Sitting in the lobby/ dining room after an adventure-filled morning. It's a late lunch-- 2pm. The boat is moving, in hope of avoiding a rapidly progressing storm. A light rain is falling, and moisture rises off the water and obscures the islands.
It was an early start to the morning: they moved the boat starting at 4am. The engine starts up first, then the anchors come up. Once we start to cruise there's just the steady soft hum of the engine and a gentle sway of the boat. I fell back into a deep sleep to the sound of waves gently slapping the sides of the boat.
After an early 7 am light breakfast we pile into the speed boats and head for an isolated salt water lake filled with jelly fish. The briefing on this excursion had set most of us to wondering if this was one to skip. There was talk of good footwear (no flip flops or open toes) to help us over the rocks, and long pants to avoid scrapes and bruises on our legs (both of us came away with bruises despite the long pants). Alex warned of a tough rocky climb, starting with a rope, then nothing but tree trunks and rock holds. It was 6 minutes for him (he'd already scouted the site earlier in the morning), but expect 12 minutes for us. We took about 20. It's a steep climb of about 50 m up and then 50 down. Well, it was all of that. The rock is limestone, with deep ridges. There are lots of hand holds--rocks and tree trunks--but nowhere to put your feet. It's not so much hard, as focused and intense. The first boat with Alex made it up in record time; Sadat carefully guided us up and down, both times. Left foot here, right foot here, hand here. Up and up, then down, down, down. And there it was, a lake filled with jelly fish, the non-stinging kind.
Picture a cool mountain lake, surrounded by lush verdant forest. Imagine it motionless, except for the cautiously moving snorkelers who have invaded. Under water, it's like a millions bubbles, floating gently, their tentacles stretched beneath them, some as small as my thumbnail, others the size of a softball. Some are completely transparent, and nearly flat; most have caramel-coloured fluff on the rim of the dome, and on the tentacles. The smallest ones puff along to the rhythm of I-THINK-I-can, I-think-I-can. The mid-sized ones, maybe the size of a tennis ball, are like joggers: TA-da, ta-da. It's like watching a heart beat. The biggest ones are pretty relaxed and I quickly fall into their yoga-like breathing in, then out. In, then out. I fell into a bit of a trance, floating, not moving my legs or arms, not wanting to disturb their peace, but feeling the feathery touch of their bodies against my skin, and watching their gentle movements as they bump into my facemask. Margaret took this photo from shore. A bit hard to see the jellyfish but you get the idea. Click on it to make it bigger--the photo that is.
Sadat guided us safely and slowly back up and over, then it was into the speed boat and home for breakfast. The next trip was a swim through the "cathedral", a 30 m. high cave. Fortunately I wore a snorkel and mask; I've been swimming but this might have been a bit much. First you jump in off a cliff--well, a low one. But it's the cool way to get in (the uncool way is to go down the steps from the boardwalk and walk in--not). Margaret went first. What choice did I have. Okay, so big splash, clear the mask, and swim, in the mostly dark, for 300 meters, stare up at the stalectytes, and swim back. It's pretty cool.
We've just been briefed, and we have an 80 nautical mile trip to a (hopefully) safe harbor and some snorkeling tomorrow.
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