Firearm Check-In and Elephant Welcome

Our Safari Begins.
June 24, 2011. Isaac picks us up at the Sowetto Backpackers Inn promptly at 6:00 A.M. to drive us to the Joburg airport.  Yesterday he told us that we must leave by 6:00 A.M. or risk hitting traffic that will take us twice as long.  We arrive at 7:30 A.M; 3 ½ hours before our flight to Victoria. After checking our bags and getting our boarding passes we find an airport café for breakfast. Refueled, we head towards the security check and along the way John is amused to see a large official entrance way with an illuminated sign designating “Firearm Check-in.” 
Fire Arm Check In


South African Airlines


Victoria Falls Airport

Our flight to Victoria boards at 10:15 A.M. and we dutifully line up at gate 20A, hand over our boarding passes and board a bus that takes us out onto the tarmac where our plane waits. The bus regurgitates its load of passengers and we swarm up a rolling double wide metal stair case, show the stewardess our boarding stubs and enter the plane single file. A passenger ahead, finds someone in her seat and calls back to the stewardess to ask if this is the plane to Victoria? It is not.  Our entire bus load has been delivered to the wrong plane.  There are a few moments of pandemonium as all of us process this information and push back down the rolling metal staircase.  We board another bus and are eventually deposited at the correct plane.  The two hour plane flight to Victoria is otherwise uneventful and passes quickly. Upon arrival, John and I need double entry visas to enter Zimbabwe, which proves to be to our advantage time wise, since the line for these is much shorter than the single entry visas.  We pay our $45 each and are quickly through immigration and met by a Wilderness Safari guide for our drive to Davidson Camp.  We are escorted to a 12 passenger mini-van for the first 3 ½ hour, leg of the journey.  We travel a steady, 100 kilometers an hour along a two lane highway passing small family compounds of round mud brick houses with reed and thatched roofs. Our driver tells us that the soil on these farms is not good and that this land was recently taken away from the white farmers and given back to the local people. (If I understand correctly, this upheaval happened 6 or 7 years ago.) It is late afternoon and many children are walking along the side of the roadway, returning from school and wearing either red or blue school uniforms.  Our driver tells us that most children walk 10 kilometers each day to attend school and that the schools are expensive, costing upwards of $50 each month.  He has two children of his own and tells us that it is difficult and expensive to send them to school. 
We are stopped at several checkpoints and our driver’s credentials are checked and a toll paid.  We learn that mining is a major industry and see coal mines in the distance and flat-topped slag mountains, and when we come to a major town our diver takes the scenic loop. He tells us that this city has 150,000 inhabitants but I do not see a city, only a small town with a bank, several tiny markets but there are nearly 20 churches of various Christian denominations side by side on a stretch of the road leading into the town.
Arriving at Davison Camp – Linkwasha Concession, Hwange, Zimbabwe. June 24-27, 2011.  We finally arrive at the main entrance to park, use the simple facilities and switch vehicles. The excitement in John’s eyes is catching and we climb into an open sided Land cruiser and begin our safari.  Bully is our driver and Dixon rides shotgun….literally.  It is after 4:30 P.M. and the drive to the camp will be another 2.5 hours along dirt roads. Although we are in the national park the Davidson camp is in its own concession. The temperature is dipping rapidly and the wind chill in our open vehicle is biting.  We bundle up and wrap ourselves in the provided blankets. Much of the drive is on a hard packed road paralleling the railroad tracks, the demarcation between park and public land. We spot a variety of antelope, mostly impalas, families of wart hogs, giraffes and zebras in the distance. As interesting as all this is, we are cold and very hungry and anxious to arrive at camp. Some 30 minutes from Davison, a family of elephants is blocking the road. We forget our physical discomforts and watch this group for some time. Our vehicle is about 30 feet away and the elephants are keenly aware of us and the bull elephant flaps his ears, sways, snorts and takes several warning steps in our direction. The group soon turns their attention back to foraging the trees lining the road and 20 minutes later, they wander off, allowing us to pass, but this close encounter of the elephant kind is the perfect start to our Zimbabwe adventure.  
Road to Hawange National Park

Elephant Welcome
We pull into Davison camp after dark; Andre and Flores welcome us, assist me down from the land rover, and hand us each a hot wet towel to wipe the grime from our faces.  A large, welcoming, fire is burning in front of the open air dining-lounge area and there is a lighted watering hole beyond.  We drink a small welcoming “sherry” as we fill out indemnity forms and passport information. Andres walks us along a dirt pathway to tent cabin number 4. The semi-permanent tent is erected on a wood platform with support corner beams; it is spacious, with meshed siding on three sides and canvas siding that rolls down for privacy.  The en-suite bathroom is a single step up behind the bedroom area, but they have confused our reservations and assigned us a double bed, decorated with leaves and branches, arranged in the shape of a heart. Our luggage will be moved to another tent during dinner, but we are given a few minutes to clean up here and now. One of the safety rules is that guests may not walk alone between the tents and the lounge areas at night, so I request that an armed guide return in 20 minutes to escort us back to the central area. Dinner is served at 8:00 P.M, after Alan and Annette, a couple my age, return from their game drive with their guide Brian. Not surprisingly, they are from California and we enjoy an excellent dinner with them and our host and hostess, the camp managers.  The nighttime temperature has dropped to below 1 degree centigrade and after dinner, we stand close to the fire, storing up heat before taking the escorted walk back to our unheated tent cabin. We did not expect that it would be so cold in Africa and we have been wearing our long underwear continually, so we take off our outer wear and slip quickly under the covers.  John lets out a joyful exclamation when his feet discover a hot water bottle tucked between the sheets.  We both giggle with pleasure, hugging our new best friend and drift off into a cozy sleep.




Arrival in South Africa

Forty Hours en route to South Africa – Lift off on June 21, 2011.

Just two days ago, Alisha, John and I were packing up my jewelry booth at the Vallejo Pirate’s Festival after a successful and spirited show.

Marty, John and Alisha at the Pirate Festival

John and I now sit in the Chicago O’Hare airport, waiting for our plane to London to depart. Our final destination, 30 hours from now is Johannesburg, South Africa.

I spend Monday in a flurry, working in my office and pass the Marty Magic baton to my husband Art and my assistant, Kat. John and I are mostly packed, but there are many last minute details to handle and we don’t pull out of our driveway until 8:30 P.M. several hours later than planned.
Art chauffeurs us to the S.F. airport and we sleep a few hours at the Holiday Inn before catching our 5:00 A.M. hotel shuttle to the airport. Our United Airline check- in and flight is easy and we doze most of the way to Chicago, but the 4 hour lay-over in Chicago is painful. The news report on the overhead television announces that Michelle Obama and her daughters are visiting South Africa this week, so we will be in good company.
We board our Chicago to London flight at 7:10 P.M. on Tuesday and after eating a tasteless, British Airway dinner, try to sleep. I manage an uncomfortable 4 hours, but John, his long body contorted awkwardly in the cramped economy seat, sleeps little.

London Tube – Mind The Gap!
John and the London Parliment Skyline 

It is Wednesday, June 22nd and we arrive in London at 6:55 A.M, are quickly through immigration and on our way into London via the Underground. Both John and I are running on adrenaline and we easily navigate the “Tube” with just one line change, towards Westminster. An automated voice, announces each station, reminding passengers to “mind the gap.” An hour later, we arrive at Westminster station, feed our tickets into the exit turn style and climb the stairs up to street level.

The spire-studded skyline of Big Ben, the parliament, and Westminster Abby welcomes us. It is a familiar sight for me, but John is duly impressed and excited to be in London, if ever so briefly. The morning is cold and gray and we cross the Thames River via the Westminster Bridge to get another view of the impressive, Westminster skyline. The London Eye, a huge Ferris wheel, offering stunning views of London on a clear day, dominates the opposite bank and we drop down along its river front promenade in search of hot coffee and breakfast, but most of the eateries and shops along this touristy stretch of river are not yet open. We cross back over the Thames via the Hungerford Bridge, walking towards Trafalgar Square and choose Garfunkel’s restaurant for breakfast. The hot and frothy cappuccinos are excellent, but the two for one English breakfast leave much to be desired. The eggs are undercooked and gelatinous, the sausage odd and the fried tomatoes slimy and cold. Leaving the restaurant, we skirt around Trafalgar Square, popping into St. Martin-in-the-Fields Cathedral. Too late, I realize that it is the Crypt Café, below the church, where my friend Alison, recommended that we eat. We cut through the Victoria Embankment Gardens, turn away from the river and within a few blocks arrive at the covered, Covent Garden market. We spend an hour wandering these shops and open air craft market and then walk towards Neal Street. John finds a skate shop of interest to him, and a few other trendy men’s boutiques. We convert pounds to dollars and are shocked by how expensive everything is. One of my favorite shops in the area is Neal’s Yard Remedies, a skin care and aromatherapy boutique. Years ago, my friend, Alison, told me about this shop and whenever I am in London, I make a point of visiting this unpretentious, natural remedy boutique. John entertains himself sniffing and testing the many samples and comments on the wonderful scents. It’s been 5 years since I have been to London and I hope that the designer jewelry shop, the Crazy Pig, is still in business. We find the shop straight away and spend 20 minutes inside, looking at the outrageous skull, alien and animal jewelry. It is a small boutique and John and I look rather road weary, but no one greets us or asks if we need help and we are the only customers and obviously very interested. Strange, and not the Marty Magic way of conducting business.

The London Eye

Courtyard of Westminster Abby

We navigate back towards Westminster, walking mostly along the Thames. It’s the height of the season and tour buses are nose to tail, parked along the street, many regurgitating hoards of young back packers onto afternoon barge tours along the Thames. Double –Decker buses are taking other tourists on city tours and for John’s sake, I wished we had time for an overall city tour, but Westminster Abby is our destination. It is starting to drizzle when we arrive at the Abby and there is a very long line waiting for entry, but also a shorter line for cash only. Happily, I ordered pounds in advance from my bank back home and within a few we are inside this cathedral. (Thanks again to Alison, John has brought his student I.D. and the entrance fee for him is 7 pounds as opposed to 18 pounds.) We collect head sets, included in the entrance fee, and dutifully push each corresponding button and make our way slowly through this remarkable cathedral. John is fascinated with the many tombs and the “trippy” gothic architecture. We are in no hurry and spend two hours, intermittently sitting to rest and to absorb the magic of the place.

When we exit it is raining hard, so instead of exploring further, we dash towards the entrance of the Underground and buy our return tickets to Heathrow. An hour later, we are at international terminal 5, with another 3 ½ hours to wait before our departure to Johannesburg. The time difference and our lack of sleep is catching up with us and we want only to board the plane and sleep; but our gate will not be announced for several hours and I am afraid that if we sit we may fall asleep and miss our plane. We eat an overpriced airport dinner and wander in a daze, the maze of glitzy airport shops. I am stupid with exhaustion and check and recheck the departure board. I have in my mind that our flight leaves at 19:10, but when our departure gate is finally posted, I pull out the boarding passes and see that the flight is at 17:10. I panic, wondering how I could have been so stupid and rush to a British Airway counter. My blood pressure soars but the calm woman behind the counter points out that the boarding passes I am holding are earlier ones, for our flight between Chicago and London. We have not missed our flight after all. Earlier today, I mentioned to John how strange it was that three of our departure flights were at 10 minutes passed the hour and two of the arrival times were 5 minutes before the hour. We finally board and with the aid of a sleeping pill each, both John and I sleep most of the way to Jo’berg.

June 23, 2011. We pass through immigration easily and are relieved to be reunited with our luggage. When we exit customs, I scan the crowd, looking for someone holding up a sign with our names. Isiac, from the Lebo-Soweto Backpackers Inn is there as promised, holding the expected sign. He is personable and informative as he drives us through the terrible rush hour traffic of Jo’berg, to Soweto. The drive takes 1 ½ hours and he chooses alternate roads to bypass the worst of the traffic. We pass through the industrial outskirts of Jo’berg, buildings painted with graffiti, streets littered with trash. This area of the city reminds me of industrial parts of L.A. and the Tenderloin section in S.F.

John at the Sowetto Backpackers Inn

We finally arrive at the Back Packer Inn, situated on a gently sloping hillside in the heart of Soweto, overlooking a sprawl of industry and humanity. The tiny inn is colorful, simple and sweet; fenced with a private raked gravel garden, several outdoor tables, pool table, dart board and a self service, honor bar with little inside it. Our small room has two lumpy twin beds and a shared bath and all is immaculately clean. Cheerful murals are painted on the bathroom walls and the communal sitting room, equipped with a small T.V. and a single computer. It is now late morning and we are hungry and order breakfast for 45 Rand, about $7.00 each. One of the female staff busies herself in the kitchen, cooking up an uninspired, but much appreciated breakfast. It’s been two days since we have been able to shower so we gather up soap, shampoo and clean clothes and walk down the hall to respective bathrooms to clean up. I lie down and try to nap because in less than two hours, we will take a 4 hour bicycle tour of Soweto.

Marty riding through Sowetto

I choose this inn because the bicycle tour runs from here at 1:00 P.M. 3 young student doctors arrive 10 minutes late, having been caught in traffic. They are in their late 20’s or early 30’s and are doing an internship at one of the city’s largest hospitals, after which they will take their exams. Two are from England and one from Australia and I am please that John will have their company on this ride. It’s a long and difficult bicycle ride uphill before we arrive at our first stop where locals of all ages are gathered in an open dirt field. There are several broken down cars, small food stalls and a corrugated tin shack.

Sowetto Scene

A few people are tending fires and there is an acrid smell in the air, a combination of burning plastic, urine and beer. We are invited into the corrugated tin house to drink beer. Wooden benches line the walls of the darkened shack and four men and one woman sit with plastic tubs of beer between their feet. The cardboard cartons of Jo’Berg Beer have a warning label; “Don’t drink and walk; you may be hit and killed.” Our guide brings in a covered, round ceramic jug filled with cold home-made beer. After much explanation, he takes a drink from the jar, grunts in approval and passes the jar to John. John takes a couple of sips, sounds the expected approving “aah!” and passes the container to me. I take two swallows of the cold and bitter brew, “aah,” and gratefully pass on the container. This ritual reminds me of drinking chicha the jungles of Ecuador with the indigenous villagers.

Sowetto Beer Drinking Shack

Sowetto Beer Warning Lable
John drinking home brewed beer
Empty Beer Cartons
Sowetto Bicycling – Marty
Sowetto Graffatti- Marty


With our guide leading our way, we bicycle between a long row of small cement houses.Wide eyed children play in the street and swarm around us, most holding out their hands, wanting to touch ours.We “high 5” everyone as we ride our bicycles and for me it is a challenge to stay balanced with one hand. On several occasions, a child, grabs a fast hold of my hand and offsets my balance. One of the young doctors repeatedly lifts small children into his arms, swings them around and ruffles their hair. He is playful and genuine.
Sowetto Children
Sowetto Todler and Cannabis
Sowetto Interior

Young Sowetto Man

We are invited into one of the tiny homes by a smiling young man in his early 20’s. The house is about 12 feet wide and 20 feet long, consisting of only two rooms.The front room is the kitchen area with a small table, a large jug of water and a few pots and pans. An open archway connects the front room to the back where there is a neatly made up double bed, a single chair and a table with a television. Electricity is available and a young woman sits in the corner chair watching the T.V. A bare light bulb hangs from the ceiling and thin mattress leans up against the bare wall. The young man tells us that he is one of 5 who live here and our guide explains that he is lucky, since many of these homes, house up to 7 people. The residents in this area haul water from a central water spigot behind communal cement out houses. Each toilet is assigned to a designated group of 15; they are given a key and responsible for keeping their facilities clean. John is amused to look down and see a small pot plant growing at the edge of a building. Two small children stand on either side of it, curiously looking up at him and John snaps a photo. We ride through many sections of Soweto, many with less than adequate conditions for the inhabitants and others that look quite middle to upper class.

Sowetto Memorial

Nelson Mandela House

High Five -John in Sowetto

We arrive at the Soweto museum and visit the Soweto monument to the children who were shot down in 1976 when they marched for their rights to a better education. A large spray of white flowers sits at the base of the monument, placed there by Michele Obama just yesterday. I wish that we had been here for the ceremony but we are told that the area was cordoned off; swarming with secret service personal and the bicycle tour did not run.

John WS in Sowetto at dusk.
Young Doctors on the Sowetto Bicycle Tour

We have a late lunch of Kota in a simple local restaurant. The men go around back to use the toilet and wash up under a spigot. I am shown to the inside bathroom with indoor plumbing and pretty lace curtains. We eat the traditional Kota a front gravel garden. It consists of a 2 ½” thick slice of white bread, the center torn out and stuffed full of French fries, salami, ham and a fried egg. The center piece of bread is used to sandwich it all together. As hungry as I am, I can only eat half of it.

After lunch we bicycle to the Nelson Mandela house, a modest, contemporary, single level house, now a historical land mark. A few other tourists are taking photos of the exterior and a handful of local teen age boys are hanging out. They gather around us, interested in John and the young doctors. The afternoon light is slanted and golden and I wish to take many photos, but bicycling and photography don’t mix well. We return to our back-packers inn shortly after 5:00 P.M. John watches an hour of television and I send my first e-mail home. After two nights sleeping on the plane, a full day in London and a 4 hour bicycle tour in Soweto we go to bed at 7:00 P.M; exhausted.

From Calder to Arcimboldo






(My first post has mysteriously disappeared.) Nevertheless, Art and I had a marvelous time back East. We attended the Maryland Renaissance Fair on Pirates weekend, and spent two full days exploring and being inspired by the museums and the art that Washington D.C. serves up on golden platters. Calder has always been a favorite of ours, but on this trip we discovered the very “trippy” paintings of 15th century Giuseppe Arcimboldo. 15th century art blended with surrealism. http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Giuseppe_Arcimboldo

Good Times at the Maryland Renaissance Festival






Each year, I travel to Annapolis Maryland to meet with my collectors at the Maryland Renaissance Festival. I have had a booth at this fair for nearly 25 years and have built up quite a following. The event is held for 9 weekends each year. Art and I attended last weekend which was “Pirates” weekend. A good time was had by all! There are sill 4 more weekends remaining and the show is great fun! The fair continues weekends only from October 2-3 through October 23-24.

Daintree River





At 5:45 A.M. there is a knock on our cabin door. I quickly plug in the hot water pot to mix our instant coffee and set the table with cereal bowls and pour orange juice before waking John. We eat our uninspired breakfast sleepily and are in the car at 6:15 to drive to the jetty. It is a gray and drizzly morning, the weather less than promising for our nature river adventure. There are several families waiting at the jetty and an Asian family of 5 departs with another naturalist before us. I have read many reviews before choosing Chris for our river guide and one other family of 4 is booked on our small tour. I surmise that Chris’ enthusiasm is to make up for the poor weather and ultimately for the lack of crocodiles. He supplies us with suburb binoculars and points out many birds which are of extreme interest to the other family. John and I are more into reptiles, and I do my best to show enthusiasm over the many king fishers and water birds that are out foraging in this grey dawn.
John and I have glided quietly on many jungle rivers in early light and today’s excursion is not rating high on the list but I am genuinely excited to spot several frog mouth owls, huddled together and looking more like dead wood than birds. John looses interest early on, and I glance over to see his eyes drooping and nudge him back into consciousness. It rains lightly and we pull our waterproof jackets closer. There is a break in the weather around the next bend in the river and then more rain. The micro climate is interesting. Sadly, we see no river crocodiles, and have had more than our fill of birds. We understand that we have gambled with the weather and that the crocodiles will not show themselves before the sun. Chris has been a knowledgeable guide and we are not dissatisfied, only slightly disappointed. We pay our $55 apiece and begin our drive up to Cape Tribulation.

Hartley’s Crocodile Adventure





I have reserved a rental car for our two day trip up the coast from Cairns to Daintree and onto Cape Tribulation. The rental car lot is just a three block walk from our hotel and we are quickly on the road. Driving on the left side of the road is easier the second time around and little navigation is required since our route is straight north following Highway 1. It is less than a two hour drive to Daintree where we have reservations for the night so we have a leisurely day ahead. John shuffles through tourist pamphlets and tells me that he would like to go to Hartley’s Crocodile Adventure Park. I tell him that it will probably be “lame,” but that I am game! An hour later we pull into Hartley’s parking lot, pay the $32.00 adult and $16.00 child entry fee and begin our crocodile adventure. We have tickets for the 2:00 P.M. river boat adventure and there are many other “shows” throughout the day. We spend the first hour walking the nature trails; observing lagoons filled with crocodiles, rocky enclosures of monitor lizards and bearded dragons, ponds with black swans and exotic waterbirds and an artificial enclosure of sleepy koala bears. The highlight for me is the “cassowary trail” and I fall in love with these exotic prehistoric birds. John tells me that they can eviscerate us with a swipe of their velociraptor like claws and I have no doubt. They are large and their claws are wicked; just like a velociraptor and with a fierce beak and a large horn upon their head. Their indigo blue and turquoise head feathers contrast with the long drooping blood red waddles and their iridescent black plumage shimmers. Beady eyes dart back and forth and they chortle and emit a deep vibration that sounds like a sub woofer. John is exceptionally good at reproducing sounds and he chortles back and soon the cassowaries and John are deep in conversation. I am not sure if the little girl watching is more fascinated by the cassowary or by John.

When we entered the park we were “warned” that going on the crocodile farm tour could be offensive to some people. I am offended by crocodile purses and shoes, but John reminds me that I eat meat and that these reptiles are farmed and not poached from the wild. We go on the tour and I take it in stride. The crocodiles here have a 3 year life span, much of it spent in the dark where they are quickly fattened and they spend their short life nose to nose with hundreds of mutually doomed crocodiles. Their environment is sterile and free from sharp objects, lest their valuable hide be damaged. The tour is interesting and enlightening.

It’s time for our 2:00 P.M. crocodile river adventure and we cruise a loop in the river while the tired and venerable captain threads chicken heads onto a string, extending the delicacies out on a bamboo pole for the river crocodiles to jump for and devour. The crocodiles preform as expected and those of us on board applaud and take the expected photos. We race from this adventure onto the venomous snake show and then onto the crocodile wrestling show. A trainer in his mid 50’s, who should know better, wades into the water and provokes an enormous crocodile. We hold our breath as the trainer takes risk after risk, baiting the crocodile with large chunks of meat and stepping out of harms way at the last second. The show is well choreographed and no blood is spilled but my blood pressure rises. We have spent nearly 5 hours here, but I insist on revisiting the cassowaries before we leave and John chortles his final goodbyes.

It is an hour further to Daintree and we pull into the tiny village at dusk. I ask directions to the Kenadon Home-stay cabins; we drive around the next bend and the woman mowing the enormous lawn, is expecting us. There are a half dozen cabins, all on stilts and facing out to the pastoral valley beyond where cows graze placidly. Ours is a sterile pre-fab cabin with a queen bed and three bunk beds. I take possession of the queen bed and John throws his belongings onto the bottom bunk. All is immaculate and I find milk, orange juice, bread and butter within the small refrigerator. Coffee and tea sit beside the electric water pot. We will be able to eat breakfast before our early morning departure on the Daintree River.

We leave our cabin and walk back towards the village to locate the Daintree River jetty where we will meet for our nature tour at 6:30 A.M. tomorrow morning. We find it easily and watch a family fishing off of the jetty. The young boy catches a river eel and we visit with the parents and an old man, tying up his boat. Multiple warning signs are posted prohibiting swimming unless one wishes to be a crocodiles dinner. It is dark when we walk from the jetty into town and the brush along side the road is alive with toads. John thinks they are frogs, but I flash back to Costa Rica and I instantly know that they are cane toads. John has a marvelous skirmish in the leaves trying to catch a toad on our way to dinner.

There is just one restaurant in the village and it adjoins the general store. The menu is minimal but we both enjoy the fried fish and chips.

Cairns at Leisure





It’s a 15 minute walk from our hotel into the heart of the tourist district of Cairns and we have little on our agenda. The day is warm and slightly overcast and we eat lunch at an outdoor cafe on the corner of the center square. The giant fig tree dominates the square; it’s “Little Shop of Horror’s” tendrils and roots, creeping over the cement wall upon which people are sitting and enjoying the shade. We are not good shoppers, but poke into the many tourist shops and buy a few T-shirts for John and as gifts. The shops end and we cross over a busy boulevard and enter the park adjoining the beach. There are many interconnected swimming pools just inland from the beach and hundreds of people frolic in the shallow water or sunbathe on the adjoining sand or grass. We walk down to the harbor and drool over the incredible yachts in the slips and loop back around into town. We stroll past a drive through liquor store; amusing, and enter an air-conditioned mall. A fashion show is in progress and teen age girls are waking an improvised runway, modeling outfits that I surmise, they have put together. I am not impressed and feel embarrassed for the girls as they are ranked by the crowds applause.

On our walk back to our hotel, we pass other immense fig trees and I stop to take photos of the roots and tendrils. Another couple is taking photos, their cameras pointed high up towards the branches. I have been so focused on the bases of the trees that I have not looked up. There are thousands of flying foxes hanging like ripe fruits from the branches. We saw coveys of similar bats in the mangroves of Flores Island in Indonesia. I surmise that these Australian fruit bats are a foot to a foot and a half in length. The couple cautions us to watch out for bat guano missiles.

Back at our hotel, I do laundry and we have a reasonably good dinner at the hotel restaurant.

Lizard Island





We are anchored off of Lizard Island and the half moon beach beacons. It’s time to leave our Spirit of Freedom dive boat and we divide into two groups, board the Zodiacs and motor to shore. It is a wet landing and we step barefoot from the boat into the water and wade a few steps to shore. Several years back, friends of ours spent a week camping on Lizard Island. They were flown in with all their supplies and enjoyed an idillic stay, snorkeling, hiking and relaxing. There is also a resort on the island where all inclusive prices start at $1500 per day per couple. The campers are not allowed on the resort premises and we will not trespass on resort property today.

As wonderful as the diving was, the equipment was cumbersome and claustrophobic and I enjoy the freedom of walking barefoot along the beach, fine white sand crunching between my toes. The morning is sunny and warm and we take tourist photos beside the Lizard Island Park sign and then follow Mossy inland along the boardwalk. The boardwalk meanders through the mangroves, the trees supported by spider like roots vanishing into sludgy brackish water. All is lush and quiet except for bird songs. We leave the mangroves and take an steep hike up to a view point stopping along the way to watch for lizards and to dine on lemon ants. Mossy demonstrates the technique and asks who would like to try one? Surprisingly, all the Japanese women are quick to volunteer and each in turn bites into the fat torso of an ant. John, not to be outdone, also bites off the torso to taste the lemony “nectar.” I am not inclined to try this since I feel empathy for the ants and cannot imagine biting a living something in half. Everyone who eat an ant make a sour face and confers that the taste is bitter, if not lemony. The view from the top overlooks the resort and the bay with a few yachts anchored offshore.

We walk back down towards the beach in the direction of the airstrip. It is late morning and the day is heating up and we are lucky to see one of the Monitor Lizards that this island is known for. It is nearly three feet long and just off to the side of the trail. We are told that these lizards carry a bacteria in their saliva similar to that of the Komodo dragon and that if bitten, one must seek treatment or risk serious infection. John and I doubt the truth of this information and just want to catch and cuddle one.

We wait for our plane in the shady open air “terminal” alongside the airstrip. 30 minutes later, two small planes land, carrying the 20 passengers that will board the Spirit of Freedom for the next leg of it’s dive journey. John and I have been advised to sit on the right hand side of the plane and we are second in line to board. The plane will accommodate 12, but there are only 8 of us on board and John and I find seats in the second row on the right side of the plane. The return flight takes two hours and we fly low along the barrier reef. The aerial view is breathtaking; intoxicating turquoise water so transparent and clear that one can see the intricate patterns of the coral below the surface. Where the reef is shallow, ribbons of waves break and tiny islands dot the ocean scape. John is exhausted and his eyes close in spite of the beauty below. I lean over him, absorbing the view and taking many jiggly photos.


Good Bye Spirit of Freedom


The morning is a flurry of activity as we all prepare to depart the Spirit of Freedom. John and I have had a marvelous time, but I am ready to put my feet on dry land and I am looking forward to hiking on Lizard Island. After breakfast we all meet on the sun deck for group photos and to say good bye to the crew.

Minke Whales





The morning starts off very much the same as yesterday with a 6:30 A.M. wake up call and a cold breakfast in the dining room. During the night we have motored to Pixie Pinnacle and it is here that I will make my deep water dive for my advanced certification. I am feeling more confident than yesterday and with Lozza at my side, we descend slowly to 90 feet and kneel on the sandy bottom. She pulls out a piece of fruit and writes “What is this?” on her writing board? Yesterday, during my buoyancy test, she had me swimming and balancing apples and I guess that the piece of fruit is an apple? She slices it open with her dive knife and I see that it is actually a tomato. Next she pulls an egg out of her vest and cracks it open and I am surprised to see the yoke and egg white float intact. Lozza bats at the floating mass several times and the egg white continues to hold its shape around the yoke. She gives it a hard whack and it breaks apart and small fish come in to feed on the particles. Except for the distortion of colors and shapes, I feel little difference between this 90 foot dive and the 50′ to 70′ dives that I did yesterday.

We ascend 30 feet and swim slowly around the pinnacle. Lozza points out camouflaged fish that I would otherwise miss. We see anemones caressing clown fish and stag horn corral with tiny angel fish swimming within the protection of the coral branches. Dozens of garden eels poke their heads from the sand, swaying in the current. There are multitudes of colorful reef fish and a sea snake makes its appearance. Incredible.

We surface and enjoy a hot breakfast while the boat motors to Two Towers. This is where we hope to see the Minke whales. For 6 weeks each year, the Minkes come to the warm waters of the barrier reef to breed and to have their calves. Mossy gives us our instructions for this dive site; we suit up, take the giant step off the back of the boat and descend. Lozza has other required duties during this dive so John and I team up with Mossy as a dive trio and we descend and swim towards the two pinnacles. We spiral around the coral encrusted pinnacle, winding slowly up, absorbing the beauty all around. After exploring both pinnacles, we return to the mooring line where we have been instructed to “hang” and wait for the Minke whales to come to us. Apparently, the Minke whales like the sound of the engine of the boat and are curious about the divers and often come to investigate. 20 of us, hang on the mooring line and wait. We are staggered, holding the mooring line, 20 to 30 feet below the surface and beneath the boat. All I can see is open blue water and the odd fish that has ventured up from the coral below. Many minutes pass and I check my dive calculator to determine my remaining air. I estimate that I have at least 15 more minutes remaining and wait impatiently, peering off into the empty blue. Mossy taps my shoulder and I look in the direction that he is pointing and see a mere shadow of what might be a whale. Several minutes later and perhaps 30 feet away another whale glides past . There is no mistaking this for a shadow and our excitement escalates. Over the next 5 to 10 minutes we see other whales, or perhaps the same one circling the boat? Soon, two whales come into view, but they keep their distance; and then another whale appears and swims beneath us, less than 15 feet away. My remaining air has reached the 50 bar mark and I must begin my ascent, but I know that I will be designing a Minke Whale charm in the near future.

I have worked up an appetite and eat heartily from the lunch buffet; hot mushroom soup, an array of cold salads and a chicken rice pasta. Immediately after lunch I move to a far corner to read my dive manuel and fill out the chapter tests. This is feeling more like work than a vacation, but I am no longer anxious about the diving. As I read, the boat is motoring onto Rod’s Rock, our next dive location.

We will have the ultimate Minke experience at Rod’s Rock, but as we go through our pre-dive check, John shows me his dive computer and we note that his tank is not completely topped off. I ask John if we should ask the support team to refill his tank but John dismisses me. We descend with our separate buddies; me with Lozza and John with Craig, an experience diver from Kodiak Alaska. We all begin with the usual exploration of the site, following Mossy’s pre-dive instructions, poking into crevices and admiring the abundance of marine life. Each dive is more incredible than the last, partially because I am more relaxed and confident and able to focus less on the mechanics of staying alive, and more on the wondrous surroundings. After exploring Rod’s Rock we all gather at the mooring line again to “hang” and wait for the Minke whales. I scan the line trying to pick out John from the many other divers; yellow flippers, black wet suit, crew cut? I don’t see him, but try to relax certain that he is safe with his dive partner. A whale appears from one direction; a minute passes and another two whales emerge from the abyss and glide below us. There is a tap on my shoulder and I turn to see John. My heart wells with relieve and joy; we are together and will share this incredible whale encounter. John points to his dive computer and I see that he is entering the red zone. We look at my gauge and I have plenty of air; considerably more than I will need. He mimes that he would like to use my reserve air so that he can stay down and watch the whales. Naturally, I offer my emergency regulator to him, delighted that I have air to spare and that we may share this very safe time together, holding onto the mooring line, just 30 feet below the surface. No sooner does John have my emergency regulator in his mouth, than Mossy, taps him on his shoulder and motions him to release the regulator. I was hopeful that this would be allowed, but am not surprised at the restriction. After all, the reserve air is to be there in case of an emergency, and although our conditions toad were relatively safe, I understand the protocol. John’s computer dial moves into the red, but he stays down several minutes longer and watches as several whales swim within 10 feet of us. He reluctantly surfaces.

After we are all on deck, John tells me that he continues to watch the whales from the surface; taking huge breaths and plunging down, snorkel style.

Our fourth and final dive for the day is a drift dive. This is a dive that I must complete for my certification. We suit up and it is a challenge to step from the back of our dive boat into the rubber zodiac while wearing the heavy dive equipment. With considerable assistance, I manage to board and not capsize the smaller boat. The zodiac takes us up current to the dive site where we begin our dive.There are 6 divers in each zodiac; three on each side and we are to flip backwards over the edge of the zodiac to enter the water. At the count of three, all three divers on one side, must enter the water in unison. If one hesitates for even a second, the other divers will be bobbing to the surface and a collision of dive tanks may happen. Lozza asks me how I feel about the upcoming exercise? I tell her and my other dive companions that doing this is just about the last thing that I want to do; but that I will do it. Someone counts to three and I call out to HAULT! A minute later, one of the support team, Clara, moves to sit beside me and tells me that she will push me backwards at the count of three. I am apprehensive but grateful that the action is now out of my control. I hear the countdown and I am pushed over backwards. It feels no different from the giant step off the back of the boat and I surface in unison with the other two divers from my side of the boat.

We descend to 58′ and catch the drift current. We are a group of four; myself, Lozza, John and Cliff. We drift effortlessly along the edge of a reef with all the wonders of this environment scrolling past us. The current is slow and it is easy to slow our progression when something of interest catches our eye. The stag horn coral is plentiful and I am again enthralled by the miniature angel fish taking refuge within the protective branches. Colorful reef fish are abundant, but again, the clown fish caressing the anemones catch my eye. It is no wonder that Disney choose this endearing fish to be a star in one of his movies.

One of the requirement for my dive certification is to release the emergency “sausage.” As our drift dive nears its finish, Lozza motions us into cove apart from the current and we kneel on the sandy bottom. She shows me how to fill the orange dive balloon with air from my regulator. As intended, it pops to the surface, and if this were a true emergency, would signal for help. I take a final swim around a large stag horn coral swarming with miniature angel fish; say my goodbyes to this underwater wonderland and reluctantly surface.

Tonight is our last night onboard and after hot showers we all meet on the top deck for a barbecue. It is a balmy evening and we are moored off of Lizard Island. We lost a few guests due to sea sickness, but those of us still standing have a common shared experience and the conversation flows freely. The wine also flows freely, since there will be no diving in the morning. I am cheered, toasted and presented with my advanced dive certification card. (with reminders that I must turn in my final chapter reviews in the morning.)

When the night air cools, we descend to the inside dining room for more festivities and games. Lozza has been a wonderful dive instructor and I want to give her a piece of my jewelry. I pull her aside and as subtly as possible, spread a collection of my sterling silver ocean charms upon the table. She is delighted and chooses the spread tentacle octopus neckpiece. John is absorbed in a game of Mexican Train with 6 or 7 other passengers and the Japanese group is also celebrating at an adjoining table. One of the Japanese women comes over to take a peek at my jewelry and asks the price of my angler fish with a pearl? She wants to purchase it and her friend wants another one exactly like it. Happily, I am wearing a second one and unhook it from my neck for her friend to purchase.

The celebratory evening is a wonderful closure to a remarkable dive experience.