Oceania: Day 4: 7-6-94: SCUBA Diving, Diamond Head Hike And A Missed Opportunity

Another early morning -- ugghh!! Only 5 hours of sleep this time (and a multi-rum-cocktail hangover, to boot!). Considering I was going on two SCUBA dives today, many might consider last night's shenanigans a mistake, or at least ill-advised -- but no use crying over spilt milk! I got showered, dressed and psyched, and I met the SCUBA company's van outside the hostel at 7:15 a.m. Inside, I met Rich, a fellow SCUBA diver and Michael, our dive master -- both of whom seemed friendly enough.

When I arrived at the dive shop, I met Wendy, the fourth and final member of our dive team. She was a knockout -- an incredibly attractive and shapely girl from Tucson, who I instantly visualized in a wet suit. I picked up my jaw long enough to introduce myself. Fantasies aside, Wendy was also a very friendly person, and we hit it off immediately.

I paid my diving fee, signed away my life & first-born child, loaded my dive gear into the van and settled back for the ride to the docks. On the way to the dive boat, Mike gave us a brief briefing of the two dives. The first dive was a wreck dive: we would be diving down some 100 feet to explore the YO-257, a navy yard oiler built in the 1940's, which was intentionally sunk in 1989 in order to create an artificial reef. The second dive was an authentic reef dive: we would stay within 10-40 feet of the surface and swim with the fish and giant sea turtles. As Mike described the dives, my heart was pounding (whether more from excitement or fear I wasn't certain, though their was a considerable measure of both -- you must understand that these would be my first dives since I got certified only a month before, and my first real dives at all [in SCUBA school, I mostly dove in an indoor swimming pool, with the exception of one shallow dive in the dark and frigid Atlantic Ocean]). Wendy and Rich helped ease my apprehension by revealing their own -- indeed, in the end, I wound up consoling Wendy (she had been certified over a year before and hadn't dived since).

It was a beautiful day, with a bright, clear sky. We put our SCUBA units together and took the boat ride to the first dive spot. On the way, we slipped into our wet suits (Wendy looked just as fine as I had imagined). Mike went over a couple of last minute details (hand signals and the like), and we sat down and strapped on our gear.

-----------------------Suited Up And Ready To Dive-----------------------

Then it was time to take the plunge. I walked off the boat into the warm, choppy water. I was nervous, at first, but all trepidation was swept aside when I put my head underwater and looked at the ship 100 feet below -- then all I wanted to do was go for it! The four of us descended gradually along the dive line, equalizing our ears every step of the way, until we finally reached the wreck.

I barely had enough time to admire the beauty of the tropical fish swimming through the decrepit hull before a forty-foot submarine came over. Inside, dozens of tourists gawked and waved at our SCUBA group. As they did so, I was overcome by the strangest feeling -- something akin to being a fish in a bowl or a performer in an underwater circus act. In an impulsive moment -- partly to show off, and partly to complete my own metaphor, I did my best flip for the spectators, who clapped with delighted approval. I responded with my most dramatic bow, and I blew them a mock kiss as the submarine moved away.

When the show was over (or more correctly, the audience gone), we got down to the business of exploring the wreck. It was wondrous! We went in and out of windows and wells, stood on the deck and explored the dark interior. I saw fish, fish and more fish -- fish of every color, size and shape imaginable. I also saw giant starfish, a colossal crab and an imposing moray eel. Soon -- much sooner than I would have liked, actually -- it was time to make our ascent back to the surface.

Back on deck, we all agreed it had been an amazing experience. We shared a little snack as the boat departed for the second dive site. The ride was rough, and this, in combination with the blazing sun, made me quite nauseous -- thankfully, I didn't spew. As we worked ourselves up for dive #2, we were treated to the majestic sight of a large pod of dolphins swimming in unison about fifty feet off our port bow.

Soon we arrived, donned our gear once again and zipped into the water (all prior fears long forgotten). This dive was less than half as deep as the first, but it was just as enchanting. As if in a dream, I swooped across an endless underwater desert, punctuated here and there with outcrops of coral. These oases were home to a variety of beautiful fish (including a pair of deadly scorpion fish) and ugly moray eels -- their open-jawed, sharp-toothed scowls commanded we keep a respectful distance. But undoubtedly, the most fantastic reef denizens were the giant sea turtles. They were the underwater equivalent of puppy dogs, coming right up to us, begging to be petted and held. I caressed and played with them until it was (regrettably) once again time to return to the surface. Frolicking with the sea turtles was truly the capstone of my first South Pacific underwater adventure!

Arriving back at the hostel, I met Nicole in the TV lounge and excitedly told her of my dives. She had been to Pearl Harbor that morning, and had been as equally awed as I. Now it was time for the two of us to embark on our Diamond Head hike.

After a considerable wait at the bus stop, we took a relatively short ride to the base of Diamond Head. Diamond Head is a peak of significance, both geologically and historically. In truth, I forget its geological import, but I do know a bit of its history: human sacrifices were once conducted at the summit, and in more recent times, gun turrets were built up there (though they were never fired and have since been dismantled).

-------------------------That's Where We Are Headed!--------------------

It was a short, but interesting hike. We walked through a car tunnel, across a blazing hot sidewalk path, up a switchback slope, through another dimly lit tunnel, up a steep flight of steps, around a winding staircase (in complete darkness) and out one of the abandoned bunkers. After tackling another short set of stairs, we reached the apex, where we were afforded an impressive bird's-eye view of Oahu.

----------------------------Nicole And I At The Peak-------------------------

-----------------------The View From Atop Diamond Head---------------

We took a deep breath of fresh air, snapped a few shots and headed back to the hostel.

Nicole and I took showers (separately, alas), changed and met at 4:00 in the television room to go out once again on the town. Although it was early, we knew we couldn't have a late night (we both had to get up at 6:00 a.m. to catch our respective flights), so it was just as well.

This night played out more in line with what we had expected the previous evening, although it, too, had it's share of weirdness. First we went to Ono Hawaiian for some inexpensive, authentic native cuisine. Nicole regretted never having been to a luau, so I suggested we try this. We had Lau Lau (pork wrapped in seaweed), dried beef, diced salmon with minced tomatoes and onions, another pork dish (its name eludes me), rice and poi (day-old poi, to be exact -- the waitress recommended it when I told her my first experience with this Hawaiian staple had been disappointing [that poi was downright insipid], assuring me that older poi tasted like yogurt). The waitress taught us the correct way to eat poi: you take an onion slice, dip it in Hawaiian sea salt, fork on a piece of meat, dip it in the poi, and viola'! She also recommended adding soy sauce or Hawaiian chile pepper water to add flavor. We tried all the above-mentioned suggestions, agreeing that the soy sauce combination tasted the best. Nicole didn't particularly care for seaweed, so she ate most of the meat (leaving me to eat all that slimy stuff!). For dessert, we had coconut pudding and the remainder of the poi mixed with sugar. The food had been delicious, and I got up and did an impromptu (and blessfully short) Hula for Nicole, in order to authenticate the "luau", before we left.

Our next stop was a place across town called Moose McGillicuddy's, a popular college bar right up our alley. We ordered daiquiris (she strawberry, I banana) and watched the crowd. Almost immediately, we spotted a man who looked just like O.J. Simpson . . . in a giant afro wig. (Considering "The Juice" is in a bit of a pinch at the moment and would probably welcome the opportunity to escape prison, don a disguise and flee to Hawaii, we found our discovery highly amusing). Nicole and I thoroughly enjoyed our first daiquiris, so we ordered two more. But the next batch was disgusting! I watered mine down and still couldn't stomach it. I finally realized that the bartender had goofed, concocting a margarita instead of a daiquiri -- and ever since a certain embarrassing New Year's Eve incident a few year's ago (and No, I won't provide the details!), I can't touch tequila. So I had the drink replaced and enjoyed my new one greatly.

Meanwhile, a local yokel kept trying to start a conversation with Nicole and I, and we kept trying to avoid one. But he was persistant (and quite drunk), so we eventually caved in. Before we finally escaped him (I think his name was Andy or Randy), he somehow managed to get our addresses and phone numbers. I fudged my number, but Nicole gave her real one, and she is now terrified that he'll actually call. After ditching Andy/Randy when he went to the bathroom, Nicole and I went to another bar called Lewer's Apex. It was memorable only for the free popcorn.

Finally, Nicole and I decided to go back to the hostel. I suggested we take the path along Waikiki Beach, outwardly claiming that I had never seen it (which was true enough) and inwardly hoping it would set a romantic mood -- a moonlit Hawaiian beach seemed the perfect setting to steal a kiss (if I could ever get up the guts to confess my attraction and make a move, that is). The walk was indeed perfect: we strolled along the coastline and sat on a rocky atoll watching the shimmering Pacific and listening to the waves gently break against the shore. Just as my courage was building up, a light rain began to fall -- which quickly turned into a gushing downpour. We sought shelter under the nearest palm tree (boy, did she look good soaked). We huddled together for protection, our faces thisclose, and then . . . nothing. I was immobilized by anxiety and indecision, and the moment passed. The rain let up, and we walked home.

We said our goodbyes at the entrance to the hostel (a somewhat awkward one as so much inside me remained unsaid), and then I pecked Nicole on the cheek. As she departed, I was crestfallen. Even though I was going to see her again tomorrow morning (Nicole and I were sharing a limo ride to the airport), I knew I'd blown my chance. Oh well, we'd exchanged addresses and she lives in New York, so who knows?