eileengoesroundtheworlddotcom

Our stay in Samoa is brief. As we tool in from the airport, our guide informs that just 5 years ago they switched over from driving on the right side of the street like Americans do, to the left side, because it had become cheaper and easier for the population to purchase cars from Australia. And I wonder what an experiment like that would look like in Los Angeles.
The people of Samoa (which I have always pronounced sam-O-a, but the locals say SAAM-o-a) are almost aggressively friendly. Our late arrival at the hotel in Apia is greeted by what appears to be the entire staff and their cousins, cheering and dancing and handing each of us a coconut with a straw in it, the water of the fruit milky and sweet. Everywhere we go, we are greeted with warm smiles and loud cries of “Talofa!”
We opt to spend our short day on this island doing very little. We stroll the beach, charmed by the delicate twigs of bleached coral that litter the sand along with a small gang of hermit crabs. It is very warm, despite patchy clouds, and very humid. The Pacific here is turquoise, and warm and flat.                                                 

Lunch is a buffet where I try their version of creamed spinach, which is taro leaves in coconut milk…followed by a Fiafia (traditional performance with fire dancers). Too soon we are back on the plane bound for Australia.

We fly over the barrier reef into Cairns (pronounced cans)
and head an hour to our hotel in Port Douglas. We pass a park that is overrun by small kangaroos which seems so crazy.
Port Douglas is a touristy seaside town, existing mostly as the best launching point for visiting the Great Barrier Reef. We arrive in time for a late supper with a ‘special guest,’ that turns out to be a koala, which is very strange looking up close. It’s a very quiet animal, like a stuffed toy with knubbly grey fur.

First thing in the morning we head to the marina and board a large, very fast boat for the reef. Even so, it takes nearly an hour to arrive, during which time we are fitted for snorkel gear, or in Kevin’s case, given a beginner diving lesson.

                                
I have an abject fear of underwater activities. Snorkel gear gives me claustrophobia, and just the idea of scuba diving makes me break out in hives (which I cannot afford as my Machu Picchu bug bites have not faded) but I am not about to fly halfway round the world to one of the seven natural wonders and sit on my hands. Or so I tell myself.
The staff is all young and charming and very thorough. I was sitting with a couple Seniors when the crew sat down with us and, having reviewed their medical history, gave them pink snorkels which is how they mark people they want to keep a close eye on. But apparently phobias and hyperventilating do not merit a pink snorkel.

Before we got into the water ourselves, they pulled our boat alongside a semi-submersible…which is a lot like the submarine ride at Disneyland. A long narrow belly in which you can only sit 2 across, so you each get a window. And like Disneyland, the hold in the rear stays open the entire time, therefore all claustrophobic are seated back there (it was nice to find my clique).

The submersible then took a tour of the reef, a pretty kiwi girl up front pointing out all the coral and animals species as we passed over. Honestly, it was hard to believe it was real and not some animatronic theme park ride. There were turtles
And giant clams

And a variety of fish and coral so brilliant and gaudy in color

It was surreal.

Disembarking the sub, I told myself if I chickened out it wasn’t so bad, after all I had seen much of the reef. There were about a dozen people who were opting out of the snorkeling, admittedly, most of them had bad tickers, or didn’t know how to swim.
They handed out Lycra suits to everyone who was going in the water. I accepted mine and put it on. I watched as Kevin got his tank and jumped in. I watched as a dozen women 15 years older than myself gleefully donned their fins and mask, and grabbing a colorful noodle floaty, leapt into the Pacific.

I sat on the steps at the rear of the boat, fins in hand, and told myself over and over that I was a chickenshit fool for being afraid of an activity that most kids learn at summer camp….when they are 8. But phobias are thick and unreasonable things. I might get tangled in the snorkel and mask, or be attacked by a school of sharks, or get caught in a current and swept out to sea.
Finally one of the crew members, assuming I was afraid because I couldn’t swim (which is not true, I can, I just never put my face in the water) offered to take me out. He waited while I put on the mask and snorkel, waited while I practiced breathing, freaked out, took it off, put it back on, started over. He waited till I said it was okay, and then gently pulled me into the ocean. He waited while I slowly, so slowly put my face in. And what I saw I will remember until my final breath.

The world is a miracle. You’d be a fool to miss it.

PS: the best thing to eat in Australia is something called Maggie beer ice cream. It comes in flavored like burnt fig honeycomb and caramel or vanilla bean and elderflower.