Showing posts with label Cairns. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Cairns. Show all posts

Monday, February 18, 2013

Diving to New Heights in the Great Barrier Reef























 
If heaven exists – it looks like an Australian sunset. I have been witness to the most beautiful sunsets I have ever seen on this trip, and taking off from Cairns airport at 6:45pm this evening was no exception. Not usually having the window, I got a front row seat to the painted colors glowing and melting into one another, masked only by the most delicate scattering of white fluffy clouds precariously placed on the ever changing canvas. When you see something this naturally mesmerizing it makes you think that there must still be beauty in the world, despite all of the hate, malice and broken dreams.

I will admit that my departure from Cairns was bittersweet, as it has by far been the best part of my journey so far. Arriving just a few days ago it seemed like a nice enough town and I knew that the reason for being here was to have my virgin run as a scuba diver in the famous Great Barrier Reef. It seemed almost perfunctory to have booked the extra ticket up here and I saw myself fulfilling a responsibility to my time in Australia and, most importantly, to myself. What I got instead was the opportunity to meet some great people, experience some authentic culture and pet a sea turtle – which I only later found out is illegal – so don’t tell.

I spent the majority of Saturday night in my bottom bunk, pant less. This sounds like I must have had a rousing good time, but the true reason is that Jackie was washing my pants as they had been worn to bed every night for a month with her load and instead of throwing on some haphazard evening ensemble and spending $7 on a jug of beer at the local Irish pub, I read in my bed and chatted with my roommates – who I fell a little bit in love with individually as well as a whole.

Logan is a 19 year old ginger from Boston, at that stage in life where you’re so desperate to grow up yet not at a place where you fully understand what that means (perhaps you never fully do) was located across the room from me. We talked about music and being away from home for the first time. I felt a big sisterly affection for him and marveled at his craftsmanship when fashioning a bong out of a Coke bottle and a pen. He was reading On The Road for the first time, which made me feel ancient in the most endearing way.

Chris is a 28 year old from Liverpool who's Liverpuddlian accent is so thick and energy so frantic it can be difficult to keep up. He quit his job in finance to travel for a bit, scuba dive and perhaps change his direction in life. He cooked some incredible meals, none of which I sampled but all of which I salivated over, while we were here and he casually mentioned maybe pursuing something in the culinary arts. I certainly hope if our paths cross again he will have done so. Last night he identified himself as a nice guy, and I have every reason to believe he truly is.

James, also from England is 26 and loveable in a Dick Van Dyke sort of way. For anyone who knows me, they understand what an immense compliment this is. He broke off his engagement and quit his job to do laundry at a hotel by night in Cairns and romance a local by day. I have heard her voice behind the curtain he hangs to create an adult fort on his bunk – but her identity is still a mystery. You could feel the warmth held within him almost ooze out of his pores.

The kindness and generosity these three boys shared with me over our brief time living together will not soon be forgotten. Now onto the good stuff…

We had booked a tour with Silver Swift for a Sunday adventure into the Great Barrier Reef. The boat took off at 8:30am and, being the punctuality freak I am, we were on the dock and ready to go by 7:45. With some ill given advice I had opted not to bring my land camera on the trip with me and instead just stuck to the underwater device I had rented from a local shop that comes replete with first aid kit inspired carrying case. We spent the first hour of the boat ride inside, watching an informational video and listening to fun facts about diving for the first timers and generally inexperienced. Being in a moving boat for that long was making me a little queasy, but I took deep breaths and attempted to focus on the task at hand – a task and it’s inherent dangers that were described so throughoughly and with such great detail that I thought it faily certain I would pop a lung or blow an ear drum or better yet – die on the ocean floor in Queensland. At least it would make a pretty grave.

Our first dive site had arrived in no time and we were given small groups and instructors – very much like a field trip for adults. A very expensive field trip for adults. Jackie and I had signed up for 2 dives and we were designated the first two sites with the third being our opportunity for snorkeling. Our group was comprised of the two of us and a married couple from Utah who had left 2 kids at home for a couple of weeks down under. The wife was visibly nervous and the husband visibaly attentive – it was actually sweet to watch. Our instructor options were between a seemingly smart ass man rocking a gold chain across his chest or an adorable blonde who looks as though she stepped directly out of a Roxy ad. Gold Chain it was – score!

Marcos was our instructor for the day and despite his lackluster dental work, I could not help but be at least partially intoxicated by his charm. The last time I had encountered a scuba instructor – on a boat in Hawaii when I was 17 – I felt similarly smitten and I believe it may be a mix of the personality types attractied to such professions coupled with the personality types needed for the tourism industry. Silly foreigner I may be – but it was fun to flirt with a man for the first time in what felt like a lifetime.

On the first dive we were instructed to all link arms, mine being with my covert ops travel mate decked out in full regalia, having opted for the hood attached to our warm water wetsuits, creating a mess of flippers and tanks clinking together. My assumption would be that this is to see if we can in fact swim and gauge our comfort in the water. Luckily we all seemed to pass that test because once we arrived at the second location we were unleashed – if only slightly – and navigation became considerably easier. It was at the second location that we met with a fish as large as a lab who evidently likes the tourists and essentially poses for photos with them. It was also the first location I was able to bring my camera out on and tried by best to manage a leaking mask, a mouth piece that was taking all of my strength to hold onto with my teeth, and a camera constantly getting caught up in my gear. Luckily Marcos, my instructor/boyfriend for the day had made me take off my hoops that I so desperately wanted to dive with because that may have been just too much going on.

We had been told at the start of the day that there was the potential for a third dive (and a third charge) and when it became apparent that there was in fact that opportunity I couldn’t have possibly said no. We signed up for a third dive and dug into the lunch buffet, drying off and warming up before our next adventure under the sea. And I say under the sea because you can almost hear Sebastian singing ''The Little Mermaid' soundtrack when looking at this whole other world that exists deep in the ocean. And lets face it, everything is better with a soundtrack. My father had told me this would be the most exotic place I had ever seen and although I may not agree with that statement, when you see schools of fish flitting about and coral stacked up like natural hotels for sea critters you do think you’re someplace unlike home. The third location was by far the coolest and Kubrick-like with deeper drop offs and more vibrant neon colors splattered about in the form of fish, coral and unidentifiable gooey creatures. We met with a friendly sea turtle, a big black sea dildo (or cucumber for those of you over the age of 14) and a pretty chilled out jellyfish – a nickname my pretend boyfriend had given to me for some unknown reason that very day. I would like to think it is because I am beautiful, graceful and can sting the hell out of you. But I may be romanticizing a bit there. It was during the third dive that I felt I finally got the rhytum of my breathing down and the pace at which to flip my flippers and just as I was feeling the ease of the groove – it was time to go up.

Back on the boat we were presented with certificates of completion for our first dive and the sun finally came out to warm us as we headed back to Cairns. This was also yet another opportunity for me to tell my sob story to yet another unsuspecting bloke as Marcos and I had a lively debate about how Australians are assholes and for what seemed like out of the blue to me, he asked if I had had my heart broken. I of course answered yes only to discover he was asking about some sort of Danny Zucco summer romance down here. I explained in succinct language that I was not 11, and therefore incapable of having my heart broken by some foolish fling – of which I had not even partaken in – and then he asked some questions about my ‘partner.’ Only later did I realize – did he think I was a lesbian? Lets hope not, or I may have lost my game entirely.

I love to run in humid climates and I wanted to take advantage of the evening so after deboarding and bidding adieu to my latest paramour (in my head) I went home, changed and went for a run on the promenade. I have no music on my iphone without internet so I have had to go silent these past weeks and just yesterday I realize why professional runners do so. You really find your own natural pace when not paying attention to those of Rihanna or Ke$ha – two girls I hate to look at but love to listen to. I was gone for the twilight hour and got to watch the silvery blue mountains disappear into the black night as the fog rolled in was quieting - even while running.

When I was a little girl my mother had told me a story about how when she was young, she would look out at a valley in the night sky and imagine a jewelry box, lined with black velvet and housing sparkling gold and jewels of every tone. I think about this from time to time when I see a line of red lights or twinkling solitaire in the darkness. Last night the sky was velvet and the jewels were alive.

A long day of limited oxygen, sun and a run resulting in so much sweat I may as well have gone swimming and I was exhausted. I ate crackers in my bed as Jacks dug into our roommate’s Burn-Flavored Doritos and hummus and it was off to a sound sleep.

The next morning I was, of course, up and at ‘em first for the free breakfast and free WiFi in Hostel Melrose Place, with a large pool and sitting area in the center of the room and a scene for sure. I was waiting for Amanda to be thrown into the pool at any moment. We had to decide between rainforest and beach for our last day and thinking perhaps New Zealand provided more of the former, we caught the 110 bus to Palm Cove or what I like to call Highway to Hades bus.  Cairns is hot – and humid – and when you’re on a bus with no air conditioning for an hour and poorly bathed people are flanking you on each side, and  the sun is beating down on you, the results can be deadly. Just about to take what I thought would be my last breath, the amiable driver dropped us off at the long stretch of beach lined with palm trees and rich hippie eateries.

Never having dried off since my shower I figured a dip in the tepid waves would do me good. I was having lovely moments of solitude with the ocean until a man came running out to Jackie, sitting erectly along the shore, to inform her that the bay there is infested with deadly jellyfish the size of your fingernail and that her stupid American accomplice should get the F out of the water. Australia had been so welcoming thus far, why would I have been surprised.

I got out.

We laid in the shade and read for a while longer before heading back into the city to catch our bus to the airport and, in turn a Tiger flight to Melbourne. The flight was full of crying babies and smelly Europeans so it is pretty awesome. Tonight will be another restful night in the Hostel Melbourne Airport where temperatures reach sub zero late at night and tomorrow – New Zealand.