We went out in a lively little boat to go snorkeling on a distant, outer reef today. It was crawling with life: fish, anemones, starfish, coral, crabs. And the colours: purple, brilliant blue, green, pink and scarlet, gold and silver, orange. I had always thought a coral was a coral was a coral, but I have found out on this trip that I was wrong. Some are like spiky bushes, some round and looking like a brain, some float and wave in the wash, some are bushy and some are flat like mushrooms. At the edge of the reef, the coral slides down and the water goes from light greeny-grey to the most amazing blue. It’s luminous and clear, and so warm on the surface I stretch my arms down to feel the cooler water below.Niki preferred to sunbathe on the boat, so Sophie and I spent most of the time following the wall of the reef and reveling in what we saw. We’d tread water and chat before going down again. During one of our treading chats, the water suddenly dropped and we found ourselves actually standing on the reef. We continued to chat not really noticing until Sophie, who was facing outwards suddenly went white. I turned just in time to see a huge wave come crashing in.
The force of the water sent us on our backs, tearing masks and snorkels off faces. I felt someone else land on my right arm before rolling away. As the water subsided I was just able to get a breath before another white wall crashed on top of me. I couldn’t see Sophie or any of the others. Every time I got a bit of breath another wave came and sent me backwards, helpless in its power, and then I would feel the water suck me down. My muscles strained to get me up for air before I was sucked down again and again, and before long I could feel myself getting tired and gasping less and less air with each gulp. I just had to get off that reef. But I couldn’t seem to get any momentum and my lungs were getting squeezed. I worked my arms against the pull, my chest bursting, heart pounding as it fought upwards for oxygen. As soon as I thought I was getting somewhere I’d get pulled down again. I started to swallow almost as much water as air with each mad gulp and I could feel my gag reflex starting to choke me. What if I can’t do it? What if my strength gives out? What if the water is stronger than I am and I can’t fight the surge anymore? I have to get off this reef!
It seemed interminable, but I worked and worked, each breath holding out as long as possible. Eventually I was able to get far enough away from the reef to avoid that dreadful pull, where the waters were flatter and I could tread water, sucking in air and wildly looking for Sophie. Where was she? Oh my God! Please let her be okay. My heart hurt and my lungs felt like popped balloons as I gasped and hacked and sputtered, searching madly in all directions. Ah, thank goodness, I could see the brightly coloured boat. I lay on my back and weakly propelled myself there, my arms completely spent. There I found Sophie. Oh thank you, thank you.
We greeted each other with hollow eyes and weak hugs. Apparently I had got the worst of it, and was told to get into the boat to have the coral cuts on my back seen to. My arms were like jelly and it took a few tries to heave myself in. Rivers of blood streamed down my back, but I felt no real pain, only relief at being back in the air. I lay there in the bottom of the boat, feeling its solid wood surface cradling me as I breathed heavily. The air felt good, sweet, and I inhaled deeply revelling in feeling my lungs fill.
I’ll never underestimate the power of the sea again.
In the evening, as I sat waving to the others dancing, my back covered in plasters and iodine, I realized that this place hasn’t changed one bit in the few days since we arrived, but I had. And my tolerance to it had. Life in the resort is just so fake, an escape. Real life is political uncertainty, personal toil, cultural diversity, historical precepts, rejoicing in surviving and thriving. Things that Fijians face. And Italians and Chinese and Panamanians. And fishermen and farmers and explorers. I have the ability to go to those places and see those people and learn those lessons. To do things I am able to do that others can’t. I am healthy and intelligent; there’s no reason I can’t use the body and brain I’ve been granted. To maybe take my experiences and make them productive somehow. I don’t want to have any more holidays. I only want to travel. There are so many places to see! And others to go back to. And learn. And live. I actually want to live.
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