Costa Rica parte uno…Las ballenas salvan el dia (the whales save the day).

Posted on 03/26/2025 by Lesli W.

Drake Bay, Osa Peninsula: land of scarlet macaws, Central American jungle critters like monkeys, tapirs, sloths, and more; this part of Costa Rica was rumored to be less touristy, less resort-y, a little wilder, a little quieter.

It started sort of precariously, if I’m honest. With a sideways state of affairs and sense of foreboding back home, a pent-up excess of f ernweh in my bones, and a dashed-together escape plan to see a part of Central America I’d not been to before… add to that a fairly ominous start to la aventura.

Friday: a 3:00 alarm to make a 6am flight in order to connect in Miami in time to catch the last local flight from San José down to the Osa Peninsula… and even the best-laid plans sometimes have other things in store than what’s expected. So 40 minutes out from San José, the flight had to do a 180 and head back to Miami. Apparently, air traffic control was down across Central America, flights couldn’t land, and we didn’t have enough fuel to wait it out in the sky.

7 or so hours later, we’re on the ground, but of course too late to catch the little planes that spiderweb visitors to various points across the country. I heard buzzing amongst the passengers about hiring helicopters or cars or boats to get them to their end points sooner. Having neither means nor energy for that kind of rejiggering, I booked a new flight to Drake Bay for the following morning and a night in a simple hotel in San José. A clean bed and hot shower were all I really needed, but I had forgotten that here, “shower” does not necessarily imply “hot”.

I woke up the next morning clean but groggy, willing the massive headache to stay at bay until I got to my little hotel that would be my base for the next week. While the final leg to the simple but nice Corcovado and Drake Inn was painless, the migraine was not. I spent much of Day 1 sleeping off the entry.

Mermaid returns home but finds things amiss.

I looked for a PADI 5-star shop to dive with (you can’t be too careful), so the boxes checked with Costa Rica Adventure Divers. And Caño Island sounded like a nice spot to dive, boasting reefs, schooling fish, pinnacles, sharks and more… My mermaid tendencies needed attention and I signed up to dive for 5 days. 🐟🧜‍♀️

I’ve been diving for close to 30 years, and my heart aches every time I get in the water of late. While I was hoping for vibrant reefs teeming with schools of fish, I knew that the reality would be something different. That said, I wasn’t wholly prepared for the conditions.

These reefs were thriving a mere 5 or 6 years ago. But climate change, pineapple farms and other industries leaching chemicals into the rivers (which flow into the ocean), storms and mudslides, construction, and development (despite Costa Rica’s largely pro-environment stance), have cumulatively caused the corals to bleach and mostly die off here. And while there are some soft corals surviving and thriving, most seemed sad. The schools of fish were there, but from what I was told by the divemaster, it is a very small fraction of what it had been. We were 25km from the mainland, so the reefs closer to shore must be even worse.

a school of barracuda swimming above a dark reef

I love being underwater, so I tried to keep myself thinking positive: “all dives are good dives” and the like. There were lots of little white tip reef sharks, some amazing and massive green sea turtles, big schools of barracuda and jacks and snappers. But after 2 days of diving, it seemed like they were swimming on a gray canvas, and I felt sad for the sea.

A normal 2-tank dive consists of a first dive (“tank”), followed by a surface interval where you rest before the next dive, followed by the 2^nd tank. On the 1^st tank on this 3rd day of diving, we descended to about 20 metres in a grayish “garden”. After 10 minutes or so of fish-finding, an eerie, milky sediment cloud appeared out of nowhere. This decreased the visibility to about 1 metre, meaning you couldn’t see your buddy, the reef, or the divemaster. It was relatively shallow water, and we were in a fairly open area, so the dangers were limited, but it was stressful enough to find my buddy, stay with the group, and proceed to a level where the vis was better. Several minutes later, looking down from 5 or so metres was like observing a layer cake of blue and milky gray.

I spent that surface interval dodging a stress headache and questioning my vacation choices, then opted out of the 2^nd dive. I chose to spend the time swimming in the big blue sea and contemplating my insignificance.

As I bobbed on the surface, looking out towards the horizon, I could see only shades of blue. If there is one thing diving has taught me is that we humans are mere crumbs in the universe.

That jolt and my self-imposed time out felt like a reset on a week that didn’t start out so great. So when, while we were making our way back to Drake Bay from Caño Island, we saw a mama and baby humpback whale not 10 metres from the boat, and then papa whale breached the surface with a punctuational tail slap, I got the feeling that things were going to be okay.

The whales saved the day.

Big shoutout to Costa Rica Adventure Divers for a team of professional and fun divemasters/instructors. If you’re in Drake Bay, I highly recommend them.

Ode to a mackerel (sandwich)

Posted on 03/26/2022 by Lesli W.

It’s no secret that I have a (not-so-secret) long-distance crush on the city of Istanbul. Recently, I ran across the passenger list for my grandmother’s passage to the US on the SS Themistokles on 27 Jan 1915.

My World History is splotchy at best, so my best assumption is that they fled the wrong part of the world at the right time… Gallipoli was mere months away, WWI was still raging in Europe. The US was opening its arms to immigrants who brought innovators and craftsmen and laborers to its shores. They travelled from Jaffa, through Piraeus (and through Cleveland apparently), to eventually settle in Brooklyn. Country of origin at the time (though technically Palestine): Turkey.

So maybe it’s in my blood.

Fast-forward 100+ years and I’m making a hodge-podge breakfast sandwich with what I’ve found in my fridge and pantry shelves: Persian cucumbers, pita bread, some red pepper spread from a jar I picked up in a market somewhere, avocado, smoked herring… I have a momentary and wistful flashback to a fish sandwich under a pop-up tent by the banks of the Golden Horn, in the Eminönü neighbourhood, across from the spice market, this side of the Galata Bridge.

More than New York City, more than Boston, this place calls me.

Balık Ekmek is common street food here, it’s fresh grilled fish served on a hunk of fresh bread with lettuce and onions and lemon juice if you want it as a sauce. It’s not fancy, but it is a simple kind of wonderful. The vendors walk around touting cups of pickles with fermented cabbage and pickle juice that’s meant for drinking. Even for one who likes pickles, it’s an acquired taste.

Eminönü, by the Galata Bridge, across from the Spice Bazaar

As much as the taste and freshness of the mackerel is the destination, what completes the experience and makes one’s senses come alive are the contrasts and interminglings here: the sounds and the bustle of the waterfront, the smells of the roasting corn and chestnuts mixed with the salty-ish city air, the colours and textures of the fabrics, the redness of the Turkish flag.

I’m daydreaming this morning: an ode to a mackerel sandwich, perhaps. The spring is trying to bust through here. And as a fairly dull and dreary winter comes to a close, I feel that familiar tug to the east, a restlessness in my legs to go adventuring, a void in my spirit where spice markets and lutes and zithers and magic carpets seep into my dreams.

Seychelles, Part II: Into the (semi) deep, a climb, surrender, and the reward

Posted on 05/13/2018 by Lesli W.

[Seychelles: Part I] [Seychelles: Part III]

This morning, we load up the bikes with dive gear and the day’s necessities and point ourselves towards the dive shop. The sky shines a vivid, almost musical blue, and the sea competes with an azure rainbow; variegated cyan delineating reef from sand.

We had seen the rocky mound of an island from land, its sole palm reaching for the sky as if trying to escape Poseidon’s wrath. Ave Maria, it’s called; there’s no use attempting to mix metaphors here. This is our first dive site.

The Seychelles’ reef system has suffered much the same fate as others in this ocean: a bleaching event a couple of years ago and a subsequent coral die-off, which leaves me sad but not surprised that the vibrancy isn’t as I’d hoped. It seems to be trying to come back, though, and the fish are here to stay. We see a few green sea turtles, and some decent-sized schools of fish; moray eels, humphead wrasse, unicornfish, triggerfish, butterflyfish and puffers; octopi, cowfish, un petit requin (black tip), moorish idols, and that silly-looking yellow and black one with stripes and spots whose name I’ve forgotten…we’re even graced with the appearance of the elusive pipefish. Clownfish are few, alas, as there are few anemones in which they live. But we tally 5 adventure points for the dives, including C’s earned by fending off a rogue sea urchin. This mermaid’s fins are sated for now.

Back on land…

As if the day’s humidity weren’t enough to sap one’s strength, we decide to ride our (15ish kilo) bikes up the island’s highest hill to take in the view at Nid d’Aigle. The road winds its way up, the hills at a 45° angle to the rest of the world; the humidity rivalling the consistency of, say, lobster bisque. Biking gives way to pushing said (leaden) bikes, which eventually leads to surrendering to the elements (we are, by this point, more liquid than solid humans; sweat becoming just another layer on top of sun cream), depositing them at the side of the road to climb the rest of the way à pied. This is one of the steepest roads I think I’ve ever been on, but the reward here is the view (bonus: also the restaurant, Belle Vue, from which we’re vue-ing makes the best fruit juice on the island). We make reservations to return the following night for dinner and sunset (transport inclus), then continue upwards on the gnarly trail behind the place to the mountain’s peak (hint: the view from the restaurant 350 metres below was better).

Adventure points earned: 1 for biking up the absurd hill on leaden bikes; 2 for surviving without suffering heat stroke; 1 for hiking into the jungle, to the top of la montagne, and not falling to the same fate as the storied German*.

One final adventure point is earned for wildlife encounters on the way down: a free-range tortoise greets us, out for its morning stroll (at a tortoise’s pace…arriving to us in the height of the afternoon), enjoying a snack of freshly-fallen mangoes. C befriends the beast and they share a moment.

☀️☀️☀️

The next day’s dives are similar to the first, with a parallel state of corals and ditto sea critters. They are nice dives with fun swim-thrus and more interesting granite structures than the previous day, sea flora painting the rock its underwater patina. This being a nice but unimpressive dive overall, I was not prepared for what we saw next. As we exited a swim-thru and rounded a corner, a massive, majestic, magnificent marbled ray defied not only the m-adjectives, but my expletives as well, by making itself known. It was nestled between two rocks, flanked by several smaller stingrays, seeking or providing protection, I am not clear. We stayed close, watching their behaviour, the smaller rays coming and going, fawning over the larger in almost a caress; nature never ceasing to amaze. It is at these times I feel fortunate to be a diver, experiencing the undersea world in childlike awe and wonder, as if given special access to explore another planet.

Back on dry land, we bike to the north and then to the east (La Digue map), to where the road ends at Anse Fourmis; jagged rocks teasing the way to a jungle path we are determined to explore when we’ve got more hours (not tonight, tho, we’ve got a date with a sunset). The surf is wilder here, the rocks sharper: testament to a more exposed coastline on this side of the island. The views no less spectacular, and we’re awed anew.

Adventure points earned: 10 for the diving (attributed mostly to the ray and its entourage) plus one for the evening: a lorry ride up and down the giant hill, a sunset dinner and an overall lovely day. I fall asleep with a smile on my face and can’t recall the last time I road a bike with a basket in a bikini.

End of the road at Anse Fourmis

The Seychelles fruit bat

Sunset from Belle Vue

More diving the next day and a half, adding a handful more adventure points to the tally. The sites are good, but Pemba is still at the top of our list of favourites. We see dolphins from both the room overlooking the ocean, and the boat during the surface interval off Grand Soeur island. There are small black-tip shark sightings, barracuda, moray eels (one more massive than most!), swarms of Indian ocean fish… A collection of fun dives with more granite rock formations to swim thru and sea turtles to swim beside. There’s also a lovely little yellow frogfish, adding to the list of sea critters I’d not seen before this trip.

The diving has been fun thus far, but the end of the road calls… back on La Digue, we mount bikes and head for Anse Fourmis again, and our quest to reach Anse Cocos. It’s like a Monty Python meets Indiana Jones meets Bear Grylls: we’re not 200 metres into the jagged, rocky, jungly trail as the clouds decide to open and release monsoon-like rains. We can continue on and risk life and limb on the rocks and jungle brush, or play it safe and return the way we came. Opting for the latter, the bike ride home is like a 7-year-old’s dream: fat, warm raindrops form giant puddles through which we splash, laughing. We’re soaked to the core when we come across one of the local roadblocks: a massive tortoise, looking spic and span in the downpour. They’ve not yet become a novelty, so we stop to share our oranges with this friendly beast. It is not possible to be more drenched than we already are.

Adventure points earned this day: 1 for the dive, another for a remora that took a fancy to C and remained our dive buddy for the entire dive; add one for bushwhacking and jungle hiking in the rain.

☀️☀️☀️

It is only in hindsight that we declare, “do not eat the chef’s special.”

We return to Anse Banane by bike in the inky darkness, a headlamp and a torch lighting our way through the still-damp night. We’ve come to a highly-recommended restaurant, with its charming décor and seating facing the ocean, the storm-fueled waves crashing fervently across the way. The meal, a lovely smorgasborg of salads and fish of all styles: curry, fritters, grilled (chef’s special), with a home-made banana cake for dessert.

The day, the dives, the hike and the silly soggy bike ride: excellent. The night: not so much. We both wake in the wee hours, reeling from what can only be food poisoning. Details spared, this dashes our last diving day (my 1.5km bike ride to the dive shop to let them know we’re half-dead nearly does me in for good) and has us horizontal, indoors, for the day. With one foray to the beach in a failed attempt at a swim, we retreat to the relative safety of the hotel to recuperate and commiserate. This is not how we wanted to spend our second to last day here…I know C is cursing the elephant. Survivor points: 5.

*About the German: local lore tells of a German tourist who hiked up to Nid d’Aigle with his fellow travellers, spotted a house he wanted to see again, and went back up the mountain on his own. He was never heard from again; search teams and dogs couldn’t even find him. We heard this over lunch from the owner of a café on our way up to Nid d’Aigle…whether the story has morphed into island legend, we’re not clear.

[Seychelles: Part I] [Seychelles: Part III] [C’s recount of the week]

Mermaid dreams

Posted on 04/25/2018 by Lesli W.

Sometimes when the rain is pouring down outside and you’re on your last-minute packing frenzy for the next adventure, you pull up video from the last epic dive holiday and hope the Universe is kind and the water is clear and the land and sea critters cooperate and the forces of whatever conspire to allow the spaceship to fling you safely towards the little speck of an island in the middle of some faraway ocean…

Yeah, this is real. I took the footage myself. There are even some clips I should include but didn’t get around to editing (and, yes, at the end…the current was that strong!).

Countering my own Earth Day rant

Posted on 04/22/2017 by Lesli W.

It’s Earth Day, 2017. This morning, I felt like writing a rant about the things we’ve done to fuck up this beloved planet of ours, and to complain about the egomaniacal, thing-filled greed that fuels the raping and pillaging of Planet Earth and the butchering of its wild animals, the slow execution of our reef systems, and the rampant willful ignorance that paralyses a government from acting to save ourselves from ourselves.

This will continue for as long as corporations keep the heroin needle of constant consumption in our arms, necessitating individually wrapped everything; ubiquitous use of convenient, single-use plastic bottles and wrappers and bags and cups; easy, convenient, processed consumables, disguised as food, laced with deforesting palm oil; absurdly low gas prices, “disposable” electronics, a government-subsidized diabetes epidemic, funded in part by a corn syrup industry and a PAC-funded government denial of the merits of real food. Corporate pockets will get deeper in direct correlation with the width of our waistlines; they will grow richer in inverse proportion to the level of natural resources remaining; they will get more resolute and change their doublespeak as our majestic wildlife, our tropical fauna, dwindles and fades into mere memory… paradise paved to put up a parking lot (or office park or housing tract), as it were; they will point fingers as coral reefs bleach, then die, and watch as the base of our planet’s ecosystem fails in an ignorant dismissal of science at all costs.

I wanted to rant about all this, but then got sidetracked by a quest for beauty this afternoon. A self-posed question of what I love about Planet Earth. What have I seen that has taken my breath away? If the only will or want I can control is my own: what can I share that might change someone else’s?

So on this Earth Day, I share some photos of the things on Planet Earth I’ve seen in my near half-century, as ocean temperatures rise and carbon levels increase and sugar-induced disease becomes endemic; these are the things that give me pause every day to stop and appreciate the Wonder that is inherent in this magnificent ball of rock that we inhabit, for as long as she will have us.

Happy Earth Day 2017.