Dolphins, Rainbows, and Pyschic Diarrhea, Oh My!

It’s not that I really think that I’m psychic, but sometimes I’ll say or think or dream something before it happens. It’s times like this that I think I should buy a lottery ticket, but my number-choosing prowess has so far eluded me. My sometimes psychic ability is the last story of our craptacular Belize vacation.

After one day in Ambergris Caye, we moved to Caye Caukler, a neighboring island which also boasts excellent diving and snorkeling, but is more laid back. In fact, Caye Cauker’s official motto is “Go slow.” In the 6 days we were on the island, we saw 4 cars; most people travel the 3 sand streets (Front, Main, and Back) by bicycle or golf cart.

One of the reasons we went to Belize was its reputation for excellent scuba diving, and on Monday and Tuesday we were finally able to take advantage of it. Although I’ve been a certified diver for a few years, Matt had never gone diving before, so he began the certification process, completing his required skills in the water, diving with an instructor, and reading the PADI book.

Wednesday morning was sunny and beautiful—just the day we had been waiting for. Although Matt needed one more day of diving in order to complete his certification, we decided to relax on the beach on Wednesday and spend Thursday, our last full day on the island, doing our last dives. I almost told Matt to just finish up his dives on Wednesday *just in case* something happened, but I figured everything would be fine. I was wrong.

While we strolled down the front street on Wednesday, we were bombarded by calls from every guy or woman standing in front of shacks boasting snorkeling tours. While Matt politely told everyone we’d think about their offers, I began to concoct excuses to get us away from them. “Let’s tell them you can’t control your bowels—then they wouldn’t want you on their boat!” I cried, thinking I was hilarious.

That night we enjoyed lobsters on the beach, looking forward to the dives on Thursday at Turneff Reef, the reported best diving spot off the islands. Thursday morning I was awakened to my boyfriend’s sad, urgent whisper of, “There’s something wrong with me—I’ve been having diarrhea all morning.” Oh God. Damn the ice in the rum and coke that came with our dinner. Damn the last-day curse of this crappy vacation. Damn my unreliable psychic ability!

Leaving him with hot tea, Saltines, Pepto-Bismol, and the Sudoku book, at 9 I headed off to the dive shop. Although I was disappointed that Matt couldn’t join me or finish his certification, I wasn’t going to sit out the last day of diving. Right before we left, it started raining. The cold, hard, grey rain didn’t let up, which meant that I spent the 45 minutes it took to reach Turneff Island cold, shivering, wet, and regretting my decision. Everything changed, however, once we got in the water. As promised, the diving was amazing—the coral was beautiful, there were a plethora of colorful, amazing fish, and I saw a turtle, crabs, and eels. And even better? After we were done and on the way back to the island, a dolphin jumped out of the water. Then another. So our boat driver turned the boat around and suddenly there were 20, 30, 40 dolphins playing around and jumping out of the water. We grabbed our masks and snorkels and jumped in to swim with them. The best dive spot and a swimming with dolphins. Could we get any luckier? Yes—I looked up, marveling at the dive, reveling in the sun and was rewarded with a rainbow.

Matt met me at the dock, looking a little green, but at least he was able to venture away from the bathroom. “How was it?” he asked.

“Oh my God, it was amazing!” I gushed. “The dives were awesome and then we ran into a pod of dolphins and we all jumped all the boat to swim with them and then there was a rainbow….” I started laughing when I realized how ridiculous I sounded. “And then we went to the chocolate factory,” I continued.

“With the leprechauns and the unicorns?” he asked.

“You got it.”