We arrived at the beach and got changed into our swimming gear. After yesterday's fiasco I was quick to refuse scuba equipment, thinking I'd be much happier without it. It was another scorching day in Zanzibar Tanzania (just in case you had forgotten that a) it's really hot here or b) I’m in an exotic and exciting country while you're all stuck in sub zero England) (Yes Cat, I know, you have access to a hot shower everyday, but I still think I’m winning), so I whipped out the factor 50, being particularly generous with the pink bits (nose, cheeks, forehead, chin, shoulders, back, knees, feet).
I can't get over how beautifully clear the water is here; as we launched ourselves(?) into the Indian Ocean, you could see every ripple on the seabed, every piece of knarled driftwood floating by, every jellyfish wanting to sting you. It was the stuff of dreams. The sea was noticeably rough that morning, and you really felt it in our little boat. Eventually we sighted the dolphins, their presence indicated by an armada of other tourist boats. Now I must confess that I’m not that up to date with nautical terminology, so I’m not entirely sure how many boats you have to have before it's considered an armada. But there were at least four or five other boats, each with a platoon of tourists swarming at their bowels.
Basically how it works is the dolphins swim around uncooperatively and the boats try and cut them off, at which point all the tourists jump in and swim as close as possible. Within about thirty seconds those wily dolphins have changed their course and headed off in another direction, to the dismay of the tourists who jump back in their boats to start the whole process again. The point is, you have to be quick to jump in, a strong swimmer and able to see where the dolphins are. As can only be expected, I was none of those things.
Take one: I slowly eased myself into the raging waters, being careful not to get my hair wet or get salt water in my eyes. But unsuprisingly, light and nimble as I may be, upon entry into the water my head plunged a good few inches under it. By the time I had floated to the surface and dried my eyes, the dolphins were long gone. Or were they? I honestly couldn't tell you because I’m so short sighted that I wouldn't have seen the dolphins unless they had swum up to me and introduced themselves with a friendly handshake. The guys in the boat were frantically pointing trying to direct me but it was useless. Swim while I may, I was being dragged away deeper into the wilds of the Indian Ocean by the ferocious current. I looked around and I was the only swimmer to be seen. I say swimmer but half drowned, wish-I-had-spent-more-time- (any time) at-the-gym, landlubber would probably be a better description.
OK, I think to myself. It's not that bad. I'll just get back in the boat. Well, it's easier said than done. Our boat didn't have a ladder, or a hull for that matter. Or anything to put your feet on. Just half a meter of wet, slippery boat which towered well above my head. The next tens minutes were interesting to say the least. At the time, Dora offered to film it but in attempt to preserve my dignity at least in Europe, I turned her down. I clambered, climbed and slipped my little heart out, until at last Job and the captain were able to half drag me into the boat. At this point I’m head and boobs in, backside in the air, legs flailing. It must have been quite a sight. I wiggle and worm myself along, over the the makeshift bench and fall onto the floor of the boat. We decide that I need my glasses.
Take two:
We find the dolphins again and this time I get in a bit quicker. But by the time I had floated to the surface, dried my eyes and carefully donned my Ted Baker prescription sunglasses, the dolphins were long gone. But at least this time I could see that they were gone. I tried to swim over to them, but the current was just too strong. The other boats head straight for me in their chase of the dolphins. I swim frantically to get out their way, and struggle to stay afloat in their wake. At this stage, I’m feeling a bit discouraged and I’m keen to call it a day. 'Come on, we'll give it one more try', they urge. 'If I get in the boat again, there's no way I’m going back in the water', I threaten.
This time, we tried a a different tact. I attempted to climb up the engine/propeller to be helped into the boat by Job and the captain. On the fourth attempt, after almost capsizing the boat on several occasions, we succeeded and I was back in the boat. They decide that in order to have any hope of catching up with the dolphins, I would need the scuba gear. For reasons unknown to me, my resolve wavered and I agreed.
Take three:
I’m back in the water wearing a scuba mask and size 7 flippers we borrowed from a passing boat. I’m a size 5. 'Put your head under the water', they yell, 'and look for the dolphins'.
Well, can I just say that the Indian Ocean is really big, and we were tracking a herd of about only twenty dolphins, so the odds were never in my favour. Also, it's flipping deep and you can see right to the bottom. And there are all sorts of things swimming around down there. I didn't see any of them, but that just means they were sneaking up behind me.
I put my head down, terrified, and told myself to breathe. Just breathe. I have to explain that breathing with your head underwater goes against all your natural instincts. With every breath I took, it felt like I was drowning. And on top of that you have to swim. Swimming, breathing and attempting to keep my composure all at the same time proved to be too much for me. Sure, the dolphins were down there, but all I could think about was being dragged off to a watery grave. When my flipper came off it was the last straw. I panicked, spun upside down, inhaled loads of water and started to wail. 'I wanna get out the water!' I yelled at the top of my half drowned lungs. I grabbed my flippers and threw them in the direction off the boat. Next came off my mask, which I also threw. Spluttering and flailing, the boat came to my rescue. Unfortunately it came at the same time as a massive swell, and I was forced by the current under the boat. This made me very unhappy.
By this point I’m so distressed that I can't even climb up the engine. Every time I fall, I’m dragged back under the boat by the choppy seas (I’m covered in bruises, head to toe). Somehow I get back into the boat, and Job looks at us and says, 'You didn't enjoy that did you?' But I’m British, so out of politeness I lie through my teeth and tell him it was a great experience. I’m not sure he believed me. The journey back to shore was quiet. Upon reflection, I wasn't that disappointed that I didn't get close to the them. I’ve never liked dolphins anyway. I’ve always thought they were smug and arrogant. Irritating like.
Safely back on dry land I came to this conclusion. God, if ever I’m thrown into the sea, please don't send a big fish; just let me drown quickly.
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