Anthropology At Sea

West End, Tortola

At the risk of sounding like that bubbly 30 year old on the Discovery Channel who is always excited about travel, I am excited about this gig so far.

After seven days on land, I couldn't stand it. Wanted to get back out in the Francis Drake Channel on a sailboat. Me and 11 others plus a captain, mate and golden retriever. We spent the day in small coves on Norman Island, which is virtually uninhabited ( although we saw a backhow presumably creating a road ).

The mix of people was not surprising: Detroit; Rochester, Minnesota; Edmunton, Alberta ( that guy was lovin' telling us the weather reports of -30 from family and friends back home ); Washington, D.C.; Ridgefield, Connecticut; Marblehead, Massachusetts. The artic belt.

Great mix of people and ages which is always a crap shoot on a boat. And, unlike skiing or other water sports, you're pretty much stuck with each other for the duration--in this case, 8 hours.

The interesting fellow was the captain, a Brit is 5'7" with short cropped silver hair, not an ounce of fat on his wiry body and looking far younger than his 70 years. Robin's dad was in the RAF during WWII, and he joked that the German bomb blitzes seemed to follow his dad's flight assignments. Robin has been in the BVIs chartering his catamaran, Karula, since the early '90s.

Next year, he plans to leave a return to Spain where he was sailing on the island of Ibizi, off the Spanish Costa del Sol. "They've ruined Ibizi", he said, shaking his head. "It's all concrete and crowds." Well, guess I'll take that one off my list of places I wanted to try.

He and his nephews are planning on opening a watersports business outside of Granada. Another beautiful place to live.

I started thinking about Robin, and the other folks I've met here--all charterers--who seem to know how to make a living in places that are very competitive--who doesn't want to live in paradise? These guys, including another charter captain who, over cocktails last night talked about the Canary Islands--another destination I'd always wanted to try. "Tenerrife is spoiled. I was there for twenty years but it just got too built up, too congested. Came here 5 years ago." Guess that destination goes, too, because I sure don't want to go to Miami Beach when I think I'm expecting a Robinson Crusoe/Tom Hanks sort of place.
But the question I find compelling is: what are the factors that make this lifestyle work for these guys? And how do they know when it's time to move on?

I was invited to a cocktail party by a couple from the snorkeling trip at a hotel nearby that is about 30% Brits and the rest U.S.
There is a raffle with local vendors giving free day snorkeling trips, scuba lessons etc. The vendors get a chance to schmooze with the guests and maybe get some business out of it as well. The most interesting vendor is a guy who just arrived in the BVIs and is offering to take people ( four at a time ) down in a submergible tank like the one in Titanic. I may be wrong, but I give him one season. Give me open water diving anyday to being trapped in a tank at 60 to 100 feet down.

Did accomplish a first on the catamaran. Robin took us to the Indians which is basically three 30-40 foot rock outcroppings in the channel near Norman Island with lovely snorkeling. But it also has an added feature which he illustrated ( good salesman that he is ) with an underwater picture of a ten foot coral tunnel connecting one of the Indian rocks to the other. "It's not too deep, and you'll have plenty of air to get through it in, say, a minute. It's narrow, but you should turn over and look at the top of the cave --its beautiful." Sure, I thought to myself. In my dreams will I linger for a longer look.
"Are you going with us," I asked. i always figure its good to have someone else go first--test it out--lead the way --especially diving into tunnels..in the middle of the Caribbean.

Robin put on his gear and led the way. We all followed like ducklings, skimming the surface. I hat tight places, but I wanted to try this, and, what's 10 feet, right? I somehow ended up right behind him. He dove. Deep. I plunged down right behind him so I could copy his moves. The dive was much deeper than I had expected. I would have never found this cave, and I wasn't sure this was a good idea anymore, but it was too late now.

Suddenly enclosed on all four sides by coral, I kept my eye on his pink flourescent flippers and held my breath. My snorkel got caught on the top of the tunnel. I'm-gonna-get-caught-and drown-in-here. I could feel my muscles tighten. I kicked my feet, careful to keep the stroke small so my fins wouldn't get caught on the jagged coral.

And then I was out, running low on air. I broke through the choppy surface and gasped, and watched my snorkel which I had grazed on the tunnel exit, floating away, saltwater stinging my nose and mouth.

Robin retrieved the snorkel, pulled off his mask smiling as he handed it to me. "Good, wasn't it?"

Not pretty, I thought to myself. But, like skydiving, probably something I don't need to try again.

M.C.