It was a lazy Sunday morning. I attempted to out-sleep the orchestra of poultry as long as possible, but still woke up fairly early. After a light but filling breakfast, Kim and I sat opposite each other. She posed a question to me.
"What do you want to do today, Brain?"
We decided on a walk to Barracuda Bay, where we could find a secluded beach and swim, picnic, and read some good books. We collected all necessary articles and provisions with rehearsed precision, and bid goodbye to Casa Buen Aire.
We traveled the dry, rocky road on sandaled feet, passing the time by spotting interesting things nestled within the thorny vegetation; Flowering vines, termite trails, skittering lizards and a thousand other details we would have missed from inside a vehicle.
It was somewhat surprising when Kim's phone, brought for emergencies, sounded its soft buzz. It was our great friends, M and G, fellow expatriates and adventurers. Did we want to go to Blue Beach and go diving for fish and lobster? Did they really have to ask?
We backtracked along the dirt road until we met with their truck. On the drive, we discussed the usual; cave diving and treasure hunting. We left the main road for progressively smaller dirt tracks until we arrived at a small niche in the brush.
Our beach for the day was a small crescent off of the west flank of Blue Beach. The shore was lined with wave-polished rocks of all sizes. Dark patches of water promised good reefs. I studied the interesting offshore currents while the others suited up.
M and G were geared to the teeth: spring suits (short wetsuit), weight belts, dive knives, spear guns and standard snorkeling accouterments. Kim and I had our tourista bathing suits and a pair of goggles. Of course this wouldn't prevent us from enjoying the waters.
While the two experts probed the deeper reefs for delectable crustaceans, we kept to the shallower reefs to relax and take in the sights. Large, round Brain corals, flowing yellow sea fans and pipe-like sponges dotted the rocky bottom. Innumerable fish sheltered, fed, fought and lived out their fish-lives. Sea Urchins, covered with red and black spines, seemed all too willing to perforate the unaware.
We alternated between exploring the large stretch of reef and just floating face up, allowing the Caribbean to carry us gently on top of the slight waves. An hour, maybe two had passed before M and G returned into view. Their quarry was a lone Slipper lobster, a stout and well-armored lobster with an extremely powerful (and meaty) tail.
During the return-drive, the conversation turned towards jungle-delving, cliff-climbing and pirate-booty. Eventually we crossed the island and arrived at their sprawling beach-front hacienda in Bravos de Boston, an area just north and east of Isabel II.
From their porch, I admired the beautiful Atlantic Ocean and the impressive curling breakers just offshore. The waves would form, rise to about 8 feet and crash on top of a jagged coral reef. Defying logic and gravity, people were actually surfing these breaks.
After a brief discourse on how great it would be to have lobster *and* fish, it was decided that we would return to the water, tempt the fates and try our luck once more. Gear in hand, we went to meet the Atlantic.