Lena is Extremely Courageous

Walking out of the changing room might have been the bravest thing I’ve ever done.

OK, honestly, it probably wasn’t. But IT FELT LIKE IT.

Cindy invited a few peeps up to Lava Hot Springs for New Year’s Eve. It sounded like a great idea to me--I’m not generally a big New Year’s fan. I’ve gone to parties, gone to bars, stayed home, gone to dances, gone to city centres, gone to bed...and it’s never been as thrilling as it looks in the movies. I always feel like I should be in the middle of a glamourous party, wearing a fabulous gown, kissing the man of my dreams whilst confetti rains down upon us, having the absolute best time of my life. It can’t possibly live up to that image. Plus I seem to have something of a grand tradition of people dying or relationships ending around this time of year, which can also put a dampener on things.

But I liked the idea of the hot springs. Simple, relaxing, good company. It’s just that, standing in my bathing suit in the changing room, it seemed less of a good idea to go outside practically naked knowing that it was, like, dozens of degrees below freezing out there. And then knowing that, in the unlikely event that I were to survive out there, I’d have to walk back through the cold to the changing room, but this time dripping wet.

But I did it. Several of us did it. We so crazy! And once we were in the pools, it was rather fabulous. I’ve never been so simultaneously hot and cold at the same time. Our hair frosted over, our ears burned, our eyelashes became heavy with frost, I had icicles at the back of my hair, and if I left my shoulders out too long, they’d frost too, and would tingle exquisitely when I submersed them again.

We stayed there a few hours, and then headed to Cindy’s house, where we ate late night fries and other delicious snacks, and we toasted each other at the stroke of midnight, and played speed scrabble, sat around and chatted, and finally fell asleep in random areas of the floor. where Cindy’s extremely hospitable mum had put blankets. Cindy’s dog kissed or wagged us awake the next morning, and Boyd made us crepes, and it was all pretty great. I barely even noticed the lack of George Clooney to snog.

Happy New Year!

The Heat is On

Hey, I have a blog!

It’s been a good summer. And now, as the leaves have turned to flame and are starting to fall, and the warm evenings turn to crisp ones, I would like to discuss a topic near and dear to my heart. That of how I’m going to keep myself warm this winter. Actually, we’re going to discuss an area a little south of my heart because I want to tell you about my heated seats.

So I got a new car. Which is very exciting, and I kind of love it, even though I feel like a tiny bit of a sellout for driving a brand new car instead of a clunker that says, “I don’t care about appearances.” Maybe if I never wash it I can send the same message. I can do that!

I had just a couple of requirements when looking for a new car. It had to be reliable, get good gas mileage, and have heated seats. That’s all I wanted.

The first time I experienced heated seats was in my teens. My parents had just separated, and my aunt had to pick me up one morning for some reason related to that--I honestly can’t remember the details, I don’t think it was anything dramatic. I do remember trying not to cry though, and it was a really cold morning, and my aunt turning on the seats, and it feeling like a warm bath. It was immensely comforting.

So apparently that’s led to some deep-seated psychological issues about seats.

I also hate being cold, and I especially like having a warm back. As a kid, coming in from the cold I’d sit with my back against the radiator to warm up. Again, comfort food for my temperature receptors.

As it turned out, once I test drove a couple of cars, I found that I also wanted responsive steering, decent acceleration, and nice looks (shhh). And then I found that the car I loved didn’t come with heated seats. Not an option.

But I found someone who’d install them after market. And my life is...well, a lot MORE complete. I adore them. I pretty much turn mine on as long as I don’t actually have the air conditioning going. If you see me sucking my thumb and clutching a teddy bear in my car, we’ll start to worry about the psych issues, but hey, maybe it’s therapy.

Mexico Pics

A few minutes before the storm hit.
During the storm.
I feel I should point out here that Jessica is perfectly capable of holding her head up, but for some reason likes sleeping in that very uncomfortable-looking position.



I don't know what these are, but my mum kept trying to get me to pet them. She didn't pet one herself, however.

Anthony deciding what to wear for a night out. Um, my brother doesn't always look this sweaty and homeless, by the way. It was very humid.


Our hotel.

Home again home again, jiggety jig.

Tonight we had dinner at the Mexican restaurant at the resort. Yes, you would think they'd all be Mexican, but remember--MexiDisney? It was delicious, and Jessica stayed wide awake through most of it, which is unusual for her. I think she knew we were leaving. So we went for a walk in the grounds, and down to the beach, and listened to the waves (and the disco down the beach playing Lady Gaga and Neil Diamond), and watched the stars and a lightning storm, and thought deep thoughts.

When we arrived, I thought ten days of this would be too much. Now it’s flown by, and I’d be quite happy to spend a few more days doing nothing. My sis-in-law says that means I’m finally unwinding, but probably need another week or so to really do the trick. She might be right, but my plane ticket says otherwise.

Ocean Dive 3. Certification Day.

Whereupon Lena learns to love diving.

This was the day when diving officially became fabulous. It was a beautifully sunny day, and the sea was relatively calm, despite the red flags still on the beach. I’m starting to suspect they’ve lost all the other colours.

This time it was Ryan, a kid called Brandon, a Spaniard called Oscar, who was also certifying that day, and me. We headed down, and my ears were being a lot more cooperative. We did our “skills” on the ocean floor--fin pivots, regulator removal and replacement, mask flooding and clearing (I hate that one), and there was a decent current, which made it a little challenging.

Then we got to swim and have fun--and see a Moray eel, lots of little blue fish, more Lion fish (“very very poison” said one of the staff later), and a mermaid. Ha! I was just kidding about one of those.

It was just beautiful, and relaxing, and fun, and Ryan very kindly grabbed my foot and pulled it out of the way of more fire coral (where was he when my hand was getting ravaged the other day?). We did “out of air” testing on the way to the surface, and then we were done. I was the last to do my “out of air,” and it involved going down and up again, while the current made us drift, so we had to hang around in the water for a while afterwards for the boat.

It was glorious not to feel at all queasy, but just to float and enjoy the sun. So we got on the boat, and unhooked all our equipment, and Ryan made the announcement that both Oscar and I had certified today, and everyone clapped, and then they threw a bucket of sea water over each of us.

I decided to buy the video of the dive, and Tomas offered to edit in turtles and sharks as we didn’t get to see them today, but I told him I liked the original version. Although it was sort of tempting to see if he could CGI me onto the back of a dolphin or something. I'll see if I can upload it. It's rather soothing to watch.

Ocean Dive 2 (or, More Drama on the High Seas)

Whereupon Lena redeems herself a little on the whole seasickness front and survives to blog about it.

If this is starting to sound a bit Ryan-heavy to you, you are not alone. Today, Chris was my instructor, as it’s Ryan’s day off, and as he introduced himself he said, “oh, you’re the one everyone’s calling “Ryan’s scuba diver.” He was saying how Ryan had done all the work to get me up to speed, but wasn’t going to be able to certify me that day. As it happened, neither did he.

It’s been raining solidly for two days. Warm, tropical rain, but it feels a lot less warm and tropical when you’re heading out to sea in it. It then turns mean and stings you through your wetsuit, as you crash up and down in waves, hitting your tailbone every few minutes. I stared fixedly at the horizon, willing myself not to get sick. We got into the water, and I had to demonstrate a few skills at the surface, like switching from snorkel to regulator underwater. I did it relatively successfully, given how choppy the water was, and only accidentally pulled off the mouthpiece to my snorkel after I had finished. A couple of divers went down, but our line to the bottom had come loose, the water was really crazy, and our instructors decided it was safer to get us back to the boat. It ended up being fairly dramatic, as we had to get to the other side of the boat, with waves throwing us about and ropes dangling free. There was one bit where Chris was yelling “Lena!” and reaching his hand out to grab me as I let go of one rope to swim to the other, and I thought (apart from “he’s pronouncing my name wrong”) how movie-like it all seemed, and wondered vaguely if we were actually in any danger.

(I said to Ryan the next day that it probably was nothing compared to what they’re used to, but it seemed quite bad to me. And he said no, he’d heard it was pretty crazy out there.)

We got pulled back to the boat, and they hauled us in with only minor bruising after I got slammed into the ladder by a wave. Then there was more fixed staring at the horizon, as we hovered around looking for the other divers, got them on board, and then went back to shore, and I am SO very pleased to say I did not throw up.

This scuba thing is reminding me of a notecard a friend once gave me with a picture of a girl with her legs around her neck and the caption, “Yoga. Not as relaxing as I’d been led to believe.”

Drama on the High Seas

Ryan was talking to one of the instructors as we went out to sea.
“That’s the one who took the money out of my wallet.”
“Which one?”
“The one with the flashy new sunglasses.”
He says he can’t prove it, but he can guess from the sunglasses, plus the look in his eyes when he grabbed him by the neck, shoved him up against the wall, and waved his wallet in his face, saying “does this look familiar?”

Did I mention he’s Navy trained?
They said that, as there’s no proof, they can’t drown him. I said, “I guess you can’t accidentally bump into him and knock his glasses into the water, either,” whereupon they brightened up.
“No, we can do that.”