My First "F"

"The greatest glory in living lies not in never falling, but in rising every time we fall." ~ Nelson Mandela

I had no intention of diving when I arrived in Cairns.  I figured I might snorkel, but would see the Great Barrier Reef via a glass bottom boat.  I have a fear of deep water that prevented me from ever having the desire to dive.  Yes, I can swim in a pool, but I usually stay in the shallow end.  There's something about not being able to touch the bottom that freaks me out.

Several days passed in Cairns before I could muster up the courage to investigate a diving trip.  I compared different companies, and settled on Reef Experience.  For $185, the shuttle picks you up at your accommodation, drops you off at the marina, you are served breakfast, lunch, and happy hour, as well as a choice of diving or snorkeling, equipment included.  I consulted with one of the agents at their office at length.  "Do you think my eyes will pop out?"  "What if my eardrums burst?"  "May I switch to snorkeling if I don't like diving?"  After a lengthy incredulous gaze, she answered, "You will complete an introductory course that will teach you everything you need to know about diving.  If you still don't like it, you can snorkel instead."  I was sold on the trip.  I didn't want to spend a large sum of money on an activity if I didn't even know if I'd like it.  The trip was booked, and then my anxiety began to rise.  Luckily, in the span of time between booking the trip and the actual day, I rented a car and took a road trip.  That project took my mind off the impending dive trip.

The day of the trip arrived, and I was remarkably calm. I would say I felt more excitement than consternation.  The transfer shuttle picked me up near my Airbnb location, we picked up several more people, and arrived at the marina.  I was met by some young, friendly girls and guys in their 20s who checked me in, fitted me for fins, and handed me a medical release form.  "You only really need a wetsuit if you're a poor swimmer, but it also helps with sun protection," said one of the instructors.  "I'm a good swimmer," I replied.  I found a table on the lower, indoor level of the catamaran.  I began reading the medical release form, which stated that the wetsuit would facilitate buoyancy in the water and protect against jellyfish (stinger) wounds.  I returned to the equipment station aft of the boat, and was promptly fitted for a wetsuit.

We were welcomed by the crew, departed for Hastings Reef, fed breakfast, and the divers were called over for an introductory talk.  Lucy was a young, enthusiastic presenter who I thought would make a fascinating primary school teacher.  "Diving is easy if you remember three things!"  Oh no, where's a pen and paper?  I really have no short term memory.  "First, you need to remember to breathe normally.  In...and out...."  That sounds easy enough.  Several people had told me to take long breaths and relax while diving.  "Second, pop your ears as you descend."  Lucy showed us how to pop our ears by plugging our nose and blowing.  I prefer to pop my ears by moving my jaw around, and she said that would work as well.  You just have to find an ear popping technique that works for you and that you can employ every few feet, or you cannot descend to the ocean floor.  "Third, communicate with your instructor."  She showed us some hand signals such as the a-okay and the thumbs up to return to the surface.  I was relieved and encouraged that it wasn't more complicated.  Lucy counted off at least eight groups of 4-5 divers and said to listen for your group to be called.  I was group five, so I had some time to snorkel before my introductory lesson.

I descended the narrow, metal, port side staircase to the metal platform where the snorkelers were launching.  Lucy had instructed us to clean our goggles by spitting into each lens, rubbing the saliva into the corners, rinsing with sea water, and putting on the mask immediately to prevent fogging.  I sat down on the buoyant platform, put on my fins, and properly cleaned my mask.  I glanced back at the attendant standing there.  "Do you need a noodle?" he asked me.  "No, I'm fine," I replied, and launched off the platform.  Whoa!  They said the water was choppy today, but this was incredible.  I felt like a shipwreck victim being thrashed around in an ocean storm.  I swam back to the platform and yelled, "I think I need a noodle!"

That was better.  Now, to get some shots of Nemo and Crush for my niece and nephew.  I practiced the breathing that I knew would be imperative for my diving lesson.  I didn't like not being able to breathe through my nose, but I was told it took a while to adjust.  I floated for a while, face down.  I didn't see anything but cloudy, aquamarine water.  Where was all this amazing sea life?  I swam out a bit further, where I noticed most of the snorkelers were concentrated.  It looked like the aftermath of the Titanic, with everyone floating face down in the ocean.  I started getting nervous at the fact that I was tired.  It was fatiguing to fight the waves and breathe through my nose simultaneously.  I snapped a few blurry photos with my iPhone in its pink protective case.  It was exhausting to keep track of my phone as well, even with the cord around my neck.  I swam back to the boat, removed my fins, climbed up the ladder back to the platform, then the ladder back up to the deck.

My diving group was checking in, so I went over to the instructor and told him my name and number (12).  We were all assigned numbers for the day to help keep track of the passengers, which is probably a good idea for a tour at sea.  "You might want to leave your phone here," the instructor said as he looked at the case around my neck.  "It's not a good idea for the phones to be underwater at great depths."  We were diving fifty feet, and the girl at the shop where I bought the $30 case said it would be fine.  I recalled a few minutes earlier, at how fatigued I was from trying to manage the phone in the water, and left it in my backpack at the table.

I climbed down the ladder to the diving platform aft of the boat and sat down.  Three other girls sat down next to me, comprising my group.  My mask wasn't fitting correctly, so I kept adjusting it and blowing through my nose to empty the sea water.  The girl next to me asked, "Did you snorkel earlier?"  She was probably wondering if I had any idea what I was doing.  "Yes, but I really didn't like the feeling of not being able to breathe through my nose."  She said, "It's kind of like you have a cold, all stuffed up."  Perfect!  That relaxed me, and I tried to pretend as if I were congested.  A large tank was affixed to my back, like a backpack, but the instructor had to make some adjustments to my equipment.  Our group's diving instructor was already in the water and was beginning the lesson!  I started getting nervous.  I was already behind in the course, as I couldn't hear what she was saying.  The instructor on the platform finished the adjustments just as Lucy swam up in front of me.  I guess I needed one on one intervention and she was finished with her group.  "Are you ready?  Just lean forward and put your face in the water."  I tried to move, but it was as if I had ten tons of bricks on my back.  What was going on?  I tried again and couldn't budge an inch.  To Lucy's surprise, I began rocking back and forth to work up some momentum and eventually, ungracefully, splashed face first into the water.  Okay, I just had to remember those three things:  breathe, ears, communicate.  "I have to see you keep your face in the water for five minutes," Lucy instructed.  I put my face in the water, breathing long, deep breaths through the regulator.  I glanced down and noticed the rest of my group holding onto a metal bar attached to the boat about ten feet below the surface.  They were already on the next step!  Then I glanced down to the ocean floor.  That did it.  I lifted my face out of the water.  Lucy looked surprised, "You need to keep your face in the water for a full five minutes."  I think I had interrupted her timer.  "I know.  I'm sorry.  I just needed to come up for a second."

We moved farther from the boat, as the next diving group was preparing to launch.  The water was much more buoyant at this distance.  At this point, sea water had crept into my mask and was stinging my eyes.  I had ingested a fair amount of it as well.  It was difficult to hear Lucy as the water slapped our faces and thrashed us around.  I put the regulator in my mouth and she pulled me under a couple of feet.  I was feeling good and getting the hang of it.  Then I looked down.  I panicked and looked up to swim back up to the surface.  I couldn't remember how to communicate to Lucy that I needed to go up, so I just started swimming.  At the surface, I ripped the regulator out of my mouth, lifted my mask so my nose was exposed, and gasped for air greedily.  Lucy appeared, "You need to communicate with me!"  Were we in a relationship?  "I'm sorry.  I don't think I can do this," I told her reluctantly.  "Yes, you can.  Once more, but signal to me what you need."  I tried it once more, and we descended about twenty feet this time.  My ears started to hurt.  I tried to plug my nose and blow, but that didn't work.  Moving my jaw didn't work.  Then I couldn't breathe.  I thought I was successfully breathing through the regulator, but suddenly I couldn't remember what to do.  I looked at Lucy, who was smiling and trying to gauge my concern.  My survival instinct kicked in and I bolted for the surface, possibly kicking Lucy on the way up.  I emerged, panting, and she was right behind me.  What patience!  She reviewed the instructions again, but I said, "I want to get out.  I don't want to go down again."  She actually tried to convince me to try it again.  What persistence!  I thought for a moment.  Do I really want to get out?  If I do, I won't have another chance to dive.  When I'm faced with obstacles, I usually try and try again until the task is finished.  I couldn't believe I was actually contemplating failure.  However, most situations don't involve breathing impairment and survival skills.  Ironically, and in retrospect, I think I would have been more apt to continue if I didn't have snorkeling as an option.  I was so disappointed in myself, but I was exhausted and needed to sit down and breathe as nature intended.

I took off the wetsuit and returned it.  Then I went back to the table to put my clothes on over my swimsuit.  A couple from South Africa was sitting at the next table, Betsie and Nardus.  "How was it?" Betsie asked.  "I couldn't do it," I replied sadly, trying not to cry.  Betsie told me the story of how Nardus had always wanted to dive, and was finally doing it, at age 70.  She was just along for the ride, not intending to dive or snorkel.  "The glass bottom boat is ready.  Are you coming?" she enquired.  We boarded the glass bottom boat, which took us far away from the catamaran to get a clear view of the reef, while staying dry.  The water hadn't calmed down, and I began to feel seasick.  What a day!

After lunch back on the catamaran, we travelled to Breaking Patches Reef, named for the waves that break directly over the reef that looks like patches from above.  Aptly named.  I donned my fins and mask again from the port side snorkeling platform, and set out with my noodle, without my wetsuit, for more snorkeling.  I swam farther out to try to get some photos with my iPhone, suspended around my neck again.  It was still hard to manage, so I gave up on the photos and just concentrated on the breathing.  It was getting easier, and I wondered if I could have handled diving in the afternoon.  However, to dive in the afternoon, passing the morning course was a requirement.  I looked around for something interesting, but really couldn't see much so I got out.  I mentioned to one of the crew members that I didn't see what all the fuss was about.  I couldn't really see anything spectacular.  She pointed to where the waves were breaking over the reef that was visible from the boat.  "You need to swim out there.  That's where you will have the best view while snorkeling."  Ugh, that means suiting up and launching again!

Once more, I found myself on the snorkeling platform, donning my equipment, and launching off.  I swam far out to the reef the crew member had indicated, but noticed no one else was out there.  I looked back to the boat and saw that the instructors and crew members had their eyes on me.  Well, I thought, they told me to try this area.  This time, I left my phone in my backpack, as I didn't want to wrestle with it.  What a mistake!  I put my face in the water and floated.  It was Finding Nemo Live, with fish swimming in schools, in and out of the coral.  Fish of all colors and sizes were performing their daily duties.  I thought if someone were just deranged enough or on enough drugs, they could write an entire story about reef life! I think it's been done.  I swam around a bit until I had my fill of views and of ingesting sea water, then returned to the boat for our afternoon Happy Hour.  It turned out to be a wonderful day.

So, I failed the introductory diving course, signifying my first "F" in a course.  Instead of "failure", I'll replace it with "focus".  The next day, I was so focused on diving that I looked up private lessons, where I would have more personalized attention and not be so rushed through the steps.  Unfortunately, the cost prohibited me from making a booking.  I'll just shelve it for now, and the next opportunity that comes, I'll try again.  The positive outcomes of the day:  I improved my snorkeling skills, acquainted myself with the required breathing technique, viewed the Great Barrier Reef, and made some new friends.

View of Hastings Reef from the glass bottom boat

Breaking Patches Reef, snorkelers in the foreground

Posing in front of Breaking Patches Reef.  You can see how close the reef is to the surface.

Tales from the Bus

I've grown quite fond of public transport on this trip.  I sold my car to finance part of the trip, so I'd better learn to love it when I return home.  Sydney has many public transport options such as trains, buses, and ferries.  Up in Cairns, the main mode of public transport is the bus.

The Cairns bus confuses me.  The website is cryptic, I can never find timetables posted at the stops, and you must have your route memorized to alert the driver when you want to alight.  In Sydney, I learned to at least memorize the stop prior to mine, but even that took some trial and error.  One night I alighted too soon, and another night too late.  Obviously, I always got to my destination. 

On my first day in Cairns, I thought I would check out the downtown area (Central Business District or CBD).  I walked to the closest bus stop, noticed no timetable posted, but did see a map.  As I was studying the map to determine which bus to board, a bus arrived and stopped for me without even my hailing it.  Well, I thought, if anyone knows the answers to my bus related questions, it's this guy.  I said to the bus driver, "I'm not sure if this is the bus I need."  He smiled and said, "Where are you going?"  I told him I wanted to go to the Esplanade.  "Cairns," he said.  I thought we were in Cairns.  I guess not.

I quickly learned that I would ride from Zone 5 to Zone 20 and it would cost $2.80 each way.  Finally, I could use these coins that were weighting down my bag.  I dutifully presented exact change to the driver almost every time I boarded the bus.  In Cairns, the bus driver deals with all the finances, which is time consuming, but offers an actual interaction with the driver.  In both Sydney and Melbourne, you must purchase your ticket or pass at a convenience store.  Melbourne is even further advanced.  You may use the same ticket/pass for all public transport:  buses, trains, and trams.  Genius!

The next day, I was waiting patiently at the same bus stop.  I still hadn't figured out the timetable.  A woman sat down next to me on the bench and enquired, "Do ya know what time this bus comes?  Damn city council...can't even post the times!"  I replied, "No, I have no idea.  I just wait here until a bus shows up."  She looked at me quizzically, "Don't ya have anything else to do?"  "Actually, I don't have anything else to do.  I'm on holiday here."  Her eyes widened, "Whaddaya a millionaire or somethin'?  Holiday in Australia...nothing else to do?"  Her tone was a bit insulting, so I countered with, "If I were a millionaire, I wouldn't be taking the bus.  I'd take a taxi."  We shared a hearty laugh at that, and I felt like we were back on equal ground.  The funny thing about chatting at the bus stop is the temporary relationship you develop.  The bus comes, your conversation is over, and you're on your way.  I wonder if people who take the same bus every day have "bus friendships" or even "bus affairs".

One day, an older, indigenous gentleman boarded a bus I was already riding.  As he paid his fare, he saw a man he knew seated on the bus.  He bellowed in a Louis Armstrong like voice, "Hey you....f**k you!!!"  At least that's what I thought he said as he reached into his pants pocket.  Oh no, I thought, I'm right in the middle of this altercation, and if he's pulling a gun from his pocket it'll be difficult to escape his line of fire.  The next thing I knew, he sat down next to the man and they began a jovial conversation.  Quick geopolitical interlude: I never begin political discussions in foreign countries.  It's sort of like the first date rule for inappropriate conversation topics.  Never mention politics, sex, or religion on a first date.  However, as I travel, if I'm asked my opinion, I try to feel out the situation and the other person's affiliations before I answer.  Someone asked me point blank, in reference to gun control, "What's wrong with your country?"  In Australia, the gun control laws are strict and the penalties severe.  Needless to say, my fear is incrementally quelled the longer I'm in this country.

When I took the bus back to the house where I was staying each evening, I tried to begin the ride around twilight.  The neighborhood was pitch black with only a few street lights.  To attest to the safety of the neighborhood, all you need to know is that my hostess never closed her doors, even at night.  She kept the thick security screens locked at all times, but the humid climate and the lack of central air conditioning demanded the cross ventilation.  I was lucky enough to have an AC wall unit in my room.

One night on my return trip, two brothers were riding at the back of the bus.  One boy was about eleven years old and barefoot, and his brother was about eight and wore flip flops.  I heard the older boy cussing up a storm in the back of the bus.  At one point, I sneaked a glance to confirm it was a child speaking so graphically.  The boys signaled for their stop, and the older boy alighted first, popping a plastic bag at a deafening decibel as he exited.  He jumped off, hurried down the street, leaned against a picket fence, and snickered.  His brother wasn't so lucky.  Before he could exit, the thirtysomething bus driver caught his attention and quietly admonished him.  All I could hear was something about telling his mother what happened and how he should be ashamed.  The younger boy apologized quickly and sincerely, then fled off the bus.  The older boy was still smirking and exuding a nonchalant air.  The bus driver crept the bus forward, level with the older boy on the sidewalk, whose expression had now changed to petrification.  The driver beckoned with his finger for the boy to board the bus.  This time, the chastising was audible.  "You think you're funny, do ya?" Dead silence from the boy and from the passengers watching this scene.  I felt like one of my former students, observing me doling out a consequence to an offending student.  I could empathize with the bus driver completely.  After at least a full minute of the boy's motionless expression and the passengers patiently waiting, the driver shouted, "GET OFF!!!" The boy leaped off the bus and scurried down the street toward his destination.  I thought maybe a slow clap was in order, but the expressions on the other passengers' faces discouraged me.  We continued on our journey as if it was a daily occurrence. 

This last incident confirmed my prior observations that bus drivers are revered members of society in Australia.  When I first arrived, back in September, I noticed that people would wave to and thank the bus driver as they disembarked at their stop.  I recalled stories from a former bus driver friend in the US who was given many different hand gestures, but never a grateful wave.  Just by observing the way the public treats their country's transit employees, much is revealed about the character of that country. 

Longest Travel Day

In a tropical climate, you are constantly transitioning between humidity and air conditioning.  I think that's what saddled me with a head cold the day I was supposed to travel from Thailand to Australia.  I woke up congested, but had to shower and pack to be ready for my 9 am taxi to the Phuket airport.  I had already checked in for both flights online and my Airbnb hosts in Australia were expecting me.  I had to pull it together.  I thought, "I've gotten ready for work and taught all day in worse condition than this!"

I powered through, got all packed and ready, and went downstairs to bid my hostesses at the hotel farewell.  I had become acquainted with them over the past three weeks, and wanted to give them a nice tip.  I slipped a bill that was larger than all the others into the clear plastic tip box, and they were abundantly appreciative.  They presented me with a brown gift bag.  Inside was a frangipani soap and a photo they had taken of me for their guest wall.  They have a huge transparent glass map on their wall and said they would post the photo there, affixed to my hometown in California.  I looked at the map, and there had been no other guests from the US, or even from the Western Hemisphere.  It looked like Australia, Asia, and Russia were the most populated.  We said our goodbyes and I was off to the airport.

Online, I had secured the window seat in the last row of the plane, hoping I would have the row to myself, as I did on the flight down to Phuket.  No such luck this time.  Next to me was a woman who thought she was the one in the window seat, leaning over me, and gesturing across my face as she described the scenery to her husband.  I gave her a dirty look, she apologized, but continued the behavior.  I just thought to myself, "If I am contagious, there's her retribution."

After the short flight to Bangkok came the next hurdle of the day.  I had to navigate my way to the main airport in Bangkok, Suvarnabhumi International.  I flew an economy airline, Nok Air, to Phuket, but that meant utilizing Don Mueang Airport.  In my online research of Phuket activities, I noticed a mention of a free shuttle between the two airports.  I had booked an early flight out of Phuket so I would have plenty of time to investigate and then find a taxi if the shuttle myth was untrue.

I disembarked the plane, retrieved my checked bag, and followed the public transport signs downstairs.  I didn't see any signs about a free shuttle, so I asked at the information desk. Sure enough, just outside was a desk and a completely empty, full size bus waiting.  I asked if the bus really was free.  The guys at the desk, who were all wearing the same type of sunglasses for some reason, replied yes.  All they needed to see was my boarding pass.  Good thing I hadn't trashed it in the restroom.  I boarded the bus, along with a young couple, but that was it.  We took off with three passengers on the entire bus. 

I arrived at Suvarnabhumi with two hours to spare before check in for my flight even opened.  I wanted to get past security to eat and rest, as I was still feeling under the weather.  I found a spot near some monks, careful not to accidentally touch them as I walked to a seat in their row.  Vit, my Thai tour guide, is a former monk, so we were schooled about proper, respectful behavior.  I worked on my journal and people watched until it was time to check in.

I approached the counter once I saw on the screen that check in had begun.  I really just needed my boarding pass and to check my bag.  I had booked the flight through Qantas and flew Qantas on the way up to Bangkok, but for some reason Emirates was operating this flight.  The agent ran my passport and asked, "Do you have a ticket back to the US?"  I'm sure Australia asks them to confirm that information before issuing boarding passes.  I didn't have a printer to print a boarding pass anyway, but at the end of online check in, a message popped up that told me to see a ticket agent for my boarding pass.  That message gave me an uncomfortable feeling.  "Yes. It's on January 8th." "May I see it?" asked the agent. "I don't have a paper copy, but I have the email on my phone. Would you like to see that?" I asked, nervously.  I can usually pull up emails without wifi, but of course it wasn't working at that moment.  I couldn't get on the airport wifi until I was past security.  I said, "I'm sorry, but it's not working.  If I can use a computer, I'll find it for you.  Or, you could possibly look up my flight with my frequent flyer number.  Or, maybe you could run my passport.  I have an electronic Australian multiple entry tourist visa that will pop up for you."  She stared at me for several seconds.  I don't know if she didn't understand what I said, took my word for it, or felt sorry for me, but she said, "It's okay" and printed the boarding pass.  What relief I felt!  I had read an article about a man who had been detained at the Bangkok airport and just imagined myself stuck there.  I thanked her profusely and proceeded to security.

I'd anticipated this Emirates flight ever since I booked it back in August.  I'd heard nothing but praise for the airline, and it's all valid.  I'm referring to the amenities rather than the service, which was rather bland.  I was dazzled by the large personal TV screen, the plethora of film choices, the personal electrical outlet and USB port, and the complimentary travel kit.  When it was time to sleep, the ceiling transformed into an astronomical wonder of twinkle lights.  I had chosen the last row of the plane, with the hope of having extra room.  My hopes were met, with practically a foot of space between my seat and the window, plus ample room to recline my seat.  I felt like the personal guest of the Emir.  Highly recommended!

After a stunning sunrise over the Australian Outback, we landed in Sydney.  I disembarked, retrieved my checked bag, and queued for passport control.  As I stood in line, an immigration officer approached me from the side. "Where are you coming from today?" he asked sternly. "Bangkok," I replied.  He looked at me for a moment, then asked, "Were you in any rural areas? Any farms?"  I thought for a moment, breaking eye contact with him.  I tried to recall all of my destinations over the past six weeks.  Was the elephant camp considered a farm?  What about the rice field we briefly walked through?  I wasn't sure, and I was taking a long time to answer his question.  Hadn't I just answered this question on the customs form?  I know he was concerned about soil, and my shoes had been thoroughly washed.  "Um...no," I said.  "Any wooden souvenirs?  Food?"  I looked away again to think, shifting my eyes.  Did I buy that wooden Buddha I was contemplating?  Did he say any souvenir or just wooden souvenirs?  I'm standing here wearing a Singha beer T-shirt.  Is that what he means?  My head was still congested and my processing was faulty due to lack of sleep.  "Um...no." He stamped my customs form and wrote a secret code near the stamp.  That hadn't ever happened before.

I proceeded through passport control, and was nearing the final exit.  The officer there looked at my form, looked at me, and said, "Row 5."  I figured I would exit with everyone else, but I followed the barricades to another station.  There was a large carpet area in front of me.  A female officer appeared...with the DRUG DOG in tow!  Oh come on, I thought.  I knew I didn't have anything contraband, but was nervous nonetheless.  I guess I did take too long to answer the customs officer's questions.  I was ordered to spread my two pieces of luggage out on the carpet and step back.  The cute beagle sniffed my suitcase quickly, but then lingered on my shoulder bag that had accompanied me wherever I went in Thailand.  What is he doing?  Why is he taking so long?  Do I still have a cookie in there from the first flight?  I recalled my arrival to LAX from China several years ago.  The drug dog went crazy over some beef jerky a man had in his bag.

"Okay, thank you," the officer said.  I was clear!  I grabbed my bags and hightailed it out of the airport.  I understand that it's their job to exercise caution and be thorough.  I guess that's the chance you take when travelling to a country known for its contraband.  I finally arrived at my Airbnb location in Newtown, took a rest, and felt an immense sense of relief.