Tag Archives: Cozumel

The next time someone says I am high maintenance…

18 Oct

They should remember that I scuba dive.

Scuba diving is not glamorous. And you cannot be high maintenance if you dive.

Right now, I’m on day five of the great father-daughter adventure. Which means I’ve spent half of the last four days either at sea or in the sea. With two more to go.

Sure, scuba diving sounds glamorous and I get to go to exotic places like Belize and Papua New Guinea…but there is NOTHING exotic about neoprene bodysuits. Or marine toilets.

Let me tell you what life is like.

We wake up, and schlep our dive gear down to the “marina.” We board the large bathtub boat, and take the roller coaster boat ride to the dive site. This is after hauling air tanks, repairing the boat engine, and fixing whatever else broke overnight. And don’t even think about bringing anything that needs to stay dry onto the boat. There is no such thing as “dry” on a dive boat.

Once you get to the reef, after getting pelted in the face with salt spray for thirty minutes to an hour, it’s time to shove yourself into five millimeters of neoprene so you’re not freezing once you hit the ocean floor. And no one, no matter how good looking you are, looks good in a wetsuit. It’s just…not a good look.

And after four days of diving, it doesn’t matter how much you try to wash things…they just smell like ocean. And not the good salt smell that reminds you of the spa.

Did I mention the part where you spit inside your mask so it doesn’t fog up? Because that’s really sexy.

After spending a few hours in the ocean, you come back from the boat covered in a mix of salt, sweat, and sunscreen. And get ready to do it all again the next day. Why? Because divers are just crazy like that. And the ocean is full of cool stuff to look at.

Right now, my hair feels like straw from being continually submerged in salt water. I have water in my ears so I’m half deaf and off balance. My feet have a few raw spots from my fins, which won’t heal up due to continually being wet. I’m starting to break out from wearing layers of grease sunscreen. I haven’t worn makeup in days. My blood is full of nitrogen and my throat is scratchy from inhaling compressed air. And don’t bother trying to look pretty. It’s so hot here you start sweating even with air conditioning on.

But this is the scuba life. And it’s worth it.

So no, I am not high maintenance.

And besides, high maintenance is just another word for high quality.

Yes, I’m with THOSE Dads.

14 Oct

So day one of the great Father-Daughter Adventure is finished. And “adventure” is putting it lightly…

First, there was the 3:45 a.m. wake-up call. I’ll admit that getting home the night before was entirely my fault…BUT STILL. No one is that cheerful before 4, Dad.

Then there was plane nĂºmero uno. Everything was going quite well, minus the Asian couples who each had millions of carry on bags and didn’t understand that they all had to be in an overhead bin or under a seat…And let’s not forget the guy in the hazmat suit who came rushing down the aisle with a bucket of blue goo because the bathroom wasn’t working. Awesome.

I give major props to the woman sitting behind me who tried to order a mimosa at 5:30 a.m. It was five o’clock, right?

Now for plane number two. We had the most super cheerful flight attendant, who came around with champagne and mimosas as soon as we boarded the plane. Me, being smart, happily accepted.

But not those dads. They, turned down champagne, asking for the hard stuff. “Not until we are in the air” was the response. “In the air” turned out to be 30-plus minutes later. Jealous of my champagne? Rookie mistake, Dad.

But let’s get to the “in the air” part. My dad, being efficient playing catch-up, asks our other cheery flight attendant for doubles. The attendant happily brings over multiple airplane bottles and extra tonic…at this point, the daughters just look at the two dads…yes, we’re with those two. This pattern continued throughout the flight. It also involved moments of my dad getting up to fetch his own ice from the kitchen…and so on.

Did I mention this was all before noon?

Also, since when are passengers from steerage coach allowed to use the first-class bathroom? Flight attendants were falling down on the job. (Probably too busy herding cats who were in the galley trying to get their own ice…)

Now to when we land. We get off the plane, get through immigration, and bienvenidos a Mexico! As soon as we get our bags and get through customs, that is. At customs, my dad tries to tag along on my form, claiming that I “never gave his back.” Erroneous, it was in his passport. That is, until I got the dreaded red light and my bags had to be searched. THEN he wanted nothing to do with me.

When I got outside to the death trap cab, I was sent to fetch beers from the outdoor airport bar. And, due to my very important beverage mission, I was the last person to the cab, which was stuffed full of twelve people and their bags. My “seat” was on top of a suitcase, balanced against the door.

After arriving at the hotel (which is quite lovely), we went to a bar called the Thirsty Cougar. After the most delicious fresh chips and guac ever (and possibly a few beers), I was forced to commandeer a glass from the bar.

We then went to “go see our Italian friends” down the block…where I had to explain that a spumante was not, in fact, the type of Italian white they were looking for…a bottle of wine later, we were back at the hotel.

And, because I was running on three hours sleep, I went to bed and skipped any potential dinner adventures.

All in all, it was a great day. The dads are hysterical and crack the daughters up. It’s going to be a good trip.

I promise to post photos, as soon as I figure this whole blogging from my iPad thing out.