Catamaran day. I woke up with my stomach searing and my head cracking. The photographers on our boat were smokin’ hot, and I wanted to rub oil all over their bodies. Instead, the girls and I pushed other tourists out of the way to get the best seat on the boat, right on top of the world. Good thing too, because while everyone else was getting sprayed by water, we were basking in the radiant rays of sunshine. We were immediately handed margaritas, which I chucked over the side of the boat. Finally, I had reached my limit. Can you believe it? 10 a.m., and I was too weary to party.
Sprawled out in a happy stupor, we left the harbour, passing by giant, white condos and sailboats anchored to their docks. And then we were heading out to sea, with all the blue expanse of ocean and sky in front of us, and I remember Bob clearly remarking, “Why don’t we do this EVERYDAY?!” Five minutes later, when we hit the waves, Bob curled up in a foetal position underneath the sail and remained there for the rest of the trip. A victim of seasickness, and not the only one.
By the time we reached the coral reef, we were all feeling pretty vomity. I pushed my nausea aside and participated in a lesson about snorkelling, since I was a virgin snorkeler. I was given the special blue lifejacket, for sucky swimmers. While readying ourselves to launch off the back of the boat, Bandaid lurched to the side of the catamaran and emptied the contents of her stomach into the ocean. While this took place, the rest of us were posing nervously for a picture (see below). Bandaid, embarrassed and flustered, apologized profusely while the guide just shrugged and said, “It’s okay, food for the fishies!” and hosed off the boat.
Anyway, into the water. I really sucked at snorkelling: my jacket was too buoyant and I kept swallowing sea water. However, once I started getting the hang of things, it was amazing. I loved snorkelling a whole friggen lot. Little fishies kept swimming by me and I’d squeal underwater and point as if someone else could see. It was like being in a secret underwater world, all quiet and personal and intimate with these little creatures darting in and out of the coral. I loved the silence.
Unfortunately, by the time I got back to the boat, I needed to hurl too. So I did, many times. It was embarrassing and awkward, and then I ate an incredible lobster dinner topped off with guacamole and nachos.
On the way back to land, our guides decided to round everyone up for a dance party on the deck. Me, being unable to move around the boat except on my hands and knees, decided to stay firmly close to the ground. Albertian didn’t mind the possibility of being pitched overboard, so she immediately joined in for the Macarena and Follow the Leader. I swear, Mexico has a specific playlist that they reserve for the tourists, and they include mostly Hey Macarena, Follow the Leader, YMCA, and the Cha-Cha-Slide. Everyone danced left and right, lurching dangerously, until our guides decided to strip for us. My favourite was the short little chubby man. He was just adorable. Aw. The other guy was less smooth; he asked Albertian if she would like to ride him.
Great day, besides the vomiting. And no alcohol was involved, can you believe that? We followed up the afternoon with supper at the grill restaurant, where we were served barbecued meat on giant skewers. The evening ended with us attending The Musical Show and me concluding that I would sell my soul for legs like those dancers.