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When you’re visiting an island famous for its beautiful lagoon, it would be a crime not to get in the water. And, since Alan and I have hauled our snorkeling gear through airports, around New Zealand and across the Pacific Ocean, we’re determined to use it.

So, even though clouds threaten rain, we take the tender to shore and the beginning of our “Stingray Ballet and Snorkel Safari.” We board a covered boat that has two rows of long benches facing each other. Placing our gear underneath the seat, Alan and I wait for fellow cruisers to select from a large bin of fins and masks.

Most passengers choose to use the equipment provided by the tour and there is much grumbling and griping about its condition.

“Don’t you have any extra-large fins?” one man asks.

“No sir, that’s all we have,” a crewmember replies.

“Well this is not acceptable. I have very large feet,” the grumbler says. It seems that somehow the tour company was supposed to know that. The term spoiled American comes to mind.

Finally, the captain starts the motor. It sputters and stops. He tries again. After ten minutes of tinkering and more sputtering, the motor roars to life. As we travel out into the lagoon, I picture us stranded in the water with a boat that won’t run and waving goodbye to the Mariner as it sails without us.

When we reach the spot for viewing rays, our boat pulls next to a larger one where the captain ties the two together. Passengers must walk across a wood plank to the larger boat and exit into the water from its stairs.

Soon, we are watching stingrays as they glide by for food that a crewmember holds in his hands, causing the stingrays to come in close. One woman discovers that rays can be human vacuum cleaners as she holds a fish and the ray sucks it into his mouth along with her thumb. Luckily, she isn’t hurt. I decide I’d rather watch a ray eating than participate in feeding it.

Back on our boat, a couple smokes while they wait for everyone to walk back across the plank to take a seat. Nothing wrong with that except there are “no smoking” signs everywhere. The man and woman puff away perched next to a motor—full of gasoline—you know the kind that ignites.

“Stop smoking, look at the signs, they say you can’t smoke. You’re going to blow us up,” several men (including Alan) yell at them.

“But the Captain said we could and told us to smoke here,” they say.

Grumbling passenger, a motor that sputters, smokers that want to blow us up. I don’t have a good feeling about today.

Next, the boat sails further into the lagoon to a snorkeling spot. In the water, raindrops pelt our backs as we peer through masks at the sea life below us. Soon, it’s time to head back to the dock. And, yes, the motor starts on the very first try.

Later, Alan and I meet Ngaire and Ken for dinner. We are finishing a lovely meal when I gesture in conversation and dump an almost full glass of red wine on Alan, the chair, the curtains and the carpet. My kind husband doesn’t bat an eye. After a few minutes, we excuse ourselves and rush to the cabin. I call Raju, oh, I forgot to tell you about him, but I’ll save that for another blog entry. Anyway, Raju takes the red-stained shirt and pants away to be cleaned and by the next day, all traces of my mishap are gone.

After Alan changes clothes, we meet friends at Starz Lounge where we boogey the night away. No matter what happens, Alan and I can always find something to dance about.

To read more about arranging an excursion to swim with stingrays, visit My Itchy Travel Feet .

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