Bermuda

Bermuda is beautiful, but Bermuda is a little bit boring. Maybe it wasn't fair of me to expect the Caribbean or London out of this little island, but I still wasn't prepared for the perfectness, the switzerlandishness of it. One of our snorkel boat captains taught us about "reinsurance" and explained, "that's why we don't have to braid your hair or sell you Chiclets." It was slightly condescending, especially as I was hoping for some steel drums and spicy food with my turquoise water and pink sand, which I didn't get. I was also hoping that Bermuda would be my substitute London, since airfare prices kept me from a vacation in Europe this summer. We did find a British pub and snap some photos in red telephone boxes, but Bermuda didn't feel like Europe or the Caribbean or the US. That would be okay, except, unfortunately, it didn't really seem to have it's own Bermuda-ness either. Even though the beaches were beautiful and the sailing was wonderful, the snorkeling was only satisfactory, and, sadly, I think I was most excited in downtown Hamilton to find a good iced coffee at Buzz, spy businessmen in full Bermuda shorts business dress, get my passport stamped with a new country, and snap up a humpback themed ribbon belt at the English Sports Store. But please don't misconstrue this blog. I am not complaining. I needed a relaxing vacation, and a cruise to Bermuda is exactly that: beautiful but boring was fine with me. I just can't promise I'll ever go back again.

Snorkeling with The Shark

Coco Cay is one of those "private" islands that belong to cruise ship companies. I was completely confident that it would be one of the lamest days of my life. Stuck on a small, fabricated island with 1500 cruisers was not my idea of an authentic day on the ocean in the Bahamas. I knew that someone had sunk an airplane or two to create interesting snorkeling conditions, so I was a little suspect of the whole experience. Still, I happily donned my suit and flippers.

A snorkeling orientation was required of everyone who rented equipment. Matt and a whole bunch of other badasses skipped the talk, but Nervous Nelly here did what she was told. I didn't learn anything, but the "expert" showed us the snorkeling area. There was a marked off area about the size of a football field; buoys marked the end of the safe swimming area much like at your local lake, and three or four lifeguards sat atop giant chairs perched out near the outer boundaries. "There are lovely coral reefs heading out towards the area between this island and the nearby island, but the current is strong there," he said. "Only experienced, confident swimmers should snorkel in the channel between the two islands."

Well, now Walt Disney there was speaking my language. A little danger on the prefab island? Bring it on. You all know what a strong, confident swimmer I am. After all, I did place third in the 500 meter freestyle once in my four year varsity swimming career (against Stoughton, Mass, that's right). So I headed that way immediately. But someone (Matt) called me over to come look at some pretty fish in safer waters, and I didn't make it over to the channel.

Anemones, groupers, parrotfish, flounder, squirrelfish (yum, remember Suzhou?), jellies, and coral dazzled us as we swam over the fake plane crashes and shipwrecks. It was beautiful, and when we were done, I was content to wander to find lemonade and grapes. We slept in hammocks, chased roosters, and crept up on iguanas. I braved the presumably tame "nature trail" and was pleasantly surprised when I was terrified by noises in the brush (most likely more roosters); the trail ended at the far end of the island where no cruisers came, and I could pretend Coco Cay really was a deserted island.

Against all my prejudices, the day turned out to be really too perfect, and I didn't want it to end. I was so surprised that I was enjoying myself as much as I was that we waited until the last possible moment to board a tender back to the ship. Matt slept, mere inches from the ferocious iguanas and Caribbean cocks, and I snuck away for one more snorkel.

Whether or not it was safe to snorkel alone on Coco Cay never entered my mind. After all I was buoyed in and watched over by professional lifeguards. Flippers on, I headed out to that channel I had wanted to see earlier. Along the way, I saw the whole beautiful world of a protected coral reef...












... and I headed out, contentedly following the coral reef. I was floating around happily thinking Nemo thoughts when this scary bastard swam by me:

I thought it was a barracuda, and I was psyched. It surprised me, and I was a little scared, but I thought I was awesome for catching in on my camera. So I followed him and tried to take a few more pictures, and then - - -

- - - I realized there was no more coral reef under me, and I was in about 25 feet of water. There weren't anymore of those pretty reef fish around, and I didn't see anyone else snorkeling. I was in the channel.

But I wasn't alone.

Just a few yards away was The Shark. It was at least six feet long and surrounded by ramoras. Other than those hangers on, it looked alone in the vast blue. I panicked in the calmest manner, not sure what to do, but I didn't have time to deliberate. I turned and snorkel-equivalent-of-ran the hell out of there. Kicking those flippers good and hard like when we had to do kicking drills, I tore out of there, the whole time terrified that my kicking would attract the shark to my legs, ala Jaws. I couldn't look back.

I had momentary visions of clearing the beach with my dramatic cries of "SHARK," but I just kept kicking until I reached the shore.

Only then did I look back, and the buoyed snorkeling grounds were disquietingly calm. I told one of the men working at the snorkel shack, and he said, quite calmly, "You are lucky. They are here often, but most people don't swim out to that hole like you did." He smiled at me and asked, "Didja get a picture?"

My heart didn't stop bursting from my chest for another hour or so... a little bit I wanted to head back out there, not to get a picture, but to look without fear, but a little bit more I just wasn't sure if I had almost just chanced my life or limbs.

Lest you think this shark picture is really from my adventure, let me remind you that when you confront a shark and you are scared, um, taking pictures only occurs to you later when you are safe on shore and someone tells you that "that shark would never have hurt you." But I swear to you, this is exactly what I saw. Photo credit: http://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/commons/2/24/Oceanic_Whitetip_Shark.png