So many mistakes, so little time

They say those who succeed, do so because they learn from their mistakes. If that is true, then I have laid the foundation for a successful future. That is to say, I made quite a few mistakes in the last couple weeks.

Mistake #1: Not consulting a map

Unfortunately for me, this error had serious ripple effects (as you'll see below). Instead of consulting a map to see where the Whitsunday Islands were in relation to my jumping off point (Cairns), I instead logged onto the tourism page for the islands. According to the tourism website, people generally fly from Cairns to Hamilton Island and then take a ferry to Airlie Beach (ground zone for Whitsunday Island adventures). I also learned that there is an airport specifically for the Whitsunday Islands which you can fly to from Brisbane. Since I knew I'd likely be flying from Brisbane to Auckland to Tonga at the end of the week, I figured that'd be the easiest way to get to the Whitsunday Islands for me.

Boy I was wrong. One-and-a-half days later--after two flights (Cairns to Brisbane and Brisbane to Whitsunday Coast), an expensive night stay in Brisbane, two airport shuttle rides and a last-minute car rental--I decided to look at a map. That's when I realized the error of my ways: Airlie Beach is less than an 8-hour drive from Cairns. Yes, I could have been there in 8 hours instead of 36 simply by renting a car for a day, which I did anyway to get to and from my hostel in Brisbane. I'm not willing to calculate how much this little mistake cost me, but suffice to say, it did not come cheaply.

The red was my 1400+ mile, highly inefficient route to Airlie Beach. Too bad I didn't opt for the <400 mile drive instead.

Mistake #2: Booking lodging without figuring out how to get to it

For someone who has traveled as much as I have and considering that I work in the public transit sector, you might expect this to be an obvious step in arranging lodging. Sadly, it completely slipped my mind on the evening when I booked all my lodging for my week of solo travel. I don't know if it was fatigue, too much wine or just plain dumb luck, but I booked stays at 3 highly inconvenient hostels.

The first, in Brisbane, was selected for it's seeming proximity to a highly recommended neighborhood and also the train. (See, I was slightly thinking of transit.) However, I neglected to account for three key things:

1. The train did not run early enough to bring me back to the airport in time for my 6:30am flight out.
2. The "oh-so-close" train stop was really a half-mile from my hostel with hills in between.
3. I would be arriving after sunset and leaving before sunrise, meaning I'd have to walk in the dark alone if I relied on transit.

Ultimately, I decided to rent a car, which cost nearly $60, more than doubling the cost of my stay in Brisbane.

The second place I booked was in Airlie Beach and I picked it because it seemed to have less of a party scene than the others. It also required a ten minute walk to/from town along a quasi-highway, while carrying all my belongings. Oh, and there was a hill on the way.

Auckland was my third booking. After suffering from last-mile anxiety with the first two places, I learned my lesson and looked to see how I would be getting from the airport to the hostel, which again I picked because it is in a desirable neighborhood full of vintage shops and artsy places. One look and I knew it was not a good pick, logistically. I found another place on Airbnb where the host offered to pick me up and drop me off for a small fee. Even though I couldn't get my money back on the first place, I booked the other and that's where I'm staying tonight. It's delightful and completely worth it.

In summary, let's just say, this lesson also wasn't free.

Mistake #3: Avoiding tolls by taking the indirect route without the Internet

On my way back to the airport in Brisbane, at 5am mind you, I opted for the more complicated, but toll-free route Google Maps dreamed up for me. This route promised to get me to the airport in nearly the same amount of time as the direct, tolled route, but for free. However, when you take into account the time I spent getting lost and then found again, and the cost of ending up on the tolled route after all, this was almost a total fail. I did, nonetheless, make my flight. And in the future, I will take the easy route when I'm traveling without modern technology.

Mistake #4: Opting for a small tour while traveling solo

It's not that I had an awful time sailing the Whitsunday Islands on a 14-person catamaran. In fact, the views were quite lovely. But it wasn't the best time either. In fact, I'm not quite sure how to describe my lesson here.... Perhaps, don't travel alone if you're an introvert who gets lonely? Or don't travel on boats where everyone else knows each other if you're an introvert? All I can say is, I have more fun traveling with my hubby than traveling solo. Which, I guess, is a good thing since I'm married to the man. :)

Mistake #5: Leaving essential items on shore when departing on a 3-day sailing adventure

I won't go into details, but suffice to say a lady should always travel prepared, especially when she will be on a boat with no access to outside provisions. Luckily, not everyone on the boat was as ill-prepared as I was.

Mistake #6: Getting into an unfamiliar hammock too quickly

After a long day of sailing, walking with all my luggage and then skipping lunch, I decided to relax in a hammock. It decided it would be funny to flip me out onto my face on the concrete. End of story.

So there you have it: six learning opportunities in less than six days. At this rate, I'm bound to be the most successful traveller at the end of this long adventure.

 

 

P.S. Mistake #7 struck just as I was typing that conclusion, while standing in the customs queue in Auckland. Balancing your iPad on a luggage cart. I know you are probably laughing at me for being completely silly, but let's just say that 12 hours of travel, followed by an hour in assorted queues trying to exit an airport, will make even the least accident-prone person more likely to do something daft. And, you know by now, that I'm a tad accident-prone. Luckily, the iPad survived and you get to read this post.

Snorkeling School

The day started on the whitest beach I have ever seen...

The entrance to Whitehaven Beach, at high tide. Yes, this beach gets deeper.

The sand was soft and dusty like powdered sugar. Ninety-eight percent (98%) silica, Whitehaven Beach is made of the purest sand to be found--so clean that the Hubble telescope's lens was crafted from it before a ban was put in place to prohibit the pilfering of this beautiful beach. And allegedly 80,000 years old.

The view from the water's edge.

 

The aquamarine water carves through the sand forming switchbacks that seemingly lead to the sky. And as the tides shift, shallow lagoons dot the beach creating perfect wading pools for small children and those fearful of the jellyfish that await in deeper waters.

My attempt at a panarama from the overlook in shifting sunlight. You can get an idea of the shifting sands.

After a morning spent sunbathing, wading and enjoying the latest Hang gliding and Paragliding magazine, we set off for an afternoon snorkel spot. Our destination was Mantaray Bay sheltered by large black rocks and bearing a tidy tan beach. The water sparkled turquoise and green atop colorful coral.

The view looking out of the bay where I snorkeled.

As I snorkeled between coral heads, I spotted a school of yellowtail fusilier intermixed with black and white striped sissortail sergeant. Next thing I knew the small fish, ranging in size from the palm of my hand to the sole of my foot, we're looking me straight in the eye. With what I can only guess was curiosity, the fish surrounded me on all sides. Swimming in unison, the schooling fish swerved to the left, then the right, then beneath me into the deep blue. A few moments later, I glimpsed them swimming up at me, looking as if they might give me a little kiss or nibble.

Luckily, these were not amorous fish and they eventually let me be.

Alone. Again.

In the wide blue ocean.

But the experience of being subsumed into a school of tropical fish has stuck with me. The grace with which the fish moved, the inquisitiveness in their watery eyes, the way they took turns leading the pack in different directions, the way they amicably schooled with fishes of another design. It all seems to reflect the fluidity which I am seeking in my life. My desire to flow through life with a peaceful contentedness, alternating between being a leader and a follower, accepting all as members of my community--even if it is temporary.

The perfect end to a lovely day.

 

Humpback Sightings

Seeing Humpback Whales in Australia was one of the most moving experiences of my life. While sailing in the Whitsunday Islands, our skipper spotted a mother with her calf. We watched them for nearly ten minutes from the deck of the catamaran as the mother nursed her young, floating almost motionless in the cerulean blue ocean. From time to time the mother would spout, followed by a miniature blow from her babe. It was like two fountains going off in a sequence, first the big one, then it's mini-me.

Eventually, nursing time was up and the calf swam alongside her mother, still spouting in near unison if not in profusion. And then, as suddenly as it all started, the show was over. The mom flipped her tail and dove deep, taking her young with her.

Sorry, no luck getting a picture of the whales, so here's a shot of our "tender" dragging along behind the sail boat.

I sighed in awe and wonder. These great creatures swim thousands of miles each year, from their summer home of Antartica where they gorge on krill to warmer waters in the north where they mate and give birth. I saw them once or twice as a kid growing up in California and feel blessed to witness them again as an adult adventuring in Australia.

Here's to hoping that Humpback Whales will continue to roam the waters of this world, undisturbed and exuberant in their displays of joyous acrobatics!

 

Scuba diving as couples therapy

Getting ready to take the plunge!

If you think it is hard to communicate with your partner on land, imagine what it's like underwater. Basic communication techniques such as speaking aloud are out. And what's left is a makeshift sign language consisting of a few predetermined signs (how much air do you have? Go up. Go down. I'm okay. I'm not great. Turtle. Shark. Boat.) and then a bunch of impromptu signs that both people may or may not be understood.

Me giving my patented all-is-swell "okay" sign in front of some lovely corals

It's those impromptu signs that indicate how well you, as a couple, communicate. Its part mind-reading, part knowing each other really well. For example, when I squeeze my fingers together and move them in a horizontal line, Josh knows that I'm pointing to a long skinny fish (one of my favorites). He nods with approval. When Josh moves his hand in a particular direction, I know he's mimicking a path he'd like us to take. When I give him the okay sign, he starts to swim in that direction.

The long skinny fish in question

Over the last dozen dives, we've done a good job of consistently using our individual sets of signs and re-learning each other's. All of this good work, though, goes out the window when we stumble on an unusual situation.

Earlier today I was having trouble with my ears mid-dive. (Normally my ears hurt at the start of the dive only.) Josh gave me the okay sign, to which I gave him the "I'm not great" sign and then pointed to my right ear. "Okay?" he signed back. "No," I shook my head, repeating the series of signs for my ear is not good. "Boat?" he asked. Hmmm. I didn't need to go back to the boat, I just needed to stay about 6 meters deep so my ear would stop freaking out. How to communicate that? Eventually I thought I got my message across, but it was hard to tell underwater.

Here fishy fishy!

A short time later during one of our many check-ins, I thought Josh said that his ear was hurting and he wanted to go to the boat. Well, "okay" I said, deferring to his discomfort over my desire to continue inspecting the coral and fish-gazing. On our way back to the boat, I asked about his air. He had plenty. I suggested taking a longer way back. "Okay," he responded. Apparently his ear had either worked itself out or we'd once again misunderstood each other underwater.

A Saddled Butterflyfish

The best thing about trying to communicate with a loved one underwater is that miscommunications are expected. There are no hurt feelings when one person misinterprets the other or just cannot figure out at all what the other is so excitedly pointing out. Like this conversation earlier today:

"Look at the awesome blue and black fish!" I try to say while pointing toward the fish
"What? I don't see anything of interest," Josh glances back at me with a confused look
"Look at the blue and black fish!!" I point with increasing animation
"I give up," Josh says with a shrug, turning away

In the land-based world, this interaction would have made me frustrated, and maybe Josh too. But underwater it's just another example of the difficulty of communicating through body language. We trust that the other person would love the blue and black fish if they had seen it and we know that the other person cares about us, even if they can't smile back. Spending time with my hubby underwater reminds me how much I trust him and how much we care about each other... even if he can't read my mind in the ocean or on land.

The happy couple under the sea

 

Diving with sharks

I am afraid of sharks. Let me repeat: I am afraid of sharks. Always have been. I grew up in Great White country and was raised with a very healthy dose of fear when it comes to sharing water with sharks. I remember reading stories in the newspaper of surfers who'd been attacked by Great Whites. And seeing photos of said surfers and their mangled bodies. I watched Jaws as an impressionable kid. I am afraid of sharks.

I saw my first shark while diving in Puerto Rico in 2008. It had been a while since my last dive and I was nervous. So nervous that I was holding hands with the dive master, a older fellow who lacked any real fear of sharks. As we came around a coral head, he spotted a 6-foot Norse Shark resting on an incline of coral. I didn't see it until he tightened his grip on my hand and started swimming towards it. When I spotted the shark, I freaked out. Imagine me flailing wildly, kicking my legs in all directions and trying to swim in reverse like a mad woman. Only thing is, the dive master had me by the hand with a strong grip and kept pulling me towards the shark. Eventually my wild flailing won out and I got loose from the dive master and swam to safety. In the meantime, my crazy display of fear had scared the shark off. Phew, I let out a heavy sigh of relief and allowed my heart rate return to normal. Needless to say, my fear of sharks had only grown. Now I was especially terrified of seeing sharks while scuba diving.

Fast forward to last night. I am aboard a dive boat in the Great Barrier Reef getting ready for my first night dive. Yes, as if diving wasn't unnerving enough, we were slated to dive at night with the aid of a flash light and a glow stick. Wonderful. I get all my gear on and head to the back of the boat. As I'm waiting in the queue to dive in, the dive master spots a 8-foot grey shark less than 15 feet off the boat, swimming near the surface. I spot it too and think to myself, "I'm not going diving with that thing!" And then the dive master says it's my turn to jump in.

I think for a minute and then I step...

off
the
boat

into the dark waters where there are sharks.

I try not to flail and attract the shark's attention. Instead I focus on getting my ears to clear, descending into the deep, dark ocean. I turn to face every direction in turn. No sharks to be seen. Although that's not saying much as I can only see about 10-20 feet in each direction. I take another deep breathe and leave my fear of sharks at the surface along with the bubbles from my exhale.