November 20, 2005 - Planes, Trains, and Automobiles

Whine, whine, whine. On the plane, wine costs five dollars but there is plenty of whine for free.

I was sandwiched between two people who made the flight back to Newark quite colorful. The woman to the right, I believe, is kind and polite deep down; But, it only takes a little stress to push some people over the edge. She was popping Valium and telling her husband that she couldn’t “take another vacation for a while”. The slightest sound was setting her off (that baby 20 rows back was hardly audible from where we were sitting…but, maybe my ears were clogged with sea water). She shifted around constantly to find a comfortable position which I’m sure was challenging give the incompatible fit of her to the chair. Then, when the customs forms were passed out, I was afraid she would stroke out right there. She was apologetic now and then and I felt quite bad for her suffering.

Now, as for the man to my left, I wish I could have inflicted some suffering on him. He started the trip by flagging down every flight attendant (who were quite patient and polite) to insist that they do something about the air. I’ve sat on tarmacs for long periods of time to recognize the pattern (perhaps a design flaw) that planes don’t get cool until you put them into the air (especially in the Caribbean). But, he still dubbed the plane a “piece of s__t”! Then, as we hit some turbulence (not unexpected given that there was a tropical depression that we were flying by), he insisted on stating at the top of his lungs (“top of his lungs” is his only volume setting, apparently), “Ladies and gentleman, please put on your parachutes and proceed to the nearest exit”. Needless to say, this did not go over well with the high-strung woman to my right. He had to finish off the flight declaring that he was “sick of that f___kn’ Wille Wonka”. There has to be something to be said for a man who wears sunglasses in a dark plane, at night. Should have known.

The previous days, in contrast, were filled with beautiful sights at the dive sites. We were on safari looking for sea horses in the dark of night. Diving at night gives one an incredible sensation…or lack of it. Your sight is limited to that which your flashlight strikes and the rest is made up by your imagination. Navigation skills and one lone beacon was our only way back. We were surprised by reef squid and needlefish as well as box lobsters…but no horses. It was looking like a week of searching was going to yield no seahorses.

On our last day of diving, we hopped on two dive boats. The shore diving is so accessible on Bonaire that it seems silly to pay for a spot on a boat. But, it was a great idea for one reason. The crew knew the island and knew it well. We needed only to ask for something special and the divemaster took us straight to a feeding frogfish (Munk’s Haven).

On the next dive, we hit another site (Pietre’s Pillar) and hiding there was one lone sea horse! Perhaps it was cheating to ask, perhaps not. We worked really hard all week searching in the stormy surge and at night. There was fun in the “hunt”, but sometimes it is better to “ask for directions” when time runs short.



One should not dive too close to flying. It has to do with the compressed gas that has been absorbed by your tissues and the lower than sea level pressure of plane cabins. Bubbles expand in that situation and not where you want them. So, we did no afternoon dives the day before we left the island. That gave us a bit of time to explore some of the island which is quite an amazing place. We followed Hank, a cave guide, deep into his domain…2 of the 200+ caves that he has explored on Bonaire. The limestone caves were filled with gorgeous stalactites as well as casts on coral made from the sediment covering the ancient sea floors. We had a chance to snorkel through some underground lakes and swim through what Hank had dubbed “spookey” passages. Hank kept it conservative and safe, though, considering the high water levels from the week’s constant rain. What made the experience so rewarding was listening to Hank’s enthusiastic and very well-informed explanations.

I’m back in the comfort of my own bed right now. It took a rushed shuttle bus ride to the airport, 2 planes, a monorail (that was doing double duty since the other track was shut down by the wise sages of Newark Airport), a hotel shuttle van, and then Matt’s car…but we made it, luggage and all.

Slowly, it is beginning to feel like my bed again. I almost welcome the emerging familiarity of it. Five days lie between me and the next adventure and there are a stack of bills and administrative duties (not to mention one shift at the hospital). But, hopefully this will be a time to reconnect with some friends and family. I also look forward to processing the fruits of this last effort…hundreds of photos.

And, of course, I have a special thank you for Matt and Sharon for putting together this opportunity to find, yet, a deeper appreciation for submersed world. A little corner is a little less unknown to me now.