“Poker face! No smiling at the fishes. Women, no smiling at me.”

The floodgates have opened and lately all I can think about is writing.  I save just a little bit of this motivation for this space here.  I figure after being terribly neglectful for the majority of its existence, my blog deserves some love.  Luckily for me, you can ignore a blog for months at a time without too many repercussions (you can also call it dirty names, attend to it after a few glasses of wine and easily take it with you when you travel).  If those merits make little sense to you, then you haven’t seen my list of reasons I do not want kids.  But that is another subject entirely and not at all to do with why I am here.  Why am I here?

I am here to tell you that last month I was sorely tempted to move to Mexico.  First of all, I had the most amazing tomatoes aboard Nena.  No, these delectable slices of juicy red fruit were not my main reason for wishing I could throw caution to the wind and stay on island time for the rest of the summer (at least), but they were most definitely noteworthy.  I have never in my life tasted such scrumptious tomatoes and have spent the last two and a half weeks searching for their American counterparts.  So far I have had no luck.  Check back later for my Farmers Market adventures, coming as soon as I haul myself out of bed at 7:30 AM on a Friday when I don’t have to work.  I fear, however, that my search will be, pardon the pun, fruitless.  There are times when the intermingling of senses culminate in the heightening of a single experience.  In my case the sun on my skin and the salt on my lips, the music of the engine and the hull cutting through the water, the blue waters and the colorful spread of mango, red bell pepper, celery, jicama, lettuce and tomato must have interwoven themselves into a complex sensation that revealed itself in the climax of taste as I bit into that perfectly ripe tomato.  In that perfect taste was the simple truth that I am still head over heels in love with the ocean.  That is the reason I cursed my own good judgement for carrying the rest of me to the airport, through security and onto a plane bound for the middle of the desert.

We spent eight days on Cozumel, including those spent traveling.  We had only one mission: dive.  We spent six days aboard La Nena, the dive boat owned by Cristina, who actually went to graduate school with my Dad at Rice University back in the 80′s (small world).  After graduate school she headed back to Mexico, fell in love with the Caribbean and in 1987 moved to Cozumel.  You can probably see why I like this woman.  Besides living the life of an educated dive bum, she is warm, welcoming and hilarious.  Her husband Luis also happens to give the funniest dive instruction I have heard yet.  He usually only goes diving when there are inexperienced or resort divers on the boat.  He had me sit in on two of these briefings telling me that it was “good for my professional diving education.”  With much animation he sits his group down and tells them, “You think you are certified but you know nothing.  I am going to tell you the things you need to know so that YOU DON’T DIE.  I don’t like it when my divers die!”  He then proceeds to go through airspaces and squeezes, buoyancy and choking.  ”I have water in my mask but that water is not going up my nose and I am not choking.  Why?” “You’re not inhaling through your nose?” “NO” “You’re blowing out through your nose?”  ”….NO! I am looking DOWN.  If you have water in your mask and look UP then the water goes down your nose and you choke. So, you have water in your mask, don’t look up.  Clear the water like we practiced and you’ll be fine.”  His advice as to how to keep water out of your mask? “Poker face!  No smiling at the fishes.  Women, no smiling at me.”

Despite the offer to accompany the novice divers for further “education” I opted to stick with my parents and our divemaster, Chucho.  Unfortunately this trip we did not get to dive with Cristina herself because she had friends/business investors with whom she had to schmooze.  Fair enough since, after all, they helped buy Luis’s fishing boat, Second Front (basically meaning “mistress” which is exactly what fishing is for Luis – between fishing and diving, he’ll take fishing.  Maybe because he is always stuck with the muppets).  But Chucho was a fantastic alternate and he was more than happy to spend a week not getting kicked in the head for a change.

www.divewithcristina.com

www.chuchodivers.com

So we splashed….

Although the footage does not capture the true beauty of the reefs, it gives a glimpse of their majesty.  And the reefs around Cozumel are truly magnificent.  Towering coral formations – caves, pillars, overhangs – complete with an amazing diversity of life including countless species of coral, sponges, zoanthids, crustaceans, fishes, turtles, sharks.  Long spindly legged arrow crabs, huge file fish, tiny anemone shrimp and throngs of juvenile wrasse kept us company as we drifted the reefs and wove through the complex system of swim throughs.  I even saw something that I had never before seen: a Splendid Toadfish.  These funky looking creatures are thought to be endemic to Cozumel, which explains why I was so excited about the first one I found.  I made Chucho come look at it, smiling wide and shrugging my shoulders as to say “I have no idea!” he pointed to his temple and then motioned as though turning pages in a book: “remember, we’ll look it up”.  I had found something totally novel and after swimming a few feet I saw it again.  And again.  Those bearded toadfish made an appearance on nearly every dive after that point.  The real treat was seeing the whole fish, as they usually hide their backsides in crevices.  Chucho wrastled one out of its hole for a photo shoot and I was delighted to see that the rest of the toadfish was as spiffy as promised.

Each and every on of the 14 dives we did while in Cozumel was between 60 and 75 minutes.  There was no time limit beyond those set by decompression limits and air consumption, an arrangement that suited me perfectly well.  Nena only goes out once a day normally and so there is no rush to get back to the dock.  We left at 9 am and usually returned around 3 pm.  There was one day, however, when two charters went out and you bet your ass I was on both of them.

My dad and I opted to do all four dives that day and it just so happened to fall on the best day for diving we had all week.  The currents were mild and the sun shining.  We were our own little group with Chucho taking the lead.  My mom joined us for the second half of the day.  When she first heard that conditions were fantastic and that we had found her coveted pipe fish (at least it wasn’t a sea horse) she was disappointed that she had not joined us for the first two dives.  But it just so happens that she chose exactly the right dives.  First we went to Santa Rosa reef and visited Chucho’s “girlfriend” who, I hated to tell him, was just using him for his fish lips.  My dad played videographer with his new camera and documented the orgy:

Other highlights from the two evening dives were another pipe fish, two sailfin blennies, a nurse shark and a mongo loggerhead turtle with barnacles on its back meandering across the sand eating hermit crabs.

Not my picture, but I had to show you how seriously cool sailfin blennies are.  I wish I had a video of the display.

Diving was not the only wonderful part of Mexico.  Afternoons and evenings were spent drinking various concoctions featuring either rum or tequila while soaking in the bar side jacuzzi, eating amazing food in town or staying in and making seriously delicious meals of our own, swimming about the shallow reef outside the hotel with flashlights in search of octopi (yes, we did find one!) and in general enjoying the good company.

Now, I am fully aware that living on an island is not like vacationing on an island but when Cristina spoke the words, “You know we are hiring…” I had to work to resist the urge to test her sincerity.  Sure, I do not speak Spanish, but I cannot think of a better way to learn!  But sadly there is no Bikram yoga on Cozumel and its absence would have soon been felt.  Even so, if it were not for my commitment to my job, a lease and a cat I may well have stayed a wee bit longer.

Evenings on Cozumel tended to end fairly early; as long as there was a dive boat to catch in the morning I was okay with calling it a night around 10.  On our last day there, however, I saw no reason to get a good night’s sleep.  Chucho had offered a could days before to take me dancing on Friday night and so at 10:00 we met at Viva Mexico, a second floor bar overlooking the ocean and two XX brought for every one ordered.  The crowd started out fairly mild but as the drinks were downed the scene unfolded beautifully, becoming a rowdy mix of locals and tourists, a eclectic mix of bodies with varying degrees of rhythm.  And the band was awesome.  They started with Pink Floyd and drew from bands like Jet, The Eagles, Journey and many many more that are now lost somewhere in a haze of beer and dancing.  Finally at 2:30 AM my legs gave out on me and I had to declare myself a pumpkin.  The reference was completely lost on Chucho, but my sleepy eyes got the point across and a cab ride (and a glorious shower) later I was happily passed out in bed.

The next day I had to say goodbye to salty sea air and the embrace of the ocean.  I ache for it still, here in the dry heat so many miles away from warm, clear waters.  Arizona has been so good to me this last year and I will always love this place.  But my mind has already started to plan my next move; one that will set my clock back to island time.