Tidal Waves and Black Pearls

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  Muri Beach, Rarotonga, Cook Islands
Wednesday, November 5, 2008

Two times I've been out and about in a boat driven by someone else, and I've been the innocent victim of tidal wave strikes. The first time, I was a passenger in a boat driven by my friend (who's name I politely won't mention), when we ended up driving over the wake of a houseboat....it was like we'd driven over the side of a plateau, except the plateau was liquid. A giant tidal wave of water curled up over the bow and struck us (mostly her, actually) squarely in the head. The second time, I was again an innocent passenger on a boat in the Cayman Islands. Suddenly, I found myself cast as a stunt double in a scene from a movie entitled "Tidal Wave Smackdown." This wave punched out the window in the front of the double-decker dive boat and surged completely through the passenger area of the boat, washing all sorts of gear and stuff right out the stern into the sea.

Today is the third time I've been victimized by bad boat drivers who subject me to vicious tidal wave action. We'd been diving all morning, and the water was temperamental and surging around on both dives. On the first dive, I was following the group through some lava tubes (which were way outstanding by the way), and suddenly this surge came pushing through the tube and pounded me against the tunnel wall. The second dive was less dramatic, but it was obvious what was going on at the surface, judging by the way the parrot fish, tangs, Moorish Idols, and all varieties of other fishies were swinging back and forth over the coral. They'd settle in to take an audible chomp off the reef, and then suddenly swing away in unison. The divers in my group looked the same way....kick kick kick.....swing backward....kick kick kick....swing sideways. So back up out of the water, on the tiniest dive boat ever constructed, we started back to Avarua Harbor. At first it was the three guys on the starboard side who were getting pelted by salt water. But as we rounded the northwest edge of Rarotonga, we poor peeps sitting on the port side suddenly were subjected to something like a white squall. It started out with slaps of water against the side of my head. My head seemed to be shielding the two beside me from getting hit, so I ducked in. As I did, a GIANT TIDAL WAVE came out of nowhere, flew across my lap, gushed into my mouth, even though it wasn't even open, and gouged my eyes out. My hair was yanked right out of its ponytail and was instantly transformed into a Donald Trump combover. Several more tidal waves of equal or greater force followed, and by the time we pulled into the Harbor, I was basically afloat in the center of the dive boat with the two other sad saps from the port side.
I felt fortunate to be on dry land once again, and decided to celebrate my survival by consuming some unfamiliar food items. The Aussie gal from my dive boat, Liz, came and picked me up from Ambala Gardens on her scooter. She assured me that she wouldn't dump me off the back and had become a scooter-driving-expert while navigating through the Greecian Isles. So we rode around the island into Avarua and got a nice ocean-side spot at Trader Jack's. The island specialty I was told was called "ika mata." I'm not sure what that translates into, but it is a local dish of raw fish (usually tuna) that is marinated in lime and coconut milk. Ika mata is a beautiful creation with a rich, very fresh taste that is slightly rich, with a beautiful texture.

After lunch, Liz, who is aspiring to open a black pearl business had a meeting with a black pearl dealer to discuss some business. I was curious about the black pearl situation, so I tagged along. We drove into a residential neighborhood up the side of a lush, volcanic mountain, and met with Pete Williams, a huge Polynesian dude with a black pearl workshop. Inside his shop, aptly guarded by a mangey island dog named "Pearl," there was inventory everywhere. Black pearls of off all tones, sizes, shapes, and permutations in containers, bags, and even scattered on the floor. Liz sifted through bowls and bowls of pearls to select a small inventory to take back to Australia. I learned a lot about black pearls, people. Who knows, I may have a future in the pearl business.

We left Pete's pearl shop, and took some back roads back to Ambala Gardens. This island is amazingly beautiful. My dad said that my photos reminded him of World War II South Pacific. That IS what it looks like here. It is incredibly lush and there is a softness about the landscape, like a girl could just melt into it and disappear. On this particular backroad, we found a "marae," which is an ancient sacred site. They are scattered around the island and are essentially ruins that used to be used during religious ceremonies. We arrived at the marae near sunset, and the volcanic peaks were washed out in soft light, almost as though they were disintegrating into golden mist. Up the sides of the golden peaks were fields of taro plants. This place is exquisite.

One more day of diving...hoping to get through it with my ponytail intact.

love,Q

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Ancient Marae Site

Ancient Marae Site

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