The great whites and retrieval of spirit

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People keep telling me I should try to have fun. They say that what I´m doing is a good thing, but I shouldn´t forget to enjoy myself. And perhaps they´re right. At the moment, I´m in between writing assignments and have no idea where to go. One thing I do know, I need to get out of Adelaide. There´s enough noise in this city to drive the Dalai Lama to insanity.

So, at 05.20 this morning, I wake up, grab my backpack and take a shuttle bus to the airport. A tiny propeller airplane flies me to Port Lincoln, a settlement located on the southern shores of the Eyre Peninsula. Finally, I’ll have some peace and quiet, finally I’ll go and do something fun, relax, enjoy myself. Finally, except... I’m freakin´ terrified. Port Lincoln is not quite on the on the tourist radar yet. There´s a tiny landing strip in the middle of nowhere and no one seems to have heard of a shuttle bus. So, a taxi it is. A 30 minute drive takes me to the Port Lincoln Tourist Park, a camp site on the edge of town and right, smack, next to the beach. I’m dead tired (I hadn’t slept as my neighbours at the motel argued and fought with each other throughout the night. He was cheating, she was cheating, everybody was cheating and they ended up smashing doors and screaming each other’s names down the streets) and I’m alone in a place of few on a campsite of few. I don’t know what’s so scary, I just know that my heart is pounding and everyone looks suspicious. The guys camping next to me out of their dodgy cars might be up to something. And the people walking around, who knows where they’ve been. Wait a minute... When the hell did I get so paranoid? After five minutes of trying to set up my tent, I speak to a group of Dutch tourists and get some help from other campers who see me struggling with the tent fly in the wind. This place isn’t that bad at all. It’s all in my fatigued little head.

I take a walk to town (30 – 40 minutes one way), order some lunch at a Thai restaurant and walk back with two bags full of groceries. Once I get my chores done, I can finally relax. I have come here to unwind and have some fun. So, it’s time for the fun to begin... Ok, the fun can begin.... Fun? Start!... Haha, so much fun....Ok, where’s the fun?... Crap... I’m not having fun at all! I feel miserable, homesick, tired, lonely and completely out of place. AND WHERE THE HELL AM I?! I break down in tears, right there, in my little ten by the beach... I just sob. ‘When will you slow down San? Just breathe, FEEL!’ says that voice again. ‘But I am breathing!’ I complain to myself. I decide to take a stroll down one of the piers. Pacific sea gulls with their black wings, white heads and yellow and red beaks follow me with their eyes as I make my pitiful way down the stone dock. I sit down at the end of it, watching the waves break on the rocks. There’s no one here, so I just start talking. ‘Dad, I need your help. I’m lost here. Am I still doing the right thing? Shouldn’t I just go home? Am I making things hard on myself for no reason?’ I get an answer, from deep inside, and it’s YES. For sure, I’m making things hard on myself, but No, going home is not the answer. Some local fishermen from another dock cast suspicious glances at me. I bet they’re wondering what I’m doing here all by myself. ‘I’m expecting too much again, aren’t I? I keep wanting to write stories, chasing after publications, trying to earn my way across Australia but as soon as things quiet down, I plunge into this depth. I should cut myself some slack, right? I really should try to have fun, right?RIGHT! I somehow get this feeling of acknowledgement, somewhere from the bottom of my soul and it feels good. Really, I should slow down... When will I learn? ‘To tell you the truth dad, I don’t think I deserve a break..’ the sea gulls take off. They bicker with each other while flying the wind and land back on the same piece of rock again. The fishermen on the other side, have packed their gear and are heading back to land. ‘I haven’t been able to find a job. Though I have tried, I still don’t have an income. I resent myself for being here, instead of being home applying for positions. That’s how you raised me,

Port Lincoln

you know. You never allowed me to take things for granted, you never allowed to profit off of anything. You taught me the value of hard work, you taught me how important it is to pay your own way. But look at me. I’m here in Australia, sure I’m getting a few publications out there, but nothing much. I’m FAILING aren’t I? NO! It looks as if the wind picks up and the waves are now crashing against the rock I’m sitting on in pure anger. These thoughts are WRONG – that’s message. Again , don’t ask me where the message is coming from, I can’t explain it. It just pops into my head, like I’m having a conversation with myself, except a wiser, older self, or maybe even my dad. I really can’t tell. I’m just opening up to it and let the thoughts enter my mind in honesty. Anyway, something tells me, I’m being too hard on myself. I have worked and studied my butt off these last few years. And I have never allowed myself to spend much money on anything. Ok, so this last year was rough! My dad died, I didn’t get a job, the relationship that I had fell apart like a mirror that breaks into a thousand pieces, and life hasn’t been perfect. Still, San, chin up! You don’t NEED to chase after money. You’ve saved up enough and if you just let go, money will find you. You don’t NEED to prove yourself. People keep telling you what an amazing writer you are and that you have a gift to touch other people’s souls. Don’t chase after editors, allow them to find you. And you don’t NEED to be occupied all the time. So, you now have a few days on a campsite as boring as the back end of a cow. Just enjoy. Relax, slow down, breath and feel. Ah, that feels better. But something still bothers me. ‘So, dad, tell me. Am I doing the right thing here? I need some sort of sign, I beg you. I need some sort of confirmation that all that is going through my head right now, is ok. I need to know that you are with me on this.’ I wipe away the tears that are rolling down my cheeks. The sea gulls are still staring at me like I’ve just come from another planet. They seem unable to decide what to think of me. The fishermen across have gone and it’s just me and the waves now. Then, just a metre to my right, a huge, whopper of an Australian fur seal sticks his head out of the water and looks at me. It snorts at me – LOUD. And then, it dives again. I try to follow the seal with my eyes, but it has vanished into thin sea. I wait for a minute or five, but it never returns. I look up at the sky and say ‘Gotcha, loud and clear!’ I stay at the end of that pier for an hour or so, before going back to my tent. But before I do, I glance up for one last time. ´Dad, since you´re up there, could you put in a good word with God for me? I know what I want. I want a job that allows me to write the way I’m writing now, that allows me to be involved in photography and that allows me to be involved with nature and conservation. Ask God if he could somehow make that work for me, okay? And since

Favourite breakfast spot

I’m putting a request in.... ask him to make sure the job pays me heeps of money and allows me to spend time with my loved ones. Thanks!’

That night, I speak to Dennis on skype. Poor sweetie. He tries his best to comfort me and to make me feel better about being here. Somehow though, I can’t get over that barrier. Dennis and I chat for an hour and it’s so good to see his face again. When I turn of the computer, I head back for my tent and lay down. I start feeling sorry for myself. Truthfully, I have been doing so for the last few weeks. I mean, I’m really trying to get some grounding here and am trying to enjoy my traveling as I once did, but something’s changed. ME! As I lay staring at the tent fly, a new energy bubbles up... and this one, is pissed! ‘San, what the hell are you doing?! Look at you! Feeling sorry for yourself, hiding away, feeling scared. What’s this? What happened to that young woman that went skinny dipping in an Egyptian, public pool? Where’s that girl that traveled to Antarctica solo to go kayaking?

Home sweet home

Where’s that spirit that reached the top – well, almost – of the Ol Donyo L’Engai in Tanzania? The one that rode a donkey across the Valley of the Kings? The one that strolled by herself through Honk Kong? The one that hitchhiked to Paris? What happened to her?’ As we grow older, I realize now, we lose our innocence. We become more aware of danger. This often happens through experience. You find out that yes, you can get harassed by strangers. Yes, you do get ripped off while travelling. Yes, you can have your stuff stolen from you. Yes, you will have arguments. Yes, you will get hurt. And yes, people really do get very sick and die. Is it a loss of innocence – of naivety perhaps – that has us crawling in our shells, looking for security and comfort. For me it is. That’s the reason I have been feeling so scared. Not just while traveling, but at home as well. I’m scared of being harassed again, I’m scared of losing my loved ones and not being there, I’m scared of being robbed, I’m scared of failing in whatever way, I’m scared of getting hurt, and I’m scared of losing my way. Pema Chodron, author of the book When Things Fall Apart once wrote: ‘Fear is a universal experience. Even the smallest insect feels it. It’s not a terrible thing that we feel fear when faced with the unknown. It is part of being alive, something we all share. We react against the possibility of loneliness, of death, of not having anything to hold onto. Fear is a natural reaction to moving closer to the truth.’ The truth being that we are vulnerable, mortal creatures in a world that holds countless threats. So now what? I remember this quote from Mark Twain, a famous writer that gave birth to the wonderful book ‘the adventures of huckleberry Finn.’ He said ‘Courage is resistance to fear, mastery of fear - not absence of fear.’ In other words, you will always be confronted with fear. To live, is to fear (and to love). The question is, how do we deal with fear. Do we hide from it? Or do we stare it in the eye and challenge it? I remember when I was 19 years old, I traveled to China on my own. It was my very first trip to another continent and my very first trip taking off to a place where I knew no one. The week before, I was so nervous I could hardly function. Cancelling had crossed my mind several times, but I didn’t. I really, really wanted to see China. Two of my friends dropped me off at the airport and before I boarded, Esther, I girl I hung out with back then, gave me a hug and then looked me straight into the eye. ‘Remember baby’, she said. ‘There’s NOTHING you can’t handle.’ And she was right. Three weeks later, after I had overcome a culture shock and was getting used to the sights of China, I walked down the streets of Hong Kong by myself. I remember feeling so strong. A verse of singer Richard Shindell lingered in my head, seven words repeating over and over again ‘Mama, if you could see me now.’

I’m still down in my tent, staring at the fly. A new energy is throbbing within me. It strengthens with every heart beat. THERE IS NOTHING I CAN’T HANDLE. How could I forget? I stretch out and notice my guidebook of Australia. Australia. I’m in Australia! That’s awesome! I start laughing. Jeez, it takes me this long to realize I’m in a great country, travelling free as a bird. How ridicule it all seems now. And the answer, so simple. But sometimes, errors creep into our souls. We might feel blocked – scared, angry, sad – without really being able to grasp what’s going on. It might take time – a lot of time – before you find out what the problem is. And it will take even more time to figure out how to deal with them. For me, it means being empathic toward what I have been through (I didn’t grow scared overnight for no reason). But another important factor, is to try and tap back into that strength I have, which got a little lost and muted along the way. There’s nothing I can’t handle. I sleep well that night and when I unzip my tent this morning, a new day greats me. The denim blue ocean water of Port Lincoln’s bay flurries in the wind. The sun has risen, but still has that soft morning glow. Sea gulls and pelicans are balancing in the uprising airstream and the umbrella-like fern trees have a deep and profound shade of yellow and green. Children are already running about as clouds slowly drift off to make way for the sun. Today, is gonna be a good day.

I’ve spent two days on the campsite of Port Lincoln and they blissfully blurred together. I take a few strolls, lie down by the beach, go to town, buy some ice cream, stuff like that. Always, I wake up to an orchestra of birds: wattlebirds, New Holland Honeyeaters, common and Southern sea gull, pelicans, yellow-masked lapwings, swallows, lorikeets, Ghalas, sparrow, starlings and my favourite one of them all – the Willy Wagtale. I have aptly named this bird the get-down bird and he’s seriously too funny to watch (I even put a link on this blog to a video which shows what I mean). The wagtail is a skilled flyer. Like a Hen Harrier, it performs all kinds of acrobatics above a one by one metre patch of grass. I assume its hunting for bugs. But, whenever it sits down, it looks up, sometimes fanning its tail feathers, and shakes its booty. It twists its hind quarters from left to right, gently bouncing on its tiny, little knees as if it’s performing a diminutive dance for everyone to see. Just looking at it, makes me happy. I spend a lot of time at the end of the pier. I just lie down on the dark wood and stare at the translucent ocean water beneath me. Hundreds of little guppies swim against the current like little rainbows blowing in the wind. Underneath them, schools of sardine swim in long lines, the same way ants form their lines while marching. Sometimes, the sardines gather up in big groups as if they need some time to decide where to go next. And lower again, seaweed snakes up from the bottom, hiding seashells and all that’s washing up towards the shore. I see yellow-beaked cormorants diving and surfacing, sometimes with a fish. They stick their beaks high up in the air and turn their heads nervously from left to right. I bet they’ve got an eye out for everything. At one point, a lone harbour porpoise surfaces for air, blowing mist into the atmosphere, and dives again. Though, I never again spot any seals.

Back in Adelaide, I bought some cheap running shoes. I just feel such a need to run! It’s my way of draining excess energy and clearing my head. I can let myself be absorbed by my surroundings and the regular beat of my shoes touching the sand. Also, it’s a good indicator of my personal state. If I feel bad, I can’t run. I have a friend in Canada – Gary – who’s just as hooked on running as I am and always has a very spiritual, Christian view on things. He’s also aware of the healing capacity of running and how it can put you in contact with your own body. As he puts it: ‘my body only runs well when I am at peace and relaxed. If I am angry or unforgiving or resentful, that dwells in my muscles, and I get hurt. If I trust the Lord and forgive His children, peace in my heart translates to peace in my muscles.’ So, I run! Down the local Parnkalla trail towards the marine bay. It’s a beautiful gravel path framed by all kinds of shrubs and vegetation. My body feels like it has run a marathon just yesterday. My muscles ache and I have little energy. No wonder after going through all the fear and stress I have saddled myself with. I decide to take it easy. Suddenly, I see something curled up in front of me. I hit the brakes and immediately tread in reverse. A lowland copperhead gives me a warningful hiss and slides of into the shrubs. Whoops! That could have meant a trip to the hospital for some lifesaving anti-venom. Forty-five minutes later, I’m back at the campsite. I’ve grown to like sleepy Port Lincoln with its old, scruffy town and wide, quiet streets. I kick back, enjoy the boredom and book an extra day at the campsite.

It´s 05.45 when my alarm goes off. My heart is pounding. Adrenaline is rushing through my blood already. Today´s the day. I get up, put on my bikini, grab my stuff and head to the office building of my campsite. A taxi is quick to take me to the marina. More people have gathered, mostly Europeans. They´ve all travelled to dull Port Lincoln for the same reason. A white charter boat lays in the dock. It´s got three decks with a small kitchen, shower, two toilets and a large platform in its rear end. On the platform, is a large, steel cage with black floaters on the side and ropes attached to it. The boat is baptised the Calypso Star. ´Welcome on board´, says Adrew Wright as he checks my name off his list. He´s got a grin on his face reaching both ears. He knows what´s coming, he´s been doing this for over eight years. We board the small vessel as the anchor is lifted. The engines are fired and there seems to be no turning back now. For 2,5 hours, we sail to the Neptune Islands, 40 nautical miles south of the coast of Port Lincoln. In the mean while, Andrew explains the safety drill. ´You all hop into the life boats and we´ll meet you there. Now, as for the diving, this is how it works.´ With great vigour and care, he explains what´s about to happen and makes sure everyone is paying attention. There´s no room for mistakes here. Any slips will be fatal. Right after sunrise, we arrive at Neptune island. James, the hand deck with his worn jeans and messy, black hair, opens a hatch in the rear deck. He pulls out a bucket filled with reddish goo: Chum! He scoops up the nasty smelling stuff, made from the guts of tuna and other leftover fish, and throws it in the water. It’s not long until the first shadow arrives. Effortlessly, it glides underneath the boat, exploring the mixture James has thrown into sea. Its size is daunting, a good three meters in length. And this, is just a baby. Soon enough, a five meter long giants chases it off and dominates the water around out boat. Great white sharks are considered masters of the sea. No other animal on Earth elicits a greater fear response in humans. It’s a primitive hunter, designed to track even the smallest scents in the sea and kill with a single bite and shake. Soon enough, six of them are patrolling the area around our boat, one even bigger than the other. ‘Okay’, says Andrew. ‘It’s time to dive in. Who’ll go first.’ Silence. Everyone seems hesitant. Is this really such a good idea? Andrew picks four people. No discussion. The first four, all men, put on their wetsuits. Their faces spell doubt and fear, but there’s a whim of excitement as well. They enter the submerged cage, armed with camera’s, as James hooks huge pieces of tuna, only to toss it into the water and pull it out again. The great whites chase the bait. The open their mouths WIDE, showing rows of razor sharp teeth as big as pocket knives, while they attack the bait. Every now and then, a shark gets so close, it hits the cage with its tail and slaps frantically against the steel bars. The water around the cage is turned into a swell of tiny air bubbles that block the view. From under water, there’s no telling where the sharks went. It’s all mist.

After forty-five minutes, the four men come up again and are greeted back on board as heroes. The crowd applauds and cheers. It’s my turn now. I slip into a wetsuit, grab a mouth piece through which I can breathe under water, put on a diving mask and let myself slide into the cage. Once I get down, I only see a vast blue depth. Sharks are nowhere to be found. Bits and piece of tuna are floating all around and the ocean water is penetrated by dancing rays of sunlight. I’m soon joined by three other divers who stare into the depth as well. Suddenly, James, a diver next to me, nudges me. He points into the depth. A shadow slides in closer. It’s hard to see what it is. Then, I can make out the body shape, round with two long side fins. It’s a great white. And it swims right towards the cage. I hold my breath and my heart races. When the shark is only an arms-length away, it turns and glides past the cage. It swims by. It’s only now that I realize that I have backed away from the bars, floating to the middle of the cage, bumping into the other divers who instinctively have done the same. We look at each other, faces spelling amazement. Then, there’s relief. We give a thumbs up and soon, everyone is pressed against the steel of the cage, trying to get as close as possible to these fascinating monsters. Sometimes, showing amazing speed and agility, they scurry upwards and hit the bait. Their jagged teeth are just inches away. The sharks bump into the cage, swimming underneath or besides it. Every now and then, one comes in to take a closer look. It swims past the open gap in the cage, designed for divers to be able to look at the sharks unhindered by steel bars, staring right back at the spectators. But there’s no sense of threat. The shark seems to know we’re not on the menu and it seems to be intrigued by the funny, bubble-blowing creatures hidden behind steel bars. After forty-five minutes, which feel more like ten minutes, we’re requested to come out of the cage. Saturated with excitement, we tell everyone who wants to hear about our encounter, giving high fives and showing off photos. Oh Yes! I’m having fun now! On the boat, I make new friends in a heartbeat. Not hard when you’re surrounded by like-minded people who have a taste for adventure and a passion for wild animals. After returning to Port Lincoln, we have a few drinks, still taking about our encounter, before it’s time to call it a day.

When I return to the campsite, I realize something terrible. I haven´t once thought of my father today. Not a single time. Last night, while fantasizing about today´s trip, I imagined how I would say something momentous before I´d enter the water. Something like ´this one´s for you dad!´ I’d cast a meaningful glance at the sky. But I didn´t. I was so absorbed by the giants underneath, by the like-minded spirits on the boat and by the lovely food, my father didn’t cross my mind once. And right now, I feel terribly ashamed. I feel as though I betrayed him, abandoned him and have become careless towards him, like I’ve forgotten him. I decide to go to the pier and walk a bit down the Parnkalla trail. How my dad would have loved to swim with sharks, or just watch them from the boat. There are so many things we wanted to do together. So many plans, so many wishes. But they never came true. He passed away before any plans could have come true. And it hurts! A pain so deep, so empty, like a black hole sucking in my whole being, cramping it into a single ball of hurt, right in the middle of my chest. How do I ever reconcile with the fact that we will never get to fulfill our dreams and carry out our plans? However, even if he were alive today, I would have no idea how to get by this, how to actually realize all the things we wanted to do. We are so busy living, we forget to live. Plus, my father favoured another travel partner over me, his wife. He loved her – well, I wouldn’t say more than me and my brother. This, after all, isn’t a competition. But he loved her in a completely different way. I know this because, when my father still carried hopes of being around for at least another year, the first thing he wanted to do when he would be done with his chemo therapy, was to go away with his wife. Not me, nor my brother. Only his wife. It hurt me at the time, but now, I’m okay with it. Really. I have come to learn that there are many different kinds of love. The love for a child is far from the same as the love for an intimate partner. The fact that he wanted to spend every last minute of his life in my stepmom’s presence, doesn’t mean that he wouldn’t have come running, IV-drip frantically spinning after him, for me if I would have been in trouble. He would have! We, as humans, are capable of loving so many people, so many things, in so many ways. Love isn’t limited. It won’t run out when given to a single person. In fact, love is the one thing that becomes more, when we divide it. And truth be told, I hope that one day I will love someone as whole as my father loved my stepmom. I wonder how she gets through this. She must have the same regrets, the same sorrow, and perhaps, she feels the same shame whenever forgetting about my father for an hour, or a day. The wind is picking up while I’m walking down the trail. I turn back. It will be dark soon. While watching the sand slide by underneath my feet, I wonder what it would be like to live life, I mean really live it, as if every day is your last. If we were set on doing everything we ever wanted right now, just to make sure we get it done before turning that symbolic corner, dragging our partners, friends or parents behind us, what would it be like? I can imagine, that after a year or two, maybe three, we’d run out of inspiration. That late night dinner around a campfire while watching a starry sky, would eventually become something normal, average and every day. Just the prospect alone of setting out to do solely whatever we want to do, because we want to get it done before we die, might rob us of all our inspiration, our motivation, our imaginary muse. We would be left feeling bland, paralyzed by all the opportunities that suddenly are in reach. No one dreams of not having to dream anymore. So, perhaps it is inevitable, and maybe even a good thing, that we reminisce on the things we still would have wanted to do with lost loved ones. Perhaps it’s a sign of a healthy life in which dreams are still flourishing, growing stronger with every happy thought we add. Perhaps it allows us, the ones left behind, to still feel close to our departed. A late night sun breaks through the clouds for one last time. Its orange and pink light casts a warm glow on the berry bushes and gum trees around me. I get the feeling my father is not upset at all about the fact that I haven’t thought about him today. I get the feeling, he’s happier to see me pick up my life and have fun, instead of dwelling on what could have been.

This morning, I go for a last run before leaving Port Lincoln. My muscles are relaxed and sprint down the Parnkalla trail, excited, happy and relaxed. Finally, I’m getting my life back, bit by bit.

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