Snorkeling

Snorkeling

What a beautiful art. So simple and natural, I try to imagine ancient persons with just a chute of bamboo and a free afternoon. We were escorted off the pier by Juan, a red speedo wearing stocky Mexican with the lung capacity of a blue whale, the boat driver who was more whale like and less lung capacity, and Juan's spry son who was quick to offer Corona's and who's English was not quite proficient enough to engage in conversation. Off we went at the usual pace of barely moving, south down the coast of Cozumel.
The girls and I rode on the roof where another young couple was already posted up.

I love boats. I've been on them since long before I can remember, and rumor has it that when my mother was two weeks overdue, grandpa's solution was to take her out on the boat. It worked. I was born that night. I imagine my infant self getting jealous of all the water based fun people were having. Now, lying on my stomach, facing aft, pitching slightly from the nudge of other boats, warm air fluffing my shorts up like parachutes, I remembered what I miss about water. It is the heartbeat of this earth. Most times gentle and soothing, occasionally harsh and angry. Today it was my best friend.

This boat was 25 feet long, well used but not tarnished. Glass windows provided a view of the ocean floor that could not have been more than fifteen feet down. Another 15 people accompanied the five of us, and we began our journey under an overcast sky. After 45 minutes the show began. A large uproar began below when Juan started shouting something about money flying off the boat. Everyone aboard began questioning each other about where their cash was, who's money it could have been. Later we realized that, like most other things in Tourist Mexico, nothing is as it seems. The 'lost money' was just a show, a few dollars tied to a weight. Mary spotted the scam, but Juan was not a trickster, he was a showman. And instead of feeling slighted, we felt entertained.

Soon we pulled up to an alcove of breathtaking water tinted an unnatural aquamarine, even the overcast sky easily pierced the ocean floor. Here we were given basic snorkel instruction, which took about eight seconds, and off into the water we went. The first time I put my face underwater and tried to breathe my whole body seized up. Mmy lungs refused to believe in the technology of a plastic tube. Back up, take the snorkel out, look around, breathe, try again. Splash, nothing, can't breathe, back up. Repeat a couple more times and then finally my lungs allowed me one, long, slow breath. Again, and now I could see. Juan, ever the entertainer, swam down and grabbed a starfish bigger than my head. Here we stayed for just a few minutes and soon we were off to the reef.

The second time around came much easier. The fish blood in me came out instantly. Watching Juan dive at depths of 30 feet, grabbing live conch shells and bringing them to the surface, showing utmost respect by gently placing them back on the ocean floor, I was inspired. With my head bubbling above the water, I began peppering him with questions, which he answered enthusiastically in his excited spanglish.

"Hey Amigo! How do I go under?"

"You must take two deep breaths"

-ooooshhh-
-ooooshhh-

"You must plug your nose, and blow hard into your nose, and make your ears pop"

"Ok, gracias."

-ooooshhh-
-ooooshhh-

Plugged my nose, dove, and two feet down my head felt like it was a balloon about to pop. Back on the surface I chased Juan down.

"Hey Amigo! It hurts my head when I go deep"

"You must blow very hard, keep blowing when you go deep."

"Ok, gracias Amigo."

-ooooshhh-
-ooooshhh-

With a splash the whole world was silent, just the gentle drone of the boat 50 yards away. My head still ached but my ears did pop as Juan had predicted. I couldn't believe what I was seeing. Schools of fish swam past at no more than arms length. A metropolis of coral stretched out like a sprawling city. Fish of all sizes, shapes, colors, and temperaments swam around us in all directions. It felt as if I had stumbled into a bar filled with all of my old and forgotten friends. It felt like home.

Juan continued to dazzle, diving down 20 feet, blowing large water rings and swimming through them. At one point he dove 25 feet down, disappeared under the reef, and traversed a cave at the ocean floor 40 feet across, appearing on the other side without looking hurried. I continued to challenge myself, using Juan as motivation I dove down deep and deeper with each attempt, staying down longer, getting within inches of electric blue Juvenile Damselfish, coral that looked like a brain, ugly duckling sea bass. I needed fifty eyes, and ten sets of lungs. It was too much, I kept staring down, bobbing up and down like a log, trying to let my eyes be a sponge.

Soon Juan suckered me into having some fun with him. He began showing how to blow smoke rings in the water, and try as I might I could only muster measly bubble explosions. Dragging us around excitedly, every few minutes he would pop his head out and shout "OK EVEREEEBODEEE, VAMANOS! I see a turtle!" At one point he was trying to pry a crab the size of my torso off a rock, but the crab prevailed and Juan let him be. Good and tired, fully satisfied, we climbed back on the boat and Juan handed out tequila shots and Corona's to all who were willing. With Bob Marley blasting over the boombox, a Corona in my hand, and a life changing experience under my belt, I was all smiles.

We got back to the pier just in time for an explosion of a sunset, and with that our day was complete. Dinner and drinks, late night ribbing, Wednesday was in the books.

Today was a good day.

Sinking in.

I am now embedded in the vacation experience. Hot tubs, 75 degree weather, and open bars seem normal. Everyone in the group keeps talking about doing a great many things, and only a small number them are happening. This is not a complaint, just an observation. There is no need to do anything at all, just a want. We want to travel to the Mayan ruins on this island or across the way in Cancun. We want to go snorkeling. We want to move around more than aggressive sloths. No need though.



The only thing I've found I need to do is relax. Remember that the agenda is no agenda, that time does not exist. Here and there a rude person or a change in expectations will ruffle my feathers, and in those moments I remember that I'm 2,000 miles from any obligation. Proximity to stress associates responsibility, and with this distance I'm free.

Everything is open here in Mexico. No doors to the lobby, its wide open. No glass in the windows. Air moves freely throughout, and its wonderful. Today seems a little hotter than yesterday, despite warning from Carlos, our cart driver, that last nights full moon circle would bring cold.

Maybe cold here is 74 instead of 78. I wouldn't be surprised. Anyway I refuse to chug along for too many minutes in front of this screen, so I'm off to jump into the ocean.

I've just been informed that at 1:45 we will be taking a private boat on a snorkeling tour of the island. I couldn't be more excited. The universe that exists below the surface of the ocean remains a complete unknown... for now.

Color

Day 2

It's 4:00 PM, and the clouds are big and dark, but thus far unthreatening. Happy jazz is playing through speakers scattered like land-mines. The sea acts as a metronome, ensuring no one moves too quickly. The pool is less a pool and more a walkway, gently pressing against every door on the bottom floor. I 'walked' its entirety today with a vodka tonic in one hand and my beautiful Kim in the other.

There is no view here, just a canvas. A moving canvas of green, blue, orange, and white. Green trees and shrubs thriving in places an ant would get claustrophobic. A blue here exists that I can't describe, overlapping from sky to ocean to pool back to sky. Its a wonderful blue, making treaties with green and grey. Orange. Orange is everywhere: accented on walls, peering through sculpted translucent lights, but most importantly it finds a way to creep into the clouds. There is no orange like an orange sky, it seems to exist in another universe, where things are not things but feelings and thoughts. And of course white. White pants, white walls, white umbrellas, the luxury color that demands constant attention to keep from being tarnished.

I'm obsessed with the feeling that washes over me from an impending sunset, camera armed and ready. All at once I truly believe that this is my last chance, if I don't get this shot, this color, that I will never see it again. The moment will exist only once. This must be the feeling hunters have as their prey meets them eye to eye. Short breaths, electric air. Its not so much an art, more an addiction. -Click-

Hangover and first impressions

Uh oh.

My mind has been washed with alcohol. I vaguely remember a great many things, and quite plainly don't remember a great many more. Dinner was.. dinner. The food was good, not impressive, and so were the drinks. But something has donned on me. It isn't about the food, or the drinks, or how nice the beds are, how many pillows we get. To be honest, they could put some tepees up and serve warm Corona's and the effect would be the same. All the palm trees and plastic tables and snake-like pool are first impressions. First impressions wash away instantly under the solvent of alcohol and all that is left is an emotion. How do I FEEL about the wyndam resort in Cozumel? I feel like I'm 6 years old, I just walked into Toys 'R Us, and I can play with anything in the store while I'm here. I can ride the electric car, play with lincoln logs, legos, and all the like. As soon as we leave the fun is over, no bringing anything back. But while I'm here? .. I'm going to make the biggest, baddest lincoln log, lego, electric car castle you've ever seen.

Last night I couldn't stand it anymore, and ran down to the beach to put my hands in. The water here is the same temperature of a bath tub left to sit. It matches the air perfectly, luke warm, wet, and sticky. Just like the sand, not the soft powdery perfect on your toes sand we all imagine is superfluous in Mexico, but gritty sand. As if the island has been working against the tides to maintain its existence and the sand took the brunt of the load. It hurts in a wonderful way, reminding the sole of your feet that with every step, the soul of this island is what we're here for.

Today I'll try some true enrichment, and maybe I can keep sober enough to have the history sink in. Should I talk to people about this island's past, or find a good book? Right now that's my only concern. That and the beckoning of a sea kayak at my disposal.

Arrival

Day 1

We're here. Warm, wet, wind whips past our glass walled balcony, expelling the stale, air conditioned room. Still trying to prepare the senses for mind-blowing indulgence. Everything is included. Stocked mini-fridge, room service, two restaurants, three bars, kayaks, boats, a pool that winds like a snake through the entire complex. Any one of these luxuries is more than I'm used to, but with them all together somehow it seems more palatable. When in Rome...

Flying was easy, direct flight to this tiny island. The ocean was beautifully bright on the way, with popcorn like clouds that I could have sworn were inches away from the water's surface. I zoned in and out, recovering from a night of $1 well drinks at the local dive with one of my best friend's the night before. He's in Denver doing some skiing, escaping the Georgia heat. And I'm in Mexico doing some.. indulging, escaping the Rocky Mountain cold.

Cozumel airport was perfectly sized, and perfectly slow. Something about warm wet air seems to relax the muscles, ease the stress. The hotel staff, so far being Sandy and Samuel, maintain a gentle urgency, though I think its solely for our benefit. We were explained many times over all of our options, dinners, drinks, etc etc.. each item ending with 'no extra charge.' I'm at a loss in a wonderful way. I know what is before me and what I can do, I guess I'm just trying to find the courage to let go of all the reservations I have about luxury.

When in Rome.

Packing

Day 0

I love traveling. I get to pick my hall of fame t-shirts. Element blue from '03, lived through all of college and didn't get stolen in the dorms. Element black, recent, makes me think of family. Holy Guinness, faithful in a completely unreligious way. Reliable friends when walls are white and pools are warm. We're going to Cozumel, Mexico. We being my girlfriend of one and a half years, Kim Shepherd, 23. My beautiful compatriot. Along with her father, sister, and her father's girlfriend.

I don't have any idea where I'm going. Its hot there, and near the coast, but Central America remains a place I've only read about in books and heard about in half hearted 'you had to have been there' stories. Cozumel is a tiny island city on the edge of the bathtub that is the Gulf of Mexico. We're bunking in what on the website looks like a conundrum of luxury, so spoiling that the tendency is to feel guilt, not pride. Fortunately I maintain a short interest in where I sleep versus how I roam awake. On first impression this looks like a quest for historical aptitude and general positive life-experience, marred by bouts of poolside alcohol abuse. The trip, courtesy of Kim's father Steve Shepherd, who I cannot thank enough, but will try with 2 bottles of Veeder Cab and two more of Sonoma's Russian River chard, is something of a commonality with the Shepherd family. I'm hoping to find outlet and solvency through word with this journal of travel. Time to pack my bags!


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