He is 62 years old and has been on island for 39 years. He came for the first time from he USA in 1971with his father, the two of them were contracted to build a house, Mark’s first. After the completion the contractor was so happy with the work that he offered Mark a job and within two years he had bought out his superiors. He played his first game of golf with a friend when he 21 and was hooked. His best game was a 73 (apparently that’s pretty good) and his favorite player is Jonathan something-or-other. He lost his wife six years ago to the day when I met him. Four years after he suffered a stroke and his speech is pretty poor. He used to tell a lot of jokes but has trouble now remembering the punchline. His daughter lives in Colorado and is getting married in August. He lives alone and gets up every morning with the sun to walk along the beach. His favorite colour is yellow because it reminds him that the sun will always shine, even if it is hidden behind the clouds.
I met Mark on Saturday, June 19 2010. We started out talking at the bar and shortly after we were eating dinner, his first with someone else in much too long. He told me about his life and taught me about golf. He is a thin man, 5’8”, with a receding hairline and glasses. His skin is tanned and leathery, his hands callused from a lifetime of work. He is overly average looking with the exception of his eyes. Bright blue and sparkling they hold a kind of magic, wisdom, and a youthfulness I did not expect. He is a man of vast knowledge but has trouble conveying it because of his speech.
But sometimes, you just need to listen.
Thursday, June 24, 2010
Thursday, June 3, 2010
Diving
I don't think I can truly get across to everyone at home how much I love my job. The people I work with, especially Astrid, and what I do everyday is incredible. I get up most mornings to run along the beach, work for about nine or ten hours (diving, filling tanks, helping customers), get home exhausted, feed my cat (the local stray that has adopted me...named Olivia), make dinner, do something whether it's going out with friends or just relaxing or something, go for a walk on the beach and then go to bed.
I love meeting the divers that come to our shop. Sometimes they are new to diving and I get to be there as they take those first few breaths underwater. Sometimes they are long time divers who can teach me new things. I love showing people the little Blenny's and spidercrabs and Christmas tree worms and all the other things that people would miss if you don't show them. I love hearing their underwater exclamations of surprise. I love how exhausted i am at night and that it takes me all of 30 seconds to fall asleep.
I love the island. How slow things are. Sometimes I get so frustrated that it takes ssoooo long to do something and then I have to stop and ask myself what the rush is. I love the people. How at first they are boarder line rude and think you are some tourist but after the third time you come they finally get that you are local and they don't try and rip you off and actually smile.
Here are some recent pictures =)
Street Mango
I often buy my fruits and some veggies from a fruit stand that is just around the corner and across the street from me. It is run by a women named Alice who is this sweet little old lady who is incredibly senile and I have to remind her who I am every time I go. For the most part, the food is really quite good; very fresh and tasty. But you have to remember to wash it. And check for maggots.
Anyway, the other day I decided to get some mangos. They looked beautiful and deliciously ripe. I bought two and brought them, along with the rest of my fruits, back to my flat. I washed everything and put some of it in the fridge and the others in my food container (I bought a large, sealable container for things like cereal and fruit because of the ants and other bugs in my flat). I got up the next morning to an awful surprise. There were ants ALL in my food container. Hundreds of them. I started pulling things out trying to salvage what I could and trying to figure out where they were coming from all while trying very hard to keep them off of me.
They were coming from my beautiful mango.
And they were fire ants.
Anyway, the other day I decided to get some mangos. They looked beautiful and deliciously ripe. I bought two and brought them, along with the rest of my fruits, back to my flat. I washed everything and put some of it in the fridge and the others in my food container (I bought a large, sealable container for things like cereal and fruit because of the ants and other bugs in my flat). I got up the next morning to an awful surprise. There were ants ALL in my food container. Hundreds of them. I started pulling things out trying to salvage what I could and trying to figure out where they were coming from all while trying very hard to keep them off of me.
They were coming from my beautiful mango.
And they were fire ants.
Something I Wish I Had
Now don’t get me wrong, I love it here. I have made my flat into a little home, which I love coming back to at the end of the day. I have pictures covering one of the walls etc. and lots of little things that make it “mine.” But two days ago we had a torrential downpour of water and it was cold (relatively) and I came back from a ten-hour workday and stepped in to my shower.
I realized I have had only one hot shower since January.
But I guess if that’s the worst thing I have to complain about then I’m doing pretty good =)
I realized I have had only one hot shower since January.
But I guess if that’s the worst thing I have to complain about then I’m doing pretty good =)
The Bus
As I mentioned in a previous blog entry I have a bike. It’s this tiny, white BMX with shitty brakes, which Laz is going to try and fix for me, that I love. But a bike can only get you so far and it is often very unsafe to be riding your bike on the road. Drivers here will come within a foot of you (I kid you not) and that’s when you are riding as far on the edge of the road as you possibly can be without falling off. So mostly I ride when there is lots of traffic, as crazy as that sounds, because then people are going so slow you just pass them.
Another mode of transportation, and only slightly safer sometimes, is by bus. There are TONS of local “buses” which will pick you up at any point along the road. There are no bus stops, which I am guessing is because these are no real buses in the first place. They are locals who have these big vans with signs saying “Maho” or “Ph-burg” or one of the other places they drive to. For $1.50/bus ride you can get around the island pretty well. It doesn’t matter how far you ride the fair is still the same. It is highly recommended that you have exact change and if not, don’t pay with anything more then a five, because otherwise they will get extremely grumpy and take forever to give you the change which probably wont end up being correct. But having said that, most of the drivers are really friendly and if you sit in the front seat they wont stop talking for the entire ride. You will get their life story, their wife’s life story, and probably their dog’s life story as well!
I absolutely love the buses! They are packed with locals and so far I have been the only white person in every bus that I get on. The other day was a particularly adventurous ride home. I had gone to Marigot, on the French side, and the one bus had just dropped me off and I flagged down the next bus back to Mullet Bay. As it pulled up I could see that this particular bus was in pretty rough shape. None of the buses are really nice or anything but this one just looked tragic. I couldn’t open the side door and someone from inside had to help me. When I stepped in I was immediately forced to do an awkward straddle over the giant hole in the floor while I attempted to close the door. Having successfully done this I made my way to the only empty seat; a lopsided, misshapen seat that was leaning precariously backwards. About two minutes into the ride we stopped for a guy to get off and as he opened the side door it unhinged itself and was less then halfway attached on to the doorframe. I exchanged glances with a girl about my age and we both laughed a bit as the driver got out and, using his entire body weight, threw himself against the door to get it back in place. Needless to say it was an interesting ride. I’ve never had the experience of watching the road fly by below you.
Another funny thing about the buses is that many people insist on having conversations on their cell phones. A couple of days ago when I went to Philipsburg, I had the pleasure of sitting behind a lady who was screaming, and when I say screaming I mean SCREAMING, into her phone at her son who had apparently cut school again. When she finished the fifteen-minute conversation she started talking to the bus on a whole about how her son is such a failure and even though no one answered her, or even acknowledged her, she continued telling us about her son for the next five minutes until she asked for the bus to stop.
You are never guaranteed a spot on the bus. Even if it is completely full and there are no seats left, the driver will often still stop for you anyways and you end up uncomfortably sitting on the floorboards by the door. About the only guarantee you have riding with the local buses is that it will always be an adventure.
Another mode of transportation, and only slightly safer sometimes, is by bus. There are TONS of local “buses” which will pick you up at any point along the road. There are no bus stops, which I am guessing is because these are no real buses in the first place. They are locals who have these big vans with signs saying “Maho” or “Ph-burg” or one of the other places they drive to. For $1.50/bus ride you can get around the island pretty well. It doesn’t matter how far you ride the fair is still the same. It is highly recommended that you have exact change and if not, don’t pay with anything more then a five, because otherwise they will get extremely grumpy and take forever to give you the change which probably wont end up being correct. But having said that, most of the drivers are really friendly and if you sit in the front seat they wont stop talking for the entire ride. You will get their life story, their wife’s life story, and probably their dog’s life story as well!
I absolutely love the buses! They are packed with locals and so far I have been the only white person in every bus that I get on. The other day was a particularly adventurous ride home. I had gone to Marigot, on the French side, and the one bus had just dropped me off and I flagged down the next bus back to Mullet Bay. As it pulled up I could see that this particular bus was in pretty rough shape. None of the buses are really nice or anything but this one just looked tragic. I couldn’t open the side door and someone from inside had to help me. When I stepped in I was immediately forced to do an awkward straddle over the giant hole in the floor while I attempted to close the door. Having successfully done this I made my way to the only empty seat; a lopsided, misshapen seat that was leaning precariously backwards. About two minutes into the ride we stopped for a guy to get off and as he opened the side door it unhinged itself and was less then halfway attached on to the doorframe. I exchanged glances with a girl about my age and we both laughed a bit as the driver got out and, using his entire body weight, threw himself against the door to get it back in place. Needless to say it was an interesting ride. I’ve never had the experience of watching the road fly by below you.
Another funny thing about the buses is that many people insist on having conversations on their cell phones. A couple of days ago when I went to Philipsburg, I had the pleasure of sitting behind a lady who was screaming, and when I say screaming I mean SCREAMING, into her phone at her son who had apparently cut school again. When she finished the fifteen-minute conversation she started talking to the bus on a whole about how her son is such a failure and even though no one answered her, or even acknowledged her, she continued telling us about her son for the next five minutes until she asked for the bus to stop.
You are never guaranteed a spot on the bus. Even if it is completely full and there are no seats left, the driver will often still stop for you anyways and you end up uncomfortably sitting on the floorboards by the door. About the only guarantee you have riding with the local buses is that it will always be an adventure.
Thursday, May 27, 2010
Oh Shit.
Ever have those moments that can only be classified as “oh shit!” moments? I definitely had one today. Jeff and I were running the show, which was pretty cool. It was one of the first times that it was only us without Laz or Astrid which basically means that I’m done “training” because Jeff can now rely on me to get things up and running without instruction.
So there I was. 09:24 and Jeff is diving with two customers and I’m in a similar area but doing some mapping. I’m just having this thought process of what a lovely, calm day it is; only two customers, beautiful weather…hell, I should be able to be off work by 14:00! And just as that thought process was happening I start to get dragged by the line that attaches me to the boat.
What the?
I thought maybe it was a big swell or something and so continued on only to be violently dragged back a second time. Now I knew something was wrong I just didn’t know what. So I begin making my way back to the boat…not too fast, figuring out in my head what my safety stop time should be when I get to the boat…and all of a sudden I saw the boat. And I saw the sand below it. Moving. Fast. The mooring line we were attached to had broken.
“Oh. Shit.”
By this time we were caught up in the current and moving fast. I had to swim hard back to the boat and threw my gear down. We have two lines, one at 20ft the other at 40ft, down, weighted at about 25lbs each that are used as safety stop lines for customers. I had to haul those up, which, for the record is not an easy job, as well as the broken mooring line, and was madly trying to take landmarks at the same time to know how fast and in what direction we were drifting.
At this point, I will admit, I was getting a little panicky. It’s a big ocean and there were still three divers under the surface with no idea what was going on. I remembered Jeff having a phone and hurriedly tried to find it but once I had, wanted to through it overboard. I couldn’t figure the stupid thing out! I finally got it and at this point had turned on the engines and was slowly making my way back in the direction from which I thought I had drifted. Luciana got on the phone with me and then once she realized what was going on she started to get panicky as well!
They ended up sending out another boat to come help me find the dive site meanwhile I drove along, searching for either the divers on the surface or their bubbles. As the other boat arrived on scene I spotted Jeff about 200m away and drove over. We set up a makeshift anchor so the divers could safely climb back onboard.
Everything turned out okay; everyone is back, no equipment was lost or damaged but it was definitely an extremely stressful situation, although also a big learning experience. It’s a good thing I have been an eager beaver with everything, especially driving the boat! Lu and Jeff thanked me profusely and we decided it has been an epic first ten days between the funeral, the mooring line and everything else that has happened.
I sure can’t say that life here is boring!
So there I was. 09:24 and Jeff is diving with two customers and I’m in a similar area but doing some mapping. I’m just having this thought process of what a lovely, calm day it is; only two customers, beautiful weather…hell, I should be able to be off work by 14:00! And just as that thought process was happening I start to get dragged by the line that attaches me to the boat.
What the?
I thought maybe it was a big swell or something and so continued on only to be violently dragged back a second time. Now I knew something was wrong I just didn’t know what. So I begin making my way back to the boat…not too fast, figuring out in my head what my safety stop time should be when I get to the boat…and all of a sudden I saw the boat. And I saw the sand below it. Moving. Fast. The mooring line we were attached to had broken.
“Oh. Shit.”
By this time we were caught up in the current and moving fast. I had to swim hard back to the boat and threw my gear down. We have two lines, one at 20ft the other at 40ft, down, weighted at about 25lbs each that are used as safety stop lines for customers. I had to haul those up, which, for the record is not an easy job, as well as the broken mooring line, and was madly trying to take landmarks at the same time to know how fast and in what direction we were drifting.
At this point, I will admit, I was getting a little panicky. It’s a big ocean and there were still three divers under the surface with no idea what was going on. I remembered Jeff having a phone and hurriedly tried to find it but once I had, wanted to through it overboard. I couldn’t figure the stupid thing out! I finally got it and at this point had turned on the engines and was slowly making my way back in the direction from which I thought I had drifted. Luciana got on the phone with me and then once she realized what was going on she started to get panicky as well!
They ended up sending out another boat to come help me find the dive site meanwhile I drove along, searching for either the divers on the surface or their bubbles. As the other boat arrived on scene I spotted Jeff about 200m away and drove over. We set up a makeshift anchor so the divers could safely climb back onboard.
Everything turned out okay; everyone is back, no equipment was lost or damaged but it was definitely an extremely stressful situation, although also a big learning experience. It’s a good thing I have been an eager beaver with everything, especially driving the boat! Lu and Jeff thanked me profusely and we decided it has been an epic first ten days between the funeral, the mooring line and everything else that has happened.
I sure can’t say that life here is boring!
Shark on my Head!!!
“You seem to be running towards adventure, particularly danger, in the same way everyone else runs away from it.” – an old sailor I talked to at a bar stemming from a conversation that started with me telling him about my day at work…which went something like this:
I rolled out of bed, bright and early as usual, walked the 45 seconds over to the beach, and went swimming. After I was nice and awake I returned home for breakfast and to slip on board shorts and a shirt that would be coming off again just as soon as I reached my wetsuit at work. We had an awesome morning of diving (a wreck and a reef) and then headed back out for another dive.
Around 15:00 Jeff told me the news I had been waiting to hear all week. “The shark dive is a go, switch out the tanks.” Our little boat took us on a rolly fifteen minute ride and before I knew it Jeff was explaining how we would be mooring. Most mooring balls (lines that are attached to the bottom that we attach ourselves to so our boat doesn’t drift while we dive) are either on the surface or just below. In this instance it is located below and usually one of the crew will free dive down with the rope and tie off (we like to make a big show of it for the customers but it really isn’t that big of a deal). The only difference with this mooring is that I got my scuba gear on and tied off to the underwater mooring, then had to tie another line from the moorings anchor line to another line on our boat. It’s a wee bit complicated and with the current takes a fair amount of concentration. That is key. Concentration. Which I did not have. At all. Why? Well, when I looked down 60ft there were six reef sharks, between four and eight feet long, circling below me. Now as some of you may know I was once had a paranoia of sharks. I’m over that now as they are such stunning creatures but they still leave me more then a little breathless. I was finally able to complete my task and got the customers in the water. We descended down and Jeff (suited up in chain mail) proceeded to start feeding the sharks tin pieces of fish.
The sharks that day, according to Jeff, were abnormally ballsy. At first they were passing within a few feet of us but soon they were brushing past and I could feel the sleek roughness of their skin. One came from behind me and glided over my head, I literally felt it, and when I looked up all I saw was that shadow they show in movies with glistening razor teeth. I was so excited that I turned breathless (aka underwater hyperventilation) and had to calm myself so I didn’t use up all my air. Another shark assumed that my camera was something tasty so took a hold of it and I had to almost shove him off. The only way I can think to describe them was as a pack of street dogs. Ones you need to keep your guard up around but not ones that send you jumping over fences to get away. They are used to Jeff’s presence and were incredible around him! They would go under his legs and through his arms. There was a small one that he was almost “holding” while feeding a piece of fish. It was a surreal experience.
And the coolest part? This is my life. We do 1-2 shark dives a week, conditions permitting.
I will be diving.
With sharks.
Every week.
…
AS MY JOB!
=D
I rolled out of bed, bright and early as usual, walked the 45 seconds over to the beach, and went swimming. After I was nice and awake I returned home for breakfast and to slip on board shorts and a shirt that would be coming off again just as soon as I reached my wetsuit at work. We had an awesome morning of diving (a wreck and a reef) and then headed back out for another dive.
Around 15:00 Jeff told me the news I had been waiting to hear all week. “The shark dive is a go, switch out the tanks.” Our little boat took us on a rolly fifteen minute ride and before I knew it Jeff was explaining how we would be mooring. Most mooring balls (lines that are attached to the bottom that we attach ourselves to so our boat doesn’t drift while we dive) are either on the surface or just below. In this instance it is located below and usually one of the crew will free dive down with the rope and tie off (we like to make a big show of it for the customers but it really isn’t that big of a deal). The only difference with this mooring is that I got my scuba gear on and tied off to the underwater mooring, then had to tie another line from the moorings anchor line to another line on our boat. It’s a wee bit complicated and with the current takes a fair amount of concentration. That is key. Concentration. Which I did not have. At all. Why? Well, when I looked down 60ft there were six reef sharks, between four and eight feet long, circling below me. Now as some of you may know I was once had a paranoia of sharks. I’m over that now as they are such stunning creatures but they still leave me more then a little breathless. I was finally able to complete my task and got the customers in the water. We descended down and Jeff (suited up in chain mail) proceeded to start feeding the sharks tin pieces of fish.
The sharks that day, according to Jeff, were abnormally ballsy. At first they were passing within a few feet of us but soon they were brushing past and I could feel the sleek roughness of their skin. One came from behind me and glided over my head, I literally felt it, and when I looked up all I saw was that shadow they show in movies with glistening razor teeth. I was so excited that I turned breathless (aka underwater hyperventilation) and had to calm myself so I didn’t use up all my air. Another shark assumed that my camera was something tasty so took a hold of it and I had to almost shove him off. The only way I can think to describe them was as a pack of street dogs. Ones you need to keep your guard up around but not ones that send you jumping over fences to get away. They are used to Jeff’s presence and were incredible around him! They would go under his legs and through his arms. There was a small one that he was almost “holding” while feeding a piece of fish. It was a surreal experience.
And the coolest part? This is my life. We do 1-2 shark dives a week, conditions permitting.
I will be diving.
With sharks.
Every week.
…
AS MY JOB!
=D
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