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Published: September 16th 2007
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big red jeep
stevie, hannah and heather (jon taking photo) at the start of our cross-roatan extravaganza. we may or may not have been stopping for delicious cheese cake and brownies. J: I miss being in Roatan. I was so sick of all the inconveniences (unreliable power, merciless insects, three jobs, no butter or hot water, too cheap cigarettes...) that I forgot what I was returning to. Maybe its just that I’m sitting in George Bush international airport/mall, but something about being back in the Northern Americas feels entirely unwholesome. Boarding for Laguardia… to be continued.
H: So, now we are on the plane, which is possibly hotter than Roatan was….so while the ocean and the sandflies are a distant memory, the heat feels unsurprisingly familiar. For me the island feels far away and long ago, but the time we spent there feels firm and familiar. Our last week was a haze of good friends, tough tests and lots and lots of ants…
J: True to form, I’ll start my account with my final night of DJing at the Black Pearl: probably the second busiest night I had there, despite the torrential rain outside. I for one was pleasantly and completely surprised at the turn out and the energy that night was wonderful. All in all, a great end to my first official foray into the wide world of DJing. That was
exactly 8 days ago.
H: On Sunday, whilst suffering through the after-affects of DJing/dancing from 10-2, Jon and I performed our skills assessment and rescue assessment. Demonstrating the 20-odd skills (such as mask removal and replacement, buddy-breathing while swimming and weight-belt removal and replacement) is much more difficult than it sounds and it is thanks in very large part to the largesse of our instructor that we scored as well as we did. However, those two assessments were nothing at all compared to the stress test to come...
J: It took four more days and many erased penciling-ins until we finally found ourselves readying our gear and trying to settle the butterflies in our stomachs in preparation for the final PADI recognized dive master examination. On Thursday August 16, 2007 at 2:30 pm we and two ruthless instructors got into the 15 horse powered Tarpoon and headed for the 10 feet of water that would make or break us (or maybe both). In spite of previous practice sessions, I can now say that no amount of preparation could truly ready one for such an experience. PADI calls this portion of the course the ‘equipment exchange’ and according to basic guidelines
internet cafe
on a mangrove tour one has to exchange fins, mask, tank/bcd, and weight belt with a buddy while Buddy Breathing. Buddy Breathing means that you have one breathing device to share with two people: take two breaths... hold, pass and pray! On Roatan (and other select places around the world) the anti has been upped and the test aptly renamed the ‘stress test’. Our (too?) vigilant instructors were happy to apply all kinds of stress for our benefit, beginning with throwing our equipment into a current. As the test began and we removed our weight belts, they pulled off both our masks, dropped sand in our faces and obscured our vision even further with bubbles. As time went on they pulled off every piece of equipment they could, filled our equipment with air to make us float, and turned off our breathing air to make us sweat. We each surfaced twice and had to restart as many times, but after that we made it all the way through the test. As we exchanged the final pieces of equipment we realized the instructors were gone. We swam back to the dock and there they were awaiting us with tequila shots. A welcome tradition for sure
Mangroves
In times of serious storms locals bring their boats to this cove for shelter. and foreshadowing of one more to come.
H: Ahhh yes, what was to come. Having survived (barely-I actually believed for the first 5-10 minutes of the aforementioned “equipment exchange” that there was no conceivable way I would survive), we had only one more hurdle to overcome in our race with the clock to achieve divemaster status and escape the clutches of Hurricae Dean before we flew off into the sunset (and landed with a disheartening thud in Houston). For those of you unfamiliar with hazing, Roatan dive politics, or a good old fashioned frat-party, let me explain to you the unique (yet I’m guessing all-too-familiar for some) assessment that is “the snorkel test.” First your old roomate and her father take you out for a gorgeous dinner (this part is optional) and after you are decidedly tipsy from one to many glasses of red wine (also not mandatory) your beloved instructors sit you down in two wooden chairs facing the jeering crowd and place a snorkel and mask on your face. Meanwhile, behind the bar, those self-same instructors who only days earlier tortured you mercilessly underwater, set about preparing about a litre and a half of pain. Rum, vodka, tequila,
gin, you name it all stirred together with a hint of juice and, when the time came, poured through a funnel into your awaiting snorkels. Drunkenness (and its well-known consequences) were to follow… but on those details, I’m a little hazy.
J: Backtracking a bit in that same day, our second to last on Roatan (for now at least), we decided rather spontaneously to rent a big red Jeep and see the some of the island that we had neglected in favour of the half mile strip known as West End. It was glorious. The beauty of the rest of Roatan simply dwarfs that of our stomping ground with its still untouched jungled hills, hidden coves and cliffs and views of two coasts at once. And the company of our travel pals Stevie and Heather put it all over the edge. We did a tour on a funky little boat with a local named Emeril of the mangroves and some coast line, picnicked on the beach and drove that spunky buggy up every dirt road that seemed worth exploring. We were gone for 10 hours and came home to the aforementioned snorkel test.
H: And so the week, and indeed
our time in Roatan, ended as incredibly as it could have-we had drunken debauchery, glorious sight-seeing, and a great fun-dive on Saturday morning with close friends. More than anything, what stands out for me about these past three months (other than the bug-bites) are the incredible friends that we made. I don’t know if its the water, the air, the diving, the diversity or the proximity, but everyone whom we met and especially those individuals we were lucky enough to become close with, are people I hope to cross paths (or dive plans) with again and again and again. If there’s one thing I will miss (other than the white-spotted filefish) it will be the incredible friends we made.
J: Hannah definitely speaks for both of us there. Aside from missing new friends (which I already do so much!) its hard to ignore that the end of this summer brings the beginning of another year apart from each other. My biggest comforts are the hope that this will be the last time we endure it and all the wonderful people and experiences that await my return home and Hannah’s new adventure in San Francisco.
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