds’ flutes and whistles.
We arrived in Bonaire two days ago, touching down on the small Caribbean island at half past six on a Sunday morning. 40 miles to the north is Venezuela. To our west 1 mile is the uninhabited little island of Klein Bonaire and 50 or so miles beyond that Curacao.
Arrival
We stepped off the plane and the warm breezy air bounced off the tarmac wafting up to my outspread arms. Ori and I smiled and danced in the hot sun, thrilled by to have arrived after so many months of anticipation. The small airport terminal, the hot air, the breeze – it all reminded me instantly of Rwanda. I don’t know if the airport terminals are both a colonial style of architecture, or if the two airports were built by the same architect, but this instant surge of reminder continued with me throughout our drive into town. We cleared customs and grabbed our bags quickly, found our friends and drove through the two-street main town.
The houses are simple, small, one story buildings. Many are painted bright colors. Shipping containers dot the landscape. We wove through several roundabouts, caught our first glimpse of the local flamingo population and entered into Kralendijk, the main town on island. A few miles beyond, heading north, we arrived at our friends’ home in Sand Dollar Condominiums.
Sunday
Sunday was a full day. Our friends quickly gave us a tour of our apartment which is, simply, perfect. We have a bathroom, full closet, kitchen complete with spices and stocked with beer and wine. Beyond that is a large room with couch, chairs, desk and bed, all opening up onto a screened in porch with an ocean view. This has become my breakfast nook, and now, my writing spot.
At night we sleep as in Tel Aviv - no air conditioning, with only the evening breeze and the sounds of birds and surf to cool our bodies and minds. It is glorious.
Our friends live a few doors down and have gone out of their way to make their home feel like an extension of ours. We have been eating, cooking and generally relaxing at their place, turning our own unit into more of a bedroom.
From our first hours here, Ori and I were impressed with the level of convenience and simplicity. Just next to the condos is the dive shop, the dock, the room to store our scuba gear and an ocean front restaurant. You can wake up here at 8am and easily be scuba diving by 8:30. All you have to do is grab your gear and go.
At 9:30 Sunday morning, we attended an orientation at the Dive Shop and learned a bit about Bari Reef. This reef, right at our doorstep, is the most diverse in the entire Caribbean. In the past few years it has been invaded by lionfish, a beautiful but threating fish that was let loose in Florida and has made its way throughout the Caribbean down to Bonaire. They sting horribly – a sting so painful they say, “It won’t kill you, but you’ll wish it had.” More significantly, they eat. A lot. (25% of their body weight each day) And their presence is a threat to the famous diversity of the reef.
After the orientation, we rented our gear and got fitted for BCDs, regulators, fins and more. It was exciting to have this equipment in my hands after reading about it in my dive course book for so many weeks. We hung the gear on a hook and crossed the lawn to pick up a few groceries at the market next door. Along the way, our hosts introduced us to a few of the local characters, several of whom are American expats who have moved their lives to Bonaire. I took a brief nap, euphoric but overwhelmed by the fact of being here, in this amazing place.
Scuba Lessons
At 2 o’clock, I met up with J and my scuba class began in full. He and I have charged into the course with intensity and I am enjoying every minute. I am incredibly grateful for the opportunity to learn this way, one on one with someone I trust. He has completely dedicated these few days to teaching me to dive, and is a talented, patient and encouraging instructor. We began by reviewing some of the written lessons and then quickly headed down to the docks with our gear.
Up to this point, everything about diving has been wonderful – magical. There are two small tasks involved that I find challenging/frustrating, but both are getting easier each time.
1.Checking the air pressure in a tank.
This is a funny issue. Checking the pressure is easy, but releasing the gauge from the valve on the tank requires hand strength that I haven’t quite mastered. J is great about having me do it myself so I will learn, but I’ve bruised my palm about trying.
2.Suiting Up
I am borrowing a wet suit (more gratitude!) but it’s a bit snug. I actually think it’s the right size, but donning it involves a lot of pulling and pinching the materials to drag it up and on.
I point these out, mostly, because they are so mundane, and to underline how much I love everything about this new sport.
The Course
We began with a series of five “Contained Water Dives.” During these sessions, we never ventured lower than 10 feet. With Ori joining us for the first dive, I learned how to breathe in and out of the regulator, focusing on breathing only with my mouth. The very first time was scary at first. I froze for a few seconds, fearing I wouldn’t be able to do it. With a leap of faith, I slowly let air out of my vest and allowed myself to sink underwater. It worked. Air flowed in and out of my mouth easily and my confidence began to rise as my body descended. During the first few dives, I learned to remain neutrally buoyant, suspended in the water not floating or sinking. With each deep breath in, my lungs propel me up a few feet. Release the air inside, and I sink back down. Diving has been an amazing way to get in touch with my body, and to learn to appreciate breathing, and the ease with which my body performs this crucial function. I learned to swim in and out of hoops under water and practiced taking off my mask and putting it back on, using air from my nose to clear out the water.
Even in the shallow water, the view beneath mesmerized me. All around me swam blue and purple parrot fish. I would go under for 2 minutes and find myself surrounded by a giant school of tiny fish. Below me in the sand, I saw a flounder, hiding camouflaged with his eyes looking up at me. (When I first saw him, I thought it was a skeleton of a dead fish because he was exactly the color of the sand and sunk in a bit, giving me the impression that he was nothing but the discarded bones of a former creature.)
While J and I spent Sunday and Monday completing all five confined dives, Ori and C relaxed, rode bikes and dove. At night, we gathered for dinner. Sunday night we went to a delicious place in the capital town and Ori and I got a tour of the many restaurants along the waterfront. There is a Cuban bar, a harbor, and a special area where the giant cruise ships come in each day. Last night, J and I bought groceries at the local supermarket and cooked up a dinner of soup, rice and salad. We were joined around nine by E, the head of the local conservation society. All of us laughed, shared stories and went out to the delicious ice cream shop that is right next door. E invited C, J and Ori out for a dive the next day to work on controlling the Lion Fish population. As I write this, they are out diving, spear guns in hand, working to slowly fight against this invasive species.
Tuesday
I was up early today, excited to have my first “Open Water Dives.” These dives, carefully monitored by my instructor, offer the opportunity to practice my new skills in deeper water. No new skills are introduced, but the stakes are higher when the surface isn’t just overhead.
We swam out to a buoy about 100 yards off the dock, went over the procedures for descent and ascent, then released the air from our vests and slowly floated downward. I felt my ears popping along the way and blew air out gently to relieve the squeeze. I felt calm, confident and excited. We swam down and west toward the reef and before I knew it, my depth gauge measured 20, than 30, than 40 feet. The reef drops off quickly and we swam down alongside. I struggled a bit in the first dive to keep my fins out of the coral, but did better in subsequent trips.
One remarkable thing in diving is that as you descend, you have no concept of depth. Only your gauge (and the pressure in your ears) warns you that you are dropping steadily, and on our third dive we reached 57 feet below in just a few minutes. I love the feeling of swimming slowly after my partner, pushing the heavy water behind me with my fins and slowly propelling my body forward. I didn’t want to come up.
I was, today, introduced to an entire new universe on Earth. Just below the surface, just beyond our view from land, is a bustling, vibrant world of plants and animals, of colors and species, of predators and prey, reproduction and families, communities and interconnected systems of life. Of course I knew this stuff was there – but never really thought about it. Today I swam among it all, a tiny intruder in this bustling world below. The fish are everywhere and all around, and they continued with their lives unfettered by our presence. J and a trumpet fish stared at each other for a few minutes, both visitors in a mutual zoo. A midnight parrot fish swam right up to me and I thought for a second she would keep on swimming through my legs.
We saw brain corral, and fire corral and dozens of others that I have not begun to learn. I longed to learn it all – the names, the habits, the rarity and more – and then wondered why it mattered. Does knowing the name of a beautiful creature make it more beautiful? Is it more of a wonder if it’s rare to see? Or perhaps in my totally ignorant state, I am best equipped to stand (or float) in awe of the rich beauty below.
Beneath the surface, I find I am able to remain totally present. I concentrate on my breaths, keeping them slow and long. I stare in every direction, and with each degree that I turn, I see another wonder. I feel so privileged to have been introduced to this world. I imagine that a small percentage of people on Earth have had this opportunity and am grateful to be among them. I am, quite simply, hooked.
Midnight Parrotfish
Bonaire, Holland
There’s a crew of parrots chattering away in the tree just beyond my porch. I can’t quite see them because they are brightly backlit by the sun setting just beyond. The palm trees are dark green silhouettes against the sky and water beyond them. It’s about 6 o’clock, I’m in shorts and a tank top, and the steady breeze that blows east to west all day here is making music in the leaves, setting the rhythm for the birds’ flutes and whistles.
We arrived in Bonaire two days ago, touching down on the small Caribbean island at half past six on a Sunday morning. 40 miles to the north is Venezuela. To our west 1 mile is the uninhabited little island of Klein Bonaire and 50 or so miles beyond that Curacao.
Arrival
We stepped off the plane and the warm breezy air bounced off the tarmac wafting up to my outspread arms. Ori and I smiled and danced in the hot sun, thrilled by to have arrived after so many months of anticipation. The small airport terminal, the hot air, the breeze – it all reminded me instantly of Rwanda. I don’t know if the airport terminals are both a colonial style of architecture, or if the two airports were built by the same architect, but this instant surge of reminder continued with me throughout our drive into town. We cleared customs and grabbed our bags quickly, found our friends and drove through the two-street main town.
The houses are simple, small, one story buildings. Many are painted bright colors. Shipping containers dot the landscape. We wove through several roundabouts, caught our first glimpse of the local flamingo population and entered into Kralendijk, the main town on island. A few miles beyond, heading north, we arrived at our friends’ home in Sand Dollar Condominiums.
Sunday
Sunday was a full day. Our friends quickly gave us a tour of our apartment which is, simply, perfect. We have a bathroom, full closet, kitchen complete with spices and stocked with beer and wine. Beyond that is a large room with couch, chairs, desk and bed, all opening up onto a screened in porch with an ocean view. This has become my breakfast nook, and now, my writing spot.
At night we sleep as in Tel Aviv - no air conditioning, with only the evening breeze and the sounds of birds and surf to cool our bodies and minds. It is glorious.
Our friends live a few doors down and have gone out of their way to make their home feel like an extension of ours. We have been eating, cooking and generally relaxing at their place, turning our own unit into more of a bedroom.
From our first hours here, Ori and I were impressed with the level of convenience and simplicity. Just next to the condos is the dive shop, the dock, the room to store our scuba gear and an ocean front restaurant. You can wake up here at 8am and easily be scuba diving by 8:30. All you have to do is grab your gear and go.
At 9:30 Sunday morning, we attended an orientation at the Dive Shop and learned a bit about Bari Reef. This reef, right at our doorstep, is the most diverse in the entire Caribbean. In the past few years it has been invaded by lionfish, a beautiful but threating fish that was let loose in Florida and has made its way throughout the Caribbean down to Bonaire. They sting horribly – a sting so painful they say, “It won’t kill you, but you’ll wish it had.” More significantly, they eat. A lot. (25% of their body weight each day) And their presence is a threat to the famous diversity of the reef.
After the orientation, we rented our gear and got fitted for BCDs, regulators, fins and more. It was exciting to have this equipment in my hands after reading about it in my dive course book for so many weeks. We hung the gear on a hook and crossed the lawn to pick up a few groceries at the market next door. Along the way, our hosts introduced us to a few of the local characters, several of whom are American expats who have moved their lives to Bonaire. I took a brief nap, euphoric but overwhelmed by the fact of being here, in this amazing place.
Scuba Lessons
At 2 o’clock, I met up with J and my scuba class began in full. He and I have charged into the course with intensity and I am enjoying every minute. I am incredibly grateful for the opportunity to learn this way, one on one with someone I trust. He has completely dedicated these few days to teaching me to dive, and is a talented, patient and encouraging instructor. We began by reviewing some of the written lessons and then quickly headed down to the docks with our gear.
Up to this point, everything about diving has been wonderful – magical. There are two small tasks involved that I find challenging/frustrating, but both are getting easier each time.
1.Checking the air pressure in a tank.
This is a funny issue. Checking the pressure is easy, but releasing the gauge from the valve on the tank requires hand strength that I haven’t quite mastered. J is great about having me do it myself so I will learn, but I’ve bruised my palm about trying.
2.Suiting Up
I am borrowing a wet suit (more gratitude!) but it’s a bit snug. I actually think it’s the right size, but donning it involves a lot of pulling and pinching the materials to drag it up and on.
I point these out, mostly, because they are so mundane, and to underline how much I love everything about this new sport.
The Course
We began with a series of five “Contained Water Dives.” During these sessions, we never ventured lower than 10 feet. With Ori joining us for the first dive, I learned how to breathe in and out of the regulator, focusing on breathing only with my mouth. The very first time was scary at first. I froze for a few seconds, fearing I wouldn’t be able to do it. With a leap of faith, I slowly let air out of my vest and allowed myself to sink underwater. It worked. Air flowed in and out of my mouth easily and my confidence began to rise as my body descended. During the first few dives, I learned to remain neutrally buoyant, suspended in the water not floating or sinking. With each deep breath in, my lungs propel me up a few feet. Release the air inside, and I sink back down. Diving has been an amazing way to get in touch with my body, and to learn to appreciate breathing, and the ease with which my body performs this crucial function. I learned to swim in and out of hoops under water and practiced taking off my mask and putting it back on, using air from my nose to clear out the water.
Even in the shallow water, the view beneath mesmerized me. All around me swam blue and purple parrot fish. I would go under for 2 minutes and find myself surrounded by a giant school of tiny fish. Below me in the sand, I saw a flounder, hiding camouflaged with his eyes looking up at me. (When I first saw him, I thought it was a skeleton of a dead fish because he was exactly the color of the sand and sunk in a bit, giving me the impression that he was nothing but the discarded bones of a former creature.)
While J and I spent Sunday and Monday completing all five confined dives, Ori and C relaxed, rode bikes and dove. At night, we gathered for dinner. Sunday night we went to a delicious place in the capital town and Ori and I got a tour of the many restaurants along the waterfront. There is a Cuban bar, a harbor, and a special area where the giant cruise ships come in each day. Last night, J and I bought groceries at the local supermarket and cooked up a dinner of soup, rice and salad. We were joined around nine by E, the head of the local conservation society. All of us laughed, shared stories and went out to the delicious ice cream shop that is right next door. E invited C, J and Ori out for a dive the next day to work on controlling the Lion Fish population. As I write this, they are out diving, spear guns in hand, working to slowly fight against this invasive species.
Tuesday
I was up early today, excited to have my first “Open Water Dives.” These dives, carefully monitored by my instructor, offer the opportunity to practice my new skills in deeper water. No new skills are introduced, but the stakes are higher when the surface isn’t just overhead.
We swam out to a buoy about 100 yards off the dock, went over the procedures for descent and ascent, then released the air from our vests and slowly floated downward. I felt my ears popping along the way and blew air out gently to relieve the squeeze. I felt calm, confident and excited. We swam down and west toward the reef and before I knew it, my depth gauge measured 20, than 30, than 40 feet. The reef drops off quickly and we swam down alongside. I struggled a bit in the first dive to keep my fins out of the coral, but did better in subsequent trips.
One remarkable thing in diving is that as you descend, you have no concept of depth. Only your gauge (and the pressure in your ears) warns you that you are dropping steadily, and on our third dive we reached 57 feet below in just a few minutes. I love the feeling of swimming slowly after my partner, pushing the heavy water behind me with my fins and slowly propelling my body forward. I didn’t want to come up.
I was, today, introduced to an entire new universe on Earth. Just below the surface, just beyond our view from land, is a bustling, vibrant world of plants and animals, of colors and species, of predators and prey, reproduction and families, communities and interconnected systems of life. Of course I knew this stuff was there – but never really thought about it. Today I swam among it all, a tiny intruder in this bustling world below. The fish are everywhere and all around, and they continued with their lives unfettered by our presence. J and a trumpet fish stared at each other for a few minutes, both visitors in a mutual zoo. A midnight parrot fish swam right up to me and I thought for a second she would keep on swimming through my legs.
We saw brain corral, and fire corral and dozens of others that I have not begun to learn. I longed to learn it all – the names, the habits, the rarity and more – and then wondered why it mattered. Does knowing the name of a beautiful creature make it more beautiful? Is it more of a wonder if it’s rare to see? Or perhaps in my totally ignorant state, I am best equipped to stand (or float) in awe of the rich beauty below.
Beneath the surface, I find I am able to remain totally present. I concentrate on my breaths, keeping them slow and long. I stare in every direction, and with each degree that I turn, I see another wonder. I feel so privileged to have been introduced to this world. I imagine that a small percentage of people on Earth have had this opportunity and am grateful to be among them. I am, quite simply, hooked.
Midnight Parrotfish
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