Suzanne gets certified in Mexico

March 15, 2009, Cozumel, Mexico

[All the pics in this entry were taken by me except the ones OF me, of course]

Signed up to do my open water referral dives. You can’t spit and miss a dive shop in Cozumel, so I went with the one I could see from the window of the condo. (Why not?) Love the nice guy who ran it—Juan Carlos. This pic is from the balcony of our condo at El Cid la Ceiba. The little hut looking thing behind me is the dive shop.

On Friday and Saturday I had tasted what was in store with a lovely bit of snorkeling outside of Hotel Fontan (our first hotel). It was amazing—at least half a dozen different kinds of fish wandering around right next to you. Someone threw some bread in the water near Nancy and I and we got a lovely swarm to take pictures of. Drawbacks? Stuck at the surface and accidently sucked in water when a wave hit my snorkel wrong. EEE—yuck!! Time for SCUBA, Baby! Showed up at the dive shop Sunday morning and waited. And waited. After an hour Ricardo showed up. He couldn’t have been more of a stereotype. Shorter than me, longish wavy hair, unnecessarily tight boy short speedo, and slick. He was all business and very serious.

I wasn’t the only student. An 19-ish year old islander was there, too, and she had never dived before—not even in the pool. I had to listen to the whole spiel again—in Spanish this time—but I’ve heard the first dive stuff so much I knew exactly what he was saying.

We strapped on our equipment, and Ricky DOUBLED the weights (“Salt water make you float, senorita”). Then we had to lug the stuff on our backs across the beach past the sunbathers so we could take the easy steps into the water. Gee, that’s not embarrassing or anything.

Not 3 minutes into the dive Ricky stopped us and pointed to what looked like an orange tag attached to a little bit of plant. I figured it was for teaching purposes—like a “notice this plant… do not touch” kind of thing, but when I got closer I realized it was….[drum roll]… a sea horse!! It was SO cool!!

A roped off area in front of the resort—El Cid la Ceiba—held all sorts of fascinating critters. Between the two shore dives and a LOT of snorkeling with Nancy I must have seen several dozens kinds of fish and things.

We ventured deeper—I had to repeat all the skills. I have decided that scuba class is like taking driver’s ed—if in driver’s ed they made you be the crash test dummy. 8 times.

Eventually we wandered past a plane wreck that’s somewhat famous… it’s in parts now with all the hurricanes and things. Ricky pointed out an eel hiding underneath the wings. Cool! Too bad he didn’t show up on the photo… maybe he’s a vampire eel. If you aren’t jealous yet, wait ‘til I tell you about Palancar and Yucab!!

Do you know the way to find Jose? (la la la la la la)

I went to the dive shop to pick up my referral form for my open water dives in Cozumel, and as usual there was an assortment of groupies hanging around with Zen and Smiley.

I managed to get Zen to sign the right forms, but I wanted to know which dive shops he recommended I go to. He told me they were all probably good.

What? Umm... not what I wanted to hear.

I asked Zen who he usually went through, and Smiley answered, "Jose."

"Great," I said, "It should be easy to find some guy named 'Jose' in Mexico." That at least got me a laugh from the groupies.

"Tell them you're with A___ Dive Shop, and they'll find Jose for you."

Are you serious? I KNOW the island isn't that small.

As if reading my mind Smiley said, "We were there once and almost went out with another dive master. They found out we were from A___, and they said that Jose was our guy-- and went and got him."

Then Zen remembered, "He's with Paradise Dive." Now we're getting somewhere.

"But there's about 10 Paradise Dive Shops in Cozumel." Oh, crap. Why do I feel like I'm in an Abbott and Costello routine?

"I'm sure the guys at your resort will be fine."

I'm starting to agree. Just for kicks, though, I'm going to ask for Jose.

On my A game

Ladies and Gents,

I got me an A on the final written exam for scuba. Oh yeah!

Kickin' back

Here's a pic of my instructor (aka "Zen").

2 seconds under water...

It's a lame video, but you can hear me breathing in it... tee hee.

Ta-da!

Self portrait-- no idea why I'm so bug-eyed!

Suz vs. the wetsuit

So I guess my sub-conscious decided I hadn't done anything embarrassing for awhile, so I had to make up for it. Stupid sub-conscious. But THAT didn’t happen until after I got out of the pool tonight…

It all started Sunday morning when I innocently decided it was time to try the wetsuit on again. (You might recall I had a bit o' trouble getting the thing zipped up before). Well, lo and behold, glory halleluiah, go tell it on the mountain, the thing zipped on Sunday. (Woo hoo!!)

So naturally today when I was getting ready for my pool dive I was tempted to try the wetsuit. I had plenty of time, so I shimmied on into the sucker and took a hard look in the mirror. Who doesn’t like basic black?

But I thought about the fact that if I took the thing off I may not be able to maneuver into it in a locker room filled with a gaggle of onlookers. So I decided I’d just throw some clothes over it and drive there with the suit on.

Have I mentioned that wetsuits are meant to keep you warm? And that since mine is a full suit it goes to my ankles, up to my neck, and clear to my wrists? And that it was in the 70 degree range today here in St. George? Yup, I was plenty warm, especially once I’d put the sweats and the sweatshirt on top of the suit.

Another lovely effect of neoprene is restriction of movement. Try loading your gear and getting into a car in a really really tight 3mm thick rubber suit. It should count as resistance training.

On the way to the pool the thought occurred to me that I’d be in real trouble should I blow out the zipper in my suit, but at that point I was committed. And pretty much holding my breath. And sweating. Real cute, I’m tellin’ ya.’ I thought as I drove that I’d better pay attention to whether or not I still had circulation in my hands and feet, since I was wearing what amounted to a giant tourniquet.

I got to the pool and think I made it to the locker room unnoticed. I dropped the sweats and ditched the sweatshirt and took a hard look in the mirror. I almost chickened out twice. I mean, it’s sort of an odd thing to wander into a city pool in a wetsuit. I started to unzip then talked myself out of it.

I trudged out and had to wait, alone, for everyone else to show up. Zen is always late, and I don’t seem to have figured that out yet. Sure enough, plenty of people stared and I thought again about ditching the suit—I even walked back to the locker room—but just then Nice Girl from Thursday showed up, and I’d been caught.

Guess what wetsuits do in water? They float. First thing Zen did when he saw me was tell me to jump in the water and feel what the suit would do. It was awesome. I felt like I had a head to toe life jacket on. It was so cool. I floated around giggling, while Zen had this serious look on his face. It was then that I remembered that one needs to SINK in order to scuba. Dang. He loaded me down with weight after weight until I started to sink when I held my breath.

Underwater was a whole new trippy experience. Every part of me wanted to float and the stupid collar of the suit kept me from being able to move my head much. The weights worked, of course, but if they shifted at all it would throw my balance off and I’d end up floating sideways.

I did a couple more skills—more buoyancy practice since the wetsuit and weights messed me up—and one where Zen shut the air off on my tank so I could feel what it was like to run out of air. I thought that one would freak me out, but it really didn’t. I take that as a good sign.

Even better I asked Zen what I have left to do before he can give me the referral for my open water dives in Mexico, and he told me—drum roll, please-- just to bring the paperwork to the shop. I was WAY excited. I am trying not to think about the fact that there are at least a dozen things the book mentions that Zen hasn’t asked me to do. Him’s the pro, I is just the student. I’m goin’ with whatever the man says. I’m going to the pool one last time tomorrow to make sure I’ve got things squared away but then… I’M DONE!!

I got out of the pool, rather pleased with myself, and marched my tightly-constricted suited up self into the locker room. Cool thing about wetsuits: they trap a bit of water next to your skin and then your body heats up the water. So when I got out of the pool I could feel the water draining out, and it was HOT!!

Once in the locker room I unzipped and fwoosh, out popped my bubbies. I tried to pull one sleeve down but it was suctioned to my arm. No prob, I thought, I’ll just shimmy out of the shoulders and roll it off my bod. Shimmy shimmy and sure enough, it was off the shoulders and rolled down the arms. At least, it rolled as far as the elbow, at which point it stopped, effectively tying my arms behind my back. Yes, that’s right ARMS BOUND BEHIND MY BACK from the elbows to the wrists.

Tied up, and not in a good way, mind you. So I did little circles and struggled like Houdini over a shark tank, all the while praying that no one would come into the locker room and see this odd person bound in neoprene. I considered rubbing up against the lockers to get the thing moving down, but I couldn’t get a good angle. Then I considered calling for help. The thought of having to be freed from one’s own wetsuit was motivation enough to redouble my efforts.

Mercifully the suction on one arm gave way and I was able to get out of the suit, but I’m telling you, that’s an instrument of torture, right there. The wetsuit is hanging in my bathroom drying as I write this, and every time I walk by I imagine the thing is jeering at me. The wetsuit won, after all.

Perhaps it won’t be going to Cozumel with me. Stupid wetsuit.