Day Three: Sink and Swim

I wake up about an hour after dawn. We are very close to the equator, so the sun rises at six every day, and sets at six at night, year round. To my body, however, it is more like nine. Everything is blue, quiet, and beautiful. I'm in Tahiti, on a boat, in the morning, so I do the only logical thing and jump into the water for a morning swim. Belatedly I consider now nice it would be to have a mask, but I don't know where they are kept so I content myself with doing lazy laps around the boat. My swimming style is incomprehensible, as I'm not really a swimmer and without the chance to look below me, I am not too interested in getting a lot of salt water in my moustache.

Bill and Linda wake shortly after I do and breakfast is banana pancackes, with various jams, butter and maple syrup. Clearly, they are treating me horribly.

I spend some time writing out yesterday's journal and finishing off next week's episode of Radiostar ("Bye Bye, Billy").

The main activity for the day is scuba diving. We load up the gear (enough for two to scuba and one to snorkel) into Spicy and head out to visit all the neighboring boats to invite them along and to come over to the Creola for drinks. We hit about five boats before actually heading out to "the aquarium" for diving. This is a shallow reef area, about 15 feet deep, that will allow me to scuba dive without a certificate. This makes my second time diving, ever.

I start out snorkeling, though. The reef is beautiful and has recovered from a storm that made it murky a few days earlier. A massive variety of fish and other sea life are evident and other than the occasional salt spray that condenses in my air tube, I am content to float and observe from above.

Then the tanks go on and I am given one last orientation on the equipment. After a false start because I hadn't fully deflated my tank vest, I am able to drop down the five to ten feet to get a closer look at the reef and its inhabitants. Clams with vivid blue and black striped lips, wildly colored fish, a sea cucumber (pale and knobby) at least three feet long and well camouflaged against the sea floor. I use up half my tank, but decide to rise early as my long limbs seem to be in constant danger of scraping against the coral and I find myself reaching a point of almost nauseous exhaustion from the effort of maintaining my depth among the rising and falling coral. I pass off the tank to Bill for a while and rest in the boat, basking in the sun (trusting in my sun screen and the "skin" that covers my most delicate parts) before jumping back in to snorkel for a bit.

We get the tanks back to the boat before heading into town to get a new supplies. As with most resort areas, the hotel grounds are lavish, but the town is deeply impoverished. Skinny dogs wander the street, their ribs and spines clearly visible. One bitch, clearly having just pupped, walks by with her teats hanging well below her frame. The wild chickens and roosters look considerably more healthy. We find a general store and get some eggs and other minor supplies. I had already heard how much of the economy of the atolls and islands is trade based. Apparently one person exchanged a bottle of rum for five black pearls. $20 rum for at least $200 worth of pearls in American markets, but it's all about supply and demand here. I see a cheap plastic toy robot in the store, marked for 80,000 FPC, or $80. It would cost about $8 in the U.S., but here it's a rare item.

As we return to the dinghy, a woman with her four children has camped out next to it, with leather sandals with the word "Tahiti" embossed on them. None of us needs or wants the shoes, but I come close to giving her the change in my pocket. I am uncertain, however, as locals have not even allowed me to tip them. I don't know what the rules of charity are here. If I see them again, I will offer and find out for certain.

Back on the boat, guests begin arriving, with cruisers from Canada, Australia and the U.S. coming to talk an awful lot of shop. I think, not for the first time, of what Mayuko must feel like listening to me talk theatre and improv with my friends. There is a camaraderie here, born of people who know the joys, hardships, and endless technical detail of each others lives without having met before. There is little talk of the world beyond the boats, except with the topic turns to global warming and one party turns out to be a prime example of those who look at scientific results and see only the self-serving attempts of scientists to validate their work. People begin to drift off at around this point, but one family remains, as we had discussed going into town to find a rumored pizza place.

The hour has grown too late, so Linda whips up the pasta and sauce that I brought from the states. The other family's daughter has done several musicals, so we deviate from yacht talk to her obvious relief.

Late in the night, or so it seems to me, I head back to my bunk and let the gentle rocking of the ship and the cool breeze coming through the hatch lull me into a much desired slumber.