Day Three

08/01/2005

"This morning I woke up at 6:30am (or pretty close to it) local time and couldn’t imagine how I’d possibly slept as long as I had , what with all the noise the local fauna were making. Dr. Sheilds was already awake and drinking copious amounts of coffee, checking the news in his laptop (the King [?] of Saudi Arabia died) and muttering to himself. I find he tends to mutter a lot but hates it in other people J. Josh slept for another hour or so, but I set down to a cup of coffee myself. The milk here is so pasteurized that it doesn’t even need to be refrigerated until it is opened and can be found sitting on the shelves of the local gas station. Our first dive was delayed by unexpected car troubles. The first time it stalled, we were lucky enough th be able to roll it down a hill and pop the clutch… the second time we couldn’t get it started at all. A rather large truck full of locals stopped to give us a hand , taking it in turns to roll it and look under the hood. Nothing worked. We thank the men and wave them on. Josh and I pushed the vehicle out of the way onto the side of the road. Even then all Josh’s dad does is call it a piece of shit. I would have roundly cursed it and set it ablaze, but then again, I give more credit to inanimate sentience then most. We were given a lift by a younger local man, who looked to do maintenance, to the dive shop where Dr. Shields gave him a five “for petrol” -here I must pause and comment that my attention has been captured by eight tiny brown bats who are hanging against the screened in window and the adjacent rafters of the porch wall; now there are but six, and they chit sharply occasionally at each other and extend their right (my left) wings. They swing back and forth slightly and open their tiny mouths, a pale glimmer of color against all their fur. Having jostled and jockeyed for position for the last ten minutes, they now seem satisfied to simply hang upside down and snooze- and we entered the dive shop to call Avis and meet Gillian, who seemed a very nice British lady who takes great pleasure in adopting locals (non-human animals, anyway) and kidding the Shields about their “rookie” friend (that would be me). Our ship is captained by Mark and his nephew. Mark is also one of the dive masters for the two dives today, since Gillian has taken a charter and will be gone. Mark is a local black man who is cheerful and extremely helpful, especially to the “rookie.” I opt not to roll of the side and instead put on my snorkel gear jump in. Mark’s nephew handed me my gear and I put it on in the water, which I am more comfortable doing anyway. Our first dive is chaperoned by 4 dive-masters-in-training all tanned and athletic 20-somethings who kid each other about everything and swim like fish. My first dive has more fish then I have ever seen flitting through it like the myriad figments of my unconscious. We spot two barracudas, but they are gone before I have time to properly freeze. Everyone is concerned about me, first-time ocean-virgin that I am. I end up hitting the surface too early and having to add extra weight. Ten was perfect in the quarry, but is a time and a half too light here. I see brain coral and things I have no name for, parrot fish, purple colored pipe/tube shaped things and fan corral. I have no problems with dry mouth this time around, but am savagely hungry when we reach the surface. The equipment on these dives has an integrated weight system, not the belt that I am accustomed to. Our boat is the Voyager, a very nice little speedboat-like affair. Mark sits on the prow for the ride home. We rinse off the wetsuits and ourselves in the pool (walk to edge, drop towel, jump in) before pulling off our second skins and pulling on a pair of shorts or a t-shirt. We hang our equipment up to dry and forgo the second dive scheduled for the day , opting instead to grab a quick bite at the yacht club (fancy name, middling style). The waiter is extremely polite, if tolerant, and the view and the meal are both lovely. At one o’clock, we take on a second dive, having had ample time to both eat and digest and play in the shop pool. I surface early for the second dive, though this time Dr. Shields comes up with me and pulls me back down. I entered the water the same way I did last time, me first, gear second. This time the rampant-nits do not join us (trainee dive-masters, whatever), so it is only Dr. Shields, Josh and I. (and Mark too, of course) he shows us a seahorse with its tail anchored around a stick-like object. It is a dull shade of brick red and creamer and seems non-committal about our presence. Dr. Shields spots a jelly-fish and pulls me over to see it. It oscillates in between looking like a wrong-sided eggcup and a fringed lamp-shade. I am a little more independent on this dive, taking minor side jaunts off to the side to peer at things. -Emily is crying again, she’s six months old and very tenacious. The daughter of Palmetto Bay Plantation’s owner (where we’re staying) , Gary, and a 20-something (high range of 20) girl from a nearby island, Emily’s prime occupations seem to be bouncing about in a wheeled child-seat/ scooter thing chasing the resort’s dog, Groucho, and slowly enthralling her father to do and cater to exactly everything she commands- I sit back backwards on the on the tiny rim-level platform of the Voyager on her way home, wind whipping my braid back and forth and the slight movement of the waves bouncing the boat. I’m a little peeved that I surfaced a second time, but this is only my second ocean dive, and there are bound to be occasional problems. The doves coo intermitted-ly during the afternoon, the air is hot and sticky and I am being eaten alive by bugs anytime I forget to spray myself on any inch of my body. I am having the time of my life. Even this morning, when I was afraid to show it, for fear that Dr. Shields would KILL me, I grinned the entire way the entire ride into town (I opted to ride in the back, leaving Josh to attempt communication with our driver. I gave a finger-salute (not the naughty one, the manly one) to people we pass on the road and kept dropping my shades down to take a look at local and distant scenery. We ate at a place on the West End of the island called Eagle Ray’s. That end of the island is more for visiting college students and world-hopping youngsters on a budget, so everything is very clean (though still noticeably poor) and touristy, Eagle Ray’s sits out on the end of a pier and has a spectacular view of nearly everything on the coast. Doug, (as I have been told to call Dr. Shields, since he is on vacation and doesn’t want to remember the hospital) did a pit stop at the gas station on the way home ( I had the coconut grouper) and gave me four 1 lipre for Nome(1 lipre = 1/18th of a dollar) which is about $0.25 here in the States. "

Day Two

*this entry has the same date as Day One, because Day One i was too frickin' excited to be there that keeping a journal didn't occur to me. so i went back and wrote down a paragraph for the first day*

7/31

"Tomorrow I would have been a newly certified Open Water Diver for 14 days. Two weeks ago, I passed my written test and received my temporary card. I can float, swim, snorkel, fin pivot, navigate, rescue someone by passing them an octopus, and most importantly, breathe underwater.
I accepted an invitation from Josh Shields to go for one week to Paradise and spend most of it underwater, swimming with the fishes. Wanting to pursue something in the marine science field, I managed to convince my parents that I would undoubtedly need to learn to scuba dive eventually anyway. That way, if I absolutely hated it, I could go ahead and kiss the ocean life goodbye. I didn’t hate it. I loved it instantly, even despite the fact that I had no prescription mask and to be content with wearing those evil, horrid, uncomfortable contact things. My passport come in time, with a blazing of joy on my part, as it had taken me five tries to get the damn thing sent off (heaven forbid that people at a courthouse actually tell you what you need in one trip). And on July 30th, 2005, I loaded my duffel, my backpack and myself into Debbie Shield’s Mercedes along with Josh , Josh’s Dad (not yet sure if I should call him Doug or Mr. Shields; I call Josh “Shields” most of the time and now I get one 18 year old answer and one 50-ish year old answer). We stay for one night at the nicest hotel I have ever been in (the Westin in Charlotte). I sleep in the other, and then am waken up at 5:53am (I checked) by Josh’s dad knocking on my door. Mr. Shields is a very hyper man, hardly even pausing to sleep when he gets interested in something, although I have seen him close his eyes in three thousand different places and be instantly adrift for five minute cat naps. Apparently being an E. R. doctor enables you to come with an on/off switch that any lack of movement triggers. We’re supposedly here so that he can “relax,” but for all that he stops dead every five minutes, grins at Josh and proclaims, “We’re back in Paradise Josh-o,” he doesn’t show any sign of slowing down. Fine by me. I can’t sleep anyway, I might as well be doing something. I have never flown before. And now in one day, I have been in the air from 8:15am in Charlotte , to 11:45am in Atlanta, to 2:30(ish) in Miami, I have been in the air for nearly an entire day, I like the take-off, the landing, and, of course the turbulence. I do not enjoy endless time spent trying to futilely pacify my inner ear. So I spent most of my time asleep, or waking up Josh occasionally (as he flew the first time when he was 1week old, and spent most of his life at the Crown room in Atlanta, it seems) to point out interesting land or sky prettiness below, around or above us. I worked very hard for this trip, this chance, and now, considerably lighter on the monetary-ness, one holy duffel bag and one annoying-seat-hanging passenger later, I am here. Roatan, Bay Islands, Honduras. Sarah E., future world leader (or nemesis, dunno yet) has left the country for the first time and is about to do something most people never even think about: dive the Caribbean."

as a blogger exclusive, i'm going to start posting my journal from Roatan here and only here (sure they'll be a link on my LJ account, but the text and the real deal will be here... though i might have to link this account to my LJ account, cause i can't put pictures on this account...) yeah, yeah, i know it's a year overdue... but i thought that it might be a fitting final surprise for this journal.

with my love, day one:

7/31

"The planes land us in the sweltering heat, you can feel it in the air you breathe, coming up from the tarmac. We wait in immigration, get put in the wrong line and have to merge back.
My very first passport stamp.
I am immediately struck by all of the new plants I see when we -finally- gather our luggage and exit the airport (and I use the term 'airport' loosely) . All of the signs are first in Spanish and then in English. I’m in the back seat, holding onto both overhead handles (we are driving a sort of Jimmy looking affair that has already stalled twice on us and pauses to consider before consenting to change gears). Everything here is poor; the people, the homes, you name it. Everything but the view, everything but my interest. I can’t get enough looking, everything is new… Welcome to Roatan."