From the window of the bus

Under the sun, beneath the waves.

centralamericantales — Wed, 25 Apr 2012 10:21:00 GMT

I have fallen more deeply in love with the ocean since I arrived in the Bay Islands of Honduras. The Mesoamerican reef- which stretches along the Caribbean coast 102 miles from Belize- is the second largest reef system in the world and home to an amazing range of life.

Learning to scuba dive in 2009 is one of the best things I have ever done. A serene new world opened up to me, the complexity and delicacy of the coral reaffirming the respect I'd always had for reefs and the abundance of symbiotic life they have sustained over millions of years.

The ocean has always been a part of who I am, I have memories of growing up next to the roaring, violent and beautiful Atlantic on England's south coast, walking along the harbour walls on weekends with my family. In winter, the waves would crash against the wave- breaks, sending salty spray over our heads as we squealed with delight. I heard that some unlucky people even got swept away with the power of those waves.

But I had only ever experienced the oceans beauty from the surface, gazing out from the beach beneath the imposing 60ft sandstone cliffs known as Britain's Jurassic coast. Scuba diving in the cold Atlantic waters was something only the impassioned would try and so, when a move to the Honduran Caribbean allowed me the opportunity to take scuba lessons in warmer waters, I began a new experience under the waves.

Eventually I became a professional scuba diver and the ocean became my world, my days spent under the sun beneath the sea, tranquil, peaceful and serene, calming my soul and those of others who endeavoured down the same path. My new passion encouraged me to learn the names of over 60 of the Caribbean reef species I would see on my dives, my nose pressed into the fish identification book on my return to shore.

Swimming with a Whaleshark is without doubt one of the highlights of my life. I have had the privilege of swimming alongside them perhaps five or six times, the grace, size and incredible pattern of stars across their backs the epitome of nature’s beauty.

I learned a lot about the Whaleshark during my time in the Bay Islands. For example, we knew that the way to spot them would be to watch the horizon from the boat for a tuna boil- a feeding frenzy of tuna eating baitfish. It was suspected that the Whaleshark would feel the vibrations of the tuna jumping across the water’s surface and translate it as a signal that food was present. They would then swim to the boil, right to the middle and turn their huge bodies vertical, pushing their lips through the water’s surface as they filtered algae and krill.

Strict protocol was adhered to at all times when swimming with the sharks and all of the Bay Islanders respected this. The boats would idle slowly, quietly up to the tuna boil and we would wait….wait….wait. Then, look! The Whalesharks lips would poke through the water’s surface and at command from the boats captain we would slip into the water to observe the shark as it fed, always staying at a distance of at least four metres, gasping with amazement into our snorkels, eyes popping at the incredible beauty of this huge fish.

Often, the shark would be disturbed and it would slowly swim away, perhaps a little bored of its admirers. But on some lucky occasions, it would stay and feed and we would observe this massive and gentle giant as it calmly and quietly ate its breakfast.

It has been about a year now since my last encounter. I hope that I will be lucky enough to swim with a Whaleshark again one day. Their lives are a mystery that scientists are still trying to understand! But if I don’t see one again, the special privilege of sharing several moments of its life, when most people dream of just one encounter, is one I will cherish forever.

Photos: Central America

centralamericantales — Fri, 30 Mar 2012 06:35:00 GMT

My Scholarship entry - Seeing the world through other eyes

centralamericantales — Fri, 30 Mar 2012 04:44:58 GMT

“That girl can be no more than 15,” I say to myself as I watch her climb down from the bus, shifting her 3 year old child onto her other hip as she pays the bus driver 20 lempira’s for the ride. From my seat at the back, I watch her make her way down the dirt road, struggling with the weight of her daughter. Here in rural Honduras, education is yet to reach these villages and life continues as it always has, young females obediently living out expectations of motherhood, passed down through the generations. Perhaps the only sign of change are plastic bags, choking the roadsides and still- beautiful rivers on which these people rely.
Moving to the developing world has been eye opening, even for me. At the age of 30 and in the name of love, when most of my friends were having babies and settling down, I chose a simpler life. Not being one for monotony, I now live in Honduras, a place where one looks upon running water with wonder.
I always considered myself an open minded person, who has travelled to 24 countries (at the last count). I’ve sipped borscht in Moscow, marvelling at the opulence of the neuveau- riche whilst outside it’s -14 °C. I’ve observed the reverence for kimchee and the passion for baseball in Seoul, I’ve sat amongst rose petals in the souks of Morocco eating delicate lamb’s brains and had my banana stolen by an endangered black lemur in Madagascar. But none of this prepared me for the way of life in beautiful, drug- torn Honduras.
“How old are you?” Walter, a friendly local taxi driver asks as we discuss the topic of family the next day on my journey home. I look down at my feet and scratch at my legs; the sand flies are eating me alive today. “I’m 32” I say with a wry smile, guessing what he’s going to say next. “What, 32 and no children? Don’t you think you better get on with it?” Perhaps, I think to myself. But if I’d had children at 15 like most girls in Honduras, how would I have got to experience all this?