Buoyancy

   What a word, "snorkel." Should be said with a nerdy sniff and a finger to push one's spectacles back onto the bridge of one's nose. Wholly unrepresentative of the elegant activity it is. The first time I snorkeled I felt like a mermaid (snorkelmaid, excuse me). A graceful, heaven-hued world had opened beyond the curtain of waves, populated by creatures from the brightest part of the crayon box, attending spongey abodes and crunching on the marrow of the ocean. To this revelation our language has awarded a comical term reminiscent of "snout" and "snore." Fortunately it is unmistakable in conversation with a native Balinese speaker.
   Our first endeavor into Bali snorkel-maiding took us from Lovina to Manjangan Island, on the north coast. An hour long drive in the front of a van, complete with customary near misses from mopeds and small trucks going both directions, flanked by rising jungle hills, bright green rice fields, and the usual temples, stores, houses and warungs.
   On trips like these, Barbara and I joyfully realize that we have no idea what's next. We find ourselves standing with a group of Europeans, looking at a questionable wooden boat, thinking, is this what we're getting into? The demeanor and roof of a tour boat, the skin of a dinghy, and a taciturn captain guiding us across the water with one outboard motor. In other words, my kind of transportation. By afternoon the sunlight speared into the water, lacing the coral, disappearing into the depths, drawing a deep blue from our homeward wake.
   Returning with the buoyancy that only saltwater can bring, Barbara and I have been faithful to this gawkily-titled activity ever since. Here in Amed, as with Pemuteran, coral and fish are ready for exploration just at the other end of the beach. Today we trolled around a rocky point as clouds bunched up over Gili Island and wind chipped at big comfy rollers. We watched the sand stir beneath and the fish flick around in the high tide current.
   From below, the waves have an entirely different texture, a film of white sky constantly buckling. As I watched leaves float by in this bending firmament, I realized one was not a leaf but more like a walnut, and that attached to it was a crab. A small red crab, clinging with two legs, pincers tucked under its chin, upside down, reminding me of a hot air balloon as he bobbed in the waves. Not a bad way to travel.