Ocean 2, Annika 0

Alright, paper is handed in, flatting situation is underway, all of which means I have time to write again. So, needless to say after my first snorkeling expedition, I was less than thrilled to toss myself again into the merciless ocean. However! I am not a quitter, so I decided to try again. Different beach, different water, no scary fish (hopefully). I grabbed a facemask, snorkel, and flippers and waddled out to the ocean. I jumped into the water and immediately got a mouthful of salt water. Ew. Hm. I tried again, only to be again mouth-deep in water. I decided something had to be wrong with the snorkel and got another from the large bin of snorkels (hygenically pure, I'm sure). Same scenario. After again peppering the air with some well deserved language, I regained my composure and decided to try again in spite of the fact that nothing is more disgusting than a mouthful of dirty sea water. (It must be dirty; fish pee in it.)

I decided that Kelley's super duper fancy flash snorkel must be better so I got that. Better. But alas, there were no real fish, plants, or anything of real interest near this beach. Blast. Snorkeling had conquered me again. But then we went aboard the Seaspray, a booze cruise with all drinks and food included in the price (Did I hear a challenge to overeat and drink the price paid? I think I did!) on which we went to see the island Tom Hanks filmed Castaway. Because we had stayed on a boat for a night as part of the tour and I had not leapt from the boat into the ocean (mostly because I'm a coward, but I blamed bikini distrust), I decided the time was right. A few of us decided to jump in from the boat and snorkel in to the island. I stepped up to the edge... and was pushed. :) Either way, I got in the water, but again salt water invaded my mouth and, unfortunately, my stomach. More obscenities. "Why is it impossible for me to snorkel?! Why?!" I did the swimming equivalent of stumbling in towards shore.

Well, let me tell you, I do not pity Tom Hanks' character. Being washed up on shore here was no treat. I was bashed, literally bashed, onto coral from the waves. I was scratched everywhere! It was so shallow and the coral was so high that it was impossible to get in (at least anywhere near where we came in) without donating approximately two pints of blood to the ocean. I sat on the beach, but still in the water, letting the ocean clean out my newly perforated body and cursing the day I decided to love water.

Kelley, God bless her, decided that I could not come all the way to Fiji and learn to hate snorkeling even though I insisted snorkeling hated me. She took me out, cut free, to the drop off where I saw a blue (and I mean blue) starfish and she brought a sea cucumber up for me to see (they are gross). Fish did swim near me, but none attacked and I felt bad for being anxious about some fish that swam quite close. They seemed perfectly nice, looked nothing like my fish attacker, but still... they were so close! So the moral of the story is: the ocean is too big to attempt on your own. And it hates me.