Loud Americans

It’s pretty peaceful here, but there are some loud Americans who drink all day at the swim up bar. Actually, it’s a little odd, the Loud Americans sound decidedly British, but we have decided that it must be a phenomenon of how sound travels over water, because of course they must be Americans. Americans are famous for being Loud.

Ocean Dive 1

Wherein Lena definitively proves that she suffers from seasickness and discovers why Fire Coral is so named.

Sometimes I think I should take up knitting, except I’d probably stab myself with the needles. That, and I’ve never seen a Lion Fish, two stingrays, Chromafish, or any other sea creatures while knitting.

I headed down to the beach bright and early for my first dive in the ocean. Ryan gave me a bunch of detailed info about what to expect, and why I shouldn’t be scared, but if I was scared, just to be honest about it and not pretend there’s a problem with my ear or something instead, because that would just “p!ss him off.” I assured him that I had not intention of faking or even being genuinely brave. He summed our plan up by saying, “Basically, we go down, we go for a swim, we come back up. It’s pretty simple.”

And it was, on the whole, and was pretty fabulous. He had me take my snorkel off, because they don’t wear them in the navy, and he pointed out how crap the other instructor’s entry was, and told me to do it properly, and off we went.

As it happened, I did have a slight problem with my ear--probably a little infection from swimming in warm, child-infested pools. It made it a little difficult to equalise, so I had to go down extra slowly and swallow a lot, which became relevant later.

Being under the sea is just like it looks in all the nature videos, except with surround vision, and sound, and being able to touch things--don’t worry, I only touched things Ryan showed me and touched first. The exception to that was the Fire Coral, which I accidentally brushed with the back of my hand, and was a good lesson in why you keep your hands close to your body while diving, as it immediately left me with burning pain that lasted for a day or two, and a welt that is still there. It’s sort of the undersea version of stinging nettle, as one of the instructors explained it to me, or a jellyfish, which is how a website explained it.

But it was so pretty down there. There are a lot of disturbances in the area (hurricanes), so the coral isn’t the loveliest ever seen, but there’s a lot in the way of fish and Creatures of the Deep.

It’s sort of interesting. I had this image of diving being very effortless and floaty, and it is in a way--the swimming isn’t strenuous at all, and the breathing is easy enough, but there’s definitely a bit of a trick to using your breath to keep you at the right level. I will say, though, that I was quite prepared to feel scared or claustrophobic, and I didn’t. There was even one bit where Ryan gave me the option of swimming through a sort of tunnel (a short one) or going over it, and I was quite happy to go through and see fabulous coral formations and pretty white fish.

Every so often Ryan would beckon or point to something, like a fish blowing down at the sand, which looked like something out of Disney, or a nothingness in the sand that gradually resolved itself into a stingray and swam off. Or some kind of sea anenome that folded shut when he snapped his fingers in front of it. Or big spongy, rubbery...things.

The dive was going well, and I had lots of air left (I am proud to say I am an efficient breather), which we established after a moment of confusion after I checked the wrong gauge. And then. I realised I was drifting up, away from Ryan, and I was getting closer to the surface, as I started to feel sunlight. I think there was a little current. And I realised I was also being rocked side to side. And realised I felt quite sick. Ryan came up and asked me if I was ok. I pointed thumbs up, for let’s go up, he wanted to know why, and that’s when sign language failed me, as I don’t know the sign for “I think I’m going to barf and I’d greatly prefer not to do so into my regulator.” So we headed up.

We got to the top, and I explained, and he had me float, and asked if I was “going to belly.” I said I thought I might, and so he swam to safe distance and told me not to fight it. And then...

And then I hauled myself into the boat. As it happens, some of the other guys had already come up, so we didn’t cut things too short. We did miss seeing a shark on the bottom by a few minutes, but apparently that’s not a big deal because they’re “boring.” Ryan said so. He said, “THAT’S more interesting to watch,” poking one of my fins with a deprecatory toe.

So Ryan says I won’t get sick next time, but I’m not sure that my faith in Ryan is as yet quite all-encompassing enough to take that as fact. He thinks it was butterflies, and swallowing a lot of air, and he poured some hydrogen peroxide and alcohol in my ear and told me not to eat breakfast next time.


In case you wanted to know what the effects of fire coral look like.

Fambly

My brother and sister-in-law, but most importantly, their baby, Jessica, have arrived! I freely admit to bias, but I think she really is an exceptional baby. She is very happy and curious, and sleeps a lot, and is pretty, and we are all pleased to see that she has her mother’s nose and didn’t get the D___ nose, which we are hoping to breed out.

She really is adorable, and Anthony and Becky say they’re considering “showing her,” which I had to point out isn’t necessarily a joke in the states. She smiles all the time, and her favourite thing to do (besides “reading” her dots and squiggles book) is to stick her tongue out at people and get a response. She was getting a little frustrated the other night as she was sticking her tongue out at the dog pictured on her pram lining, and he was completely failing to stick his out in response.

Scuba

So, one of my 101 goals for 1001 days is to scuba dive. And the Mayan Riviera has the world’s second largest barrier reef. And I’m here! It’s like a cosmic sign or something. So I tried it out in the pool at first (they offer free intro lessons), and it was kind of fun, although I found I have a pretty strong instinct against inhaling under water. It’s presumably related to the same instinct that makes me unwilling to get close to or step over the edges of cliffs, and which a friend recently pointed out is a pretty functional impulse, despite being a challenge in rock climbing.

There was almost an international incident the very first time I tried it. There was some waiting around for private lessons to be finished, and then another delay, and another, and a few people were getting a bit shirty about having to wait. I’m not especially patient myself, but my as only other plans that morning were to a) lie by the pool and drink a refreshing beverage, and b) read a book, I felt I could safely push those agenda items a little later without my holiday being ruined.

So then, finally, one pair, including Toby (one of the shirty persons mentioned earlier) got to go, and I was next. But then Ryan, the Australian instructor, said he had to take another pair who’d just showed up and were leaving for their plane in 20 mins. Well, Toby didn’t like that, and neither did the couple after me. They were all up in arms and harangued the instructors, who clearly deal with sunburned tourists all day long and weren’t remotely discomposed by this. Ryan just scowled a little and ignored us. Toby flatly refused to hand over the gear to the new couple and gave it to me instead, whereupon I thanked him and the others and agreed that it was indeed very annoying and rude but that I felt confident that my life would resume its happy course eventually, and dropped the flippers and mask in front of the new girl.

So we scuba’d, and it was fun enough that I signed up for certification classes at the water sports office, run by some fellow British ex-pats. I asked the first one how he ended up here. “A job. Well, actually, i meant to go to Glasgow, fell asleep on a plane, and then next thing I knew, I was here.” I may adopt that smart alecky answer for future use.

Signing up, I had to fill out a bunch of health questions, including one about sea sickness. I hesitated and confessed my secret shame (see Oregon Coast, Whale Watching). Paul explained that that was only for extreme cases. He said he sometimes gets people who want to scuba but say they can’t go on boats. At which point he suggests they MIGHT want to think about another hobby.
“Such as hiking.”
“Exactly. Or mountain biking.”
“Perhaps rock climbing.”

The next morning I reported for class, and Paul said a cheery hello and announced that my instructor for the morning would be Ryan the laconic Australian. Hm. I was a little worried that he’d try to drown me after the fracas yesterday, but we actually got on very nicely--we even arranged it so that he’d be my instructor for the whole course. It works out nicely for him as he only he’ll only have one student to worry about, and it is nice for me because he’s an excellent instructor. He spent six years diving for the Australian Navy, so he’s quite good (and isn’t shy about pointing out where other instructors may lack knowledge). He told me a few things that he thinks are pointless that the course teaches, and taught me one or two things that aren’t in the book, like how to kill people using only my thumbs. No, really, he didn’t teach me anything too crazy and different, but there’s something sort of fun about feeling that you’ve got special inside Navy knowledge. It’s a bit like how my friend Christy taught me to slice melons in college, and I will always remember it because she said she was taught by the Amish (she’s from PA). A bit like that.

Lena Takes a Real Vacation

I’ve got some catching up to do. This travel blog has been travelling, and though I couldn’t post while I was away, I had my trusty pen and paper to record all, for my trusty reader. I'm still waiting for some of my pics, so I'll have to update with those later.

Playa del Carmen

It’s all fountains and hibiscus and humidity and virgin piña coladas here. And there are hammocks on the beach. And coconut trees.

Being at the Iberostar in Mexico is, I think, rather like being in Disneyland in California. Disneyland is certainly geographically located in CA. It has CA’s wonderful climate. Many of the people who work there are from California, especially those who work on the cleaning and maintenance, while those with some of the more glam jobs are transplants. And yet, by visiting Disneyland, I do not feel that one gets a real sense of what it’s like to be a local and shop, work, and live in CA.

It’s similar here. And it was a little disconcerting for a day or two, and almost a little claustrophobic. Being in this magical Mexican kingdom with perfectly groomed lawns, and signs all in English, and not a single stray, scrawny dog in sight. But as soon as I started using the MexiDisney comparison, I felt a lot better about things. I could just enjoy the show and not think too hard.

Love and Loss and California

Let’s get the bad news out of the way. Our trip to California began with me almost missing the plane, a) because I stayed late at work talking to my brother on the phone and hadn’t packed, and then b) rushed home and packed in a hurry, leaving various semi-important items out like moisturiser and swimsuit (which was ok because it gave me an excuse to buy a trashy bikini in H&M), and c) still left with Mara with just enough time to make our flight, but d) while staring at my boarding pass trying to work out why I didn’t have an “A” or “B” on it, realised that I was at the wrong gate, and it wasn’t “our” flight after all, but that I d) needed to run like mad to catch my own flight in a different concourse, which I e) did.

Mara made a comment later about how she'd always thought I was more together than that.

Then we got the rental car, which smelled like smoke, so we switched it for one that didn’t, in the process leaving one of our bags behind with someone’s laptop in it. And then we got somewhat lost driving to Mara’s sister’s house. But not really lost because we had gps! Just a lot of “hold on...yeah, do a u-turn here.”

I think by this time, Angie had probably started wondering what sort of travelling companions she’d landed herself with.

So there was much calling of airlines and rental companies to try to track down the laptop, which sadly did not happen. And then, unbeknownst to us, we apparently committed a $450 traffic violation (seriously, if I’m going to do something $450 worth of naughty, I would sort of hope that I’d be aware of it. And I thought we were pretty careful about the u-turns!), which we’re still trying to resolve.

So.

But the rest of the trip was so lovely! We were there for Tricia and Stephen’s wedding, and that was truly wonderful. It was great to meet their families, especially as talking to Brits in America always makes me feel a little bit at home. And the wedding went beautifully, and everyone looked very happy ever after.

Then Mara and Angie and I played for the rest of the weekend. Angie left a little earlier, presumably heaving sighs of relief to get out alive. Mara and I went to stay at her brother and sister-in-law’s place, and we went out for Indian food the first night.

I’d told Mara that I sometimes get sick of people asking me the same old questions about where I’m from. Very kindly, she tried to save me from the ordeal by telling her brother while I was out of earshot that he shouldn’t ask me a bunch of questions about where I’m from, which I’m sure he thought was totally normal.

I know she told him this because as soon as she’d left the table, he said, “so Mara says I’m not supposed to ask you a bunch of questions about where you’re from.”
I said, “Yes, I’m very sensitive about it. I like to think people don’t notice I have an accent.”

They’re a fun family, and we had a very amusing evening, partly because we ended up talking about the region where I’m from and Bristolian accents (it’s not that I object to talking about my homeland, it’s just that the same. old. questions. again. and. again. get old. And it’s not always fun to feel like the novelty act).

We had a delicious French breakfast in Berkeley, with citron presse’ and gingerbread pancakes; we scenically drove to Half Moon Bay, and looked for shells; we wandered around San Francisco, and the sun shone, and flowers bloomed, and we went to the Legion of Honour and the De Young, and saw a Giacometti sketch exhibition, and a Masterpieces from the Musee D’Orsay exhibition, and one of Amish quilts, and they were all uplifting and beautiful. And we saw brides everywhere. It was a weekend theme. Brides in white, and purple, and with green umbrellas, and with pretty bridesmaids, and stunning scenery.




You always hear that people in California never get out of their cars, but it's not true!



The reason for the season--Tricia and Stephen were married at the Oakland temple.




Brides everywhere...



View from the Legion of Honour



Angie, me, and Mara. Angie's a bit cut off here, but I looked hideous in the one where she wasn't, and it's my blog!

A Study in Contrasts

I spent last weekend backpacking in Escalante with a group of friends. It was beautiful and tiring and dirty...SO dirty. There was a lot of wind one day, and it whipped the fine, dirty sand into our tents and sleeping bags and fingernails and toothbrushes and food. We hiked out and drove back on Sunday, got home quite late, and I was up first thing the next morning to drive to Midway for a conference at the Zermatt, which is a fairly swish hotel.

In Escalante we bathed in the river, and dried ourselves in the sun. At the zermatt, there were appropriately fluffy towels, a bathroom considerably bigger than my own, and the gym shower made me want to cry I wanted one of my own so badly. It had 13 jets, sides, back, overhead....it was a thing of beauty.

In Escalante, we cooked over propane stoves and tried to avoid getting sand into our meals. We had pasta and Indian food out of packets, and oatmeal and hot chocolate, and semi-melted string cheese, and lots of dried fruit. At the Zermatt, I ordered room service, and ate delicious pastries, and didn’t have to filter my own water once.

In Escalante, I hiked through streams with 37lbs of backpack, did yoga in the morning in the sand, saluting the sun in the outdoors, and I have a scratch on my bottom from using the woods as my bathroom. At the Zermatt, I worked out on the elliptical machine overlooking pools and mountains, while Dancing with the Stars played on the TV, and then melted my muscles in the steam room and sauna.

In Escalante I got to spend several days and evenings with wonderful women, and slept in a (sandy) tent with a good friend. At the Zermatt, I got to network with some great colleagues, and spent most of the evenings relaxing alone until I fell asleep in my king-size pillow-top bed.

And I want to be clear--the moral of this story is NOT that luxury hotels are overrated and I would much rather rough it all my life in the outdoors, in case that’s where you thought I was heading with this.

(Although I have to say, NOTHING tastes better than a meal in the outdoors after a long day hiking, and the Zermatt room service was a bit rubbish, to be honest.)

The experiences were both wonderful, and there are things I can take or leave about both. I prefer waking up in a soft bed to waking up on a sleeping pad, even if the pad is on sand. I definitely prefer waking up without sand in my bed. However, I prefer waking up to the sound of birdsong and the sun coming into the tent to the sound of air conditioning, an alarm buzzer, and a stuffy head. And being alone is wonderful, but the company of good friends can’t be beat.

I just love the life of variety. That pillow-top felt all the more soft and...pillowy after a few nights on the desert floor. And we all know how good it feels to take a shower when you’re really, really dirty. I like some chiaroscuro in my life. I guess it’s that whole principle of being able to appreciate good things after going through hardships to get there. I hope to learn more life lessons in the lap of luxury very soon.