Coastal Voyager

Swimming with whale sharks at the Georgia Aquarium

My mother, sister, nephew and I visited the Georgia Aquarium, the largest aquarium in the world, after it first opened in Atlanta several years ago. We all were impressed with its many colorful and educational marinelife displays. The aquarium has numerous unique exhibits such as Tropical Diver, a reef system chockful of neon bright fish and the occasional crashing wave.

But the big "Wow!" moment came as we rounded a wall in one of the exhibits and unexpectedly came upon the aquarium's 61-foot-wide-by 23-foot-tall Ocean Voyager viewing window. We gaped through the towering acrylic window and saw mighty whale sharks swimming in the rich blue water at the top of the 6.3-million-gallon tank.

Schools of tarpon, pompano and cownose rays as well as individual zebra sharks, sawfish, leopard whiprays, bowmouth guitarfish and humphead wrasses swam below. Time stood still as we stared and marveled at the sea creatures that swam and floated before us.

Afterwards I often thought back to the spectacle of that viewing window, which still is one of my most memorable experiences as an avid snorkeler and aquarium aficionado. When I learned several months ago that it was possible to snorkel or dive in the Ocean Voyager tank through the aquarium's Journey with Gentle Giants program, I jumped at the chance.

Was I worried about the sharks in the tank? Although whale sharks grow to be 25 to 35 feet long or longer they eat plankton. And the other sharks are fed daily so they aren't a threat I'd been told by aquarium officials. As I've seen a number of non-aggressive sharks in open water while snorkeling and diving, I didn't give it too much thought.

I arrived early at the aquarium before my session so I'd have several hours to be mesmerized by Pacific sea nettles, leafy sea dragons, lionfish and other freaky wonders of the water world. One of my favorite stops at the aquarium is the 100-foot-long underwater acrylic tunnel under the Ocean Voyager tank. There's something delightful about seeing hundreds of fish swimming above your head.

Before the swim my group was given an orientation, then we suited up in the locker room at the top of the tank. Although all swimmers are issued an airtank and regulator, they can opt just to use their snorkel, which was my preference as it's quieter. We entered the water one by one then our swim across the surface of the tank began.

Soon we were joined by four huge whale sharks and two large manta rays swimming alongside and just under us. I was soon entranced by the quiet of the deep, the sweeping tails and fins and undulating shapes of the creatures near us, and the cornucopia of fishes below. The wide expanse of one whale shark's spotted body slowly moved just beneath me and I became hypnotized by the multitude of white circular shapes that seemed to have been softly spray-painted on a gray ground.

Occasionally I glanced way down at the bottom of the tank just behind our group and would see a hammerhead shark cocking his head up and eyeing us. I felt he was particularly looking at me, and that made me a bit nervous. But then I would just reassure myself and turn my attention back to my bliss, the hauntingly quiet blue and the strange marvels inhabiting it.

In search of my perfect beach

I have to say in all honesty that I've never seen a beach I didn't like. By their very nature, water meeting land, beaches delight me. Whether they be sugar white or tawny, sandy or rocky with calm, crystal clear or churning, dark water, I find them inspiring. Always on a beach I feel a sense of wonder. The beach is my church, my mosque, my synagogue.

But my perfect beach. That is a thing all together different. It's more of a concept than a reality, bits and pieces pulled from all the amazing beaches I've ever seen. Perhaps impossible to find, like the perfect man or woman.

I'm sure you too have your own concept of your perfect beach. For my mother, the perfect beach would be of the Gulf Coast variety. When I lived near the Atlantic Ocean in the Cocoa Beach area, she only visited once, pooh-poohing our long, gray beaches and turbid waters.

My concept of the perfect beach is a bit like the images of deserted Caribbean beaches in those classic Corona beer commercials. The camera lingers on the glowing turquoise waters, blue sky, white sand and green palms. The only sound is from the waves and the Corona.

Usually, no matter how spectacular a beach is, there are small distractions or annoyances. Like the gorgeous beach at the Dominican Republic all-inclusive resort that was covered in hundreds of sunbathers. Sometimes it's jellyfish or lumps of seaweed that detracts, sometimes its a rocky entrance into the water, sometimes rough waves or dangerous currents. Being an optimist, I tend to focus on the beauty, feeling very blessed to be on a beach.

Part of what defines a beach as perfect for me is being able to walk out of my door and it be there. And I should the only one or one of the only ones there. Probably that idea was etched in my mind as a child because the budget mom-and-pop hotel we stayed in on the outskirts of Panama City Beach each year provided that. And the sand should be near white and the water crystal clear. Check off two more for early childhood memories.

But the neon turquoise water color I crave? That hit my wish list the first time I visited the Caribbean. I was in my early 30s and on assignment to track down some builders who had run off to St. Croix after pocketing an elderly couple's cash. When I saw the colors of that island's waters I became obsessed, and forever changed. That's what happens when you come across one of your favorite things in all the world for the first time.

Recently I had the good fortune to come across a beach that is as close to perfection as I've ever found, the beach at Lighthouse Bay Resort in Barbuda. The small luxury resort itself is on a miles-long ridge of sand sandwiched between the Caribbean and Codrington Lagoon. The lagoon and most of the land around it are in a protected wildlife area, so realistically the resort is only accessible by taking a boat across the lagoon.

Because summer is the low season in Barbuda, I was only one of three guests staying at the resort, and the only people in the vacinity were a couple on a catamaran anchored a mile down the beach. Every time I walked on the beach or swam in the warm Caribbean waters I was blissfully alone, hearing only the sound of the wind and the sea.

The pristine beach goes on for miles in each direction for as far as the eye can see, just sand and low-lying vegetation. And that sand, tinged a golden pink, is powder soft to the feet. Flecks of pink coral decorate the beach in slender bands at water's edge.

The water itself is a crystal clear turquoise with a lake-like calm. Floating in the gently undulating water there is reassuring. You feel yourself lifted up as if by the hands of God.

I want to burn the sights, sounds and sensations of that beach deep into my memory, forever remembering the mystic being in those perfect moments ...

Is the search for my perfect beach over? No, far from it. The standard's just been raised.

As my Dad used to quote from Tenneyson's Ulysses: "... all experience is an arch wherethrough gleams that untravelled world, whose margin fades for ever and for ever when I move."

The joy of seafood: Discovering Dungeness crab on Fisherman's Wharf in San Francisco

Part of what makes traveling to coastal regions so rewarding is having the opportunity to enjoy the fresh local seafood. Recently I had my first mouth-watering taste of Dungeness crab in San Francisco. Now I know why the species is called Cancer magister, "master crab."

I had a feeling the big red crabs I saw cooking outside of Nick's Lighthouse on Fisherman's Wharf were going to be something special. Folks were sitting on nearby benches with paper baskets heaped up with legs and claws or fried calamari, munching happily. My friend had spied them as we wandered along the wharf and suggested we check out Nick's.

We decided to go inside the cozy restaurant filled with well-worn burgandy vinyl booths and historic maritime memorabilia. Nick's opened in 1934, and it doesn't look like it's changed much in all those years. Fortunately we timed our visit right, as there was an empty booth for us.

While my friend ordered the fried calamari, I opted for an order of the crabs. The $27 price tag for a full crab and salad convinced me to go for half a crab at $13.99. After all, I had to save a few dollars to try the local beer, Anchor Steam.

We chomped on a basket of sour dough bread and waited, wondering if the seafood in this tourist-area restaurant we picked on the suggestion of nobody was any good. When the waiter brought in my glistening crab pieces with nutcracker and a tiny fork, I asked what I should dip it in. "Most people eat it plain," he said, so I took his advice.

After the first bite I knew I'd made a mistake opting for the half crab, because the crab was so fresh, sweet, tender and moist that it would have been worth every penny at twice the price. My friend also enjoyed her calamari, which I tasted. It was some of the freshest calamari with the best breading I've ever put in my mouth.

When I asked the waiter about the crab, he said it was Dungeness crab, which is found in the Bay Area. Later I learned the range of my new favorite crab is from Santa Cruz, Calif., just south of San Francisco, to the Aleutian Islands in Alaska. It's named for the town of Dungeness, Wash. Fortunately my visit fell within crab season, which runs from mid-November to May.

The 8- to 10-inch-wide Dungeness crab has a meat-to-shell ratio of about 25 percent, much higher than the typical 15 percent ratio of other crabs. Always before I had thought eating crab was a lot of work for little payoff, and had preferred crab dishes over eating the crab right out of its home.

The legs and claws of the Dungeness holds much of its meat. Sometimes it's good to have big legs!

Reflecting on the white roofs of Bermuda

You can't visit Bermuda without noticing the white roofs on the homes, be they cottages or mansions. The  consistency of the pastel-walled houses topped by pitched white roofs is charming and picturesque. Especially because the roads on the carefully landscaped island are often winding.

On the drive to Cambridge Beaches Resort I asked my taxi driver why all the roofs were white. He explained that it was to reflect the heat in part, but also the painted, slab-stepped limestone roofs were constructed and treated for the collection of rain water. The water runs down the roof to concrete troughs that channel the water into pipes that lead to a cistern for collecting and storing the water under the house.

I learned later that the roofs are periodically treated with bleach (about once every two years) and then coated with a cement and acrylic blend that includes a fungicide. Historically the roofs were lime washed.

How clever, I thought. Why don't we use that technique everywhere? I remembered at this point that cisterns were big in Florida during the early pioneer days. The old sugar plantations often have them, and vestiges of them remain in historic homes. They were used in other states as well.

Why don't we collect water from our roofs today? Probably for the same reason most of us don't hang out our laundry anymore. It works, but it's more trouble and time consuming. Bermudians don't have a choice because water resources are limited. As Florida and other states struggle with water shortages, who knows, cisterns on the mainland may come back into vogue.

Bermuda doesn't totally rely on its cisterns I learned when I returned home. While the cisterns easily supply the residents' water needs during most of the year, the summer high season brings a tourist influx that outstrips supply. During such times water from deep wells is trucked around the island.

I have to say I was a bit hesitant about drinking the water before I was assured by residents that it was perfectly safe, and that tourists can drink it without ill effect. It tastes perfectly fine, and there's something special about knowing you're drinking water that has been naturally processed by evaporation and condensation.

Getting the bounce back in my step in Bermuda

Just was talking to Dr. Lana Staheli, PhD, a Seattle-based life strategies coach, for a story I'm doing on life coaching for a health magazine. I met her several weeks ago at Cambridge Beaches Resort in Bermuda.

Our interview reminded me how much has changed in my life because of my "life balance" retreat with her at the secluded, luxurious oceanfront resort. One of the biggest new developments is my launching this Coastal Voyager website to share my journeys in a personal way on an ongoing basis. I'm also planning to hit the road intensely beginning in August for a tour of the coastal U.S. and Canada with the goal of gathering material for my first book. I'll still be visiting the Caribbean and other coastal international destinations as well. You can follow my travels here.

Before my visit to Bermuda I was floundering a bit wondering about what new strategies I needed to employ in the down economy to kick-start my freelance business. Like other journalists and freelancers I know, my pocketbook has been hit hard by the recession. It's become ever more difficult to maintain an apartment, and frustrating to make those monthly payments because I'm often on the road on travel assignments anyway.

Talking with Dr. Staheli on the beach in Bermuda, looking at where I was and where I wanted to be, I got a whole new perspective on my life. My biggest lesson was that in my obsession with trying to make more money I wasn't taking the time to refresh and replenish myself with activities like walking and getting together with friends. Because I have gained some weight in the last few years, only allowing myself two or three days a week to exercise was keeping me from taking the weight off.

Dr. Staheli helped me see that all that work, work, work was counterproductive and to come up with an action plan, which I started putting into play at Cambridge Beaches. Walking more when I came home to Orlando ended up being the key that unlocked the idea of Coastal Voyager in my mind and gave me the inspiration for my new mission. And walking more is helping me take off the weight slowly but surely.

Her coaching turned around my idea of being forced to put all my stuff in storage to wanting to pare down to my most essential possessions and storing them while I travel. I'll be staying with family and friends between my trips.

When I talked to my About.com editor about the idea, she loved it, and mentioned that I was becoming unstuck. "What do you mean?" I asked. She had just read the National Geographic Traveler magazine ombudsman Christopher Elliot's April 13 MSNBC travel column on "What's the secret to an endless vacation? Nine tips for becoming a 'new' nomad" In it he talks about people who are responding to this crazy economy by traveling full time. He's even planning his own extended trip with his family next year!

Dr. Staheli believes this economy is helping nudge many of her clients to reinvent themselves. Changing ourselves periodically is energizing and enriching whether it comes from either an internal impetus like a desire to do something different or an external one, like the economy. Her book Bounce Be Transformed, which is available to be ordered or for free download on her site, will tell you how you can reinvent yourself for the better. She'll be back at Cambridge Beaches to lead another weekend retreat next March.

As for my journey, more to come!

Snorkeling off the beach in Curacao: Making my way back

My first visit to Lodge Kura Hulanda in Curacao two years ago was brief, so I didn't snorkel off the beach. I lusted to see what was under the surface of those brilliant turquoise waters, and I felt in my heart I had to come back. The desire to snorkel there beckoned to me almost like a siren's song.

To tell the truth I could have plunged in the first time, but I had just been on boat excursion, and I was exhausted, and the reef line looked pretty far out, at least a football field. I would have had to swim out there by myself. So I just promised myself I'd be back another time.

Here I was again at the Lodge Kura Hulanda and it was a perfect day, and the water was even more beautiful and calm than I remembered. I got fins from the dive shop and headed to the beach with my snorkel and mask. A girl in my group said she was coming as well, and told me she was an avid diver and a former life guard. Great, a good dive buddy. "You should always snorkel with a buddy," my inner parent cooed with approval.

I started to see bait fish early on as I swam through the shallow waters heading deeper, and then there were some reef patches with some nice parrot fish, damsel fish and sargeant majors. But I wanted to see what was out farther, so I kept swimming as did my bud. A few more patches and the water turned a deep crystal-clear blue as it dropped off fairly precipitously.

Big schools of fish swam close to the surface and beneath them was reef for as far as the eye could see. The visability was at least 150 feet, and I was entranced by the abundance of coral and fish down below. Hmmm, it's probably this good or better in Bonaire, Curacao's sister island, I thought. No wonder divers are gaga about Bonaire. Suddenly I saw a flickering school of fish swimming in a circular swarm below. Swirling and swirling in a lovely vortex.

I made myself to remember periodically to check to see where my buddy was because we were exploring according to our own inclinations. As I was became ever more entranced she popped up near me and said she was going in. Not enough excitement for her, I thought.

But I was getting a bit drunk on the beauty of it all, and after she left, I got the notion to explore farther along the deep reefline paralleling the beach. It's easy to be seduced into following fish and going from one spectacle to the next, especially when you're not with a buddy. I wasn't concerned. I could see the beach, and some divers had surfaced not too, too far away.

But then I came up and noticed I was drifting far to the left of the beach and was in front of the Indian cliffs. In fact I noticed a strong current pulling me farther out. I better head back, I thought. I tried to swim directly back parallel to the beach but the current was so strong that I couldn't make much progress. I even tried swimming toward the cliffs, but that was difficult as well. When I floated, the current took me yet farther out toward the left and toward the deep sea. No one was anywhere near.

Oh no, I thought. This isn't very smart. How did I get in this situation? The Caribbean waters had looked so flat, so deceptively calm. Then it occurred to me: It's possible that the current may pull me so far out into the sea that I will eventually tire of keeping myself afloat and drown. I felt highly alert and a bit numb.

The more I thought about the negative possibilities, the more my heart began to race. "This is no time to panic," I directed myself, squelching a momentary urge to freak out. "That would be the worst thing you could do." Let me think about what I have heard about undertows, about not fighting them, about going along the path of least resistence.

What if I swim through the current at an angle? Not the easiest thing to do, but I did make some progress. Okay, I thought. I've got to focus. I've got to bear down and kick and stroke steadily. So that's what I did. And I pushed and pushed myself, not stopping because I knew I'd lose my progress. And before long I could see the sand was not too, too far beneath me. And I knew I'd soon be able to stand. And then I spied a large mound of dead coral, like a chunk of rock, and swam toward it, and stood on it and breathed heavily until I caught my breath.

What a relief! After I rested I swam back to some reef patches I'd seen near the shore. I spent a good 20 minutes more floating around the patches following the movements of squirrel fish, hog fish and other brightly colored fish. After the high anxiety of a few moments before, watching the marine creatures was powerfully calming.

Snorkeling has always been my sanctuary. The graceful movements of marine life, the dance of light in the water, the feeling of being buoyed up in the water hypnotises. When I'm snorkeling I feel I am flying along the edge of the sky and the sea. I am so very close to God.

Life has it's close calls, and every one of them is a lesson. I'm grateful I made my way back to Curacao to snorkel, and even more grateful I made my way back from snorkeling.

The oldest synagogue in the Western Hemisphere

From the outside, the Mikve Israel - Emanuel Synagogue looks much like all the other 18th century Dutch colonial buildings in Willemstad, Curacao, a UNESCO World Heritage Site. It's a cheerful yellow with white trim and a red-tile roof. You wouldn't guess it's a place of worship, or suspect it's the oldest synagogue in the Western Hemisphere.

Mikve Isreal - Emanuel can claim that title because it's the oldest synagogue still standing that has has been continuously used for religious services. It was built in 1730 by a Sephardic Jewish community that had relocated to Curacao from Amsterdam.

As I always am intrigued by houses of worship whether they be Christian, Jewish, Moslem or whatever, I made a point to visit the synagogue and the adjacent Jewish Historical Museum.

After paying an admission fee I first visited the synagogue, which I had heard had a sand floor. The biggest surprise was the contrast of the simple sand with the regally appointed sanctuary. It features imposing white columns and rich mahogany pews, theba (reader's platform) and hekhal (holy ark where the Torah is kept),  accented with tall brass candlesticks and huge brass chandeliers.

Something about the humble sand and the glory of all above it brought tears to my eyes. I slipped off my clogs and put my feet in the cool sand, then drank in all the beauty around me.

Afterwards I visited the museum, first passing through a small courtyard with replicas of delicately carved tombstones from a historic Jewish cemetery. Within the museum I was surprised to see how ornate the historic religious objects and vestments of the rabbi were. It made me think of Catholicism and Orthodox Christian churches I've seen. Later I read the early community had been influenced by the Catholicism of its Portuguese homeland.

Again I was reminded of the similarities of religions back to the time before the pharohs. Having grown up in a ultra-plain Protestant church I will always be intrigued by other religion's rituals and artifacts. What's beautiful creates bliss and a spiritual state of mind.

Breakfast with a yellow belly

I had just finished eating breakfast in the courtyard garden at the Astrolab Observatory Restaurant at Kura Hulanda Hotel in Curacao when I noticed a small yellow-bellied bird fly down to the vacant table across from me. It was hopping and chirping in the most delightful fashion.

Seeing it sweetened my enjoyment of sipping my tea in the tree-canopied Indian marble garden. Already I was feeling serene after listening to the continuous gurgling of the cross-shaped fountain next to me and watching the play of morning sunlight on its marble and water.

Suddenly the bird stuck it's beak into the sugar-pack holder and brought out a brown pack of brown sugar. After just a moment's hesitation it sprung off the table and flew up to a long tree limb just directly above and in front of me. "What a trick" I thought to myself, but I wondered what on Earth the bird was going to do with a closed pack of sugar.

Then the bird lodged the pack between the limb and a small branch growing out of it, and then quickly jabbed it's beak into the pack and withdrew some sugar. After swallowing, the bird stuck it's beak in again. After repeating the proceedure several times, the bird pecked hard to get any remaining grains out of the pack. The pack was dislodged and fell out of the tree to the courtyard below.

"Did you see that bird grab that sugar pack and eat it in the tree!" I said as if I had just witnessed the second coming.

My waitress shook her head and said "No, but they like sugar." A man dining across from me smiled but didn't say anything. I asked her what the bird's name was, and she said "It's 'barika hel,' which means 'yellow belly' in Papiamento, but I don't know the real name is in English."

After she left the man next to me said in a slight Dutch accent "It's a bananaquit. They are very common on Curacao."

"Well, they must be very smart," I said, and he smiled and nodded.

I continued to drink my tea, savor the garden and watch the bird. The bananaquit garden is now etched in my mind as a virtual retreat like other serene corners of Kura Hulanda Hotel. Such places of peace (sometimes found on land and more frequently under the sea) are my touchstones for calm. They are my churches, where I feel the force of the universe, which I call God.

After I got home I learned the yellow-bellied bananaquit is nicknamed "the sugar bird" and lives throughout most of the West Indies, Mexico and even in South Florida. It can use its beak to pierce a flower from the side to take its nectar. So piercing a sugar pack is all in a day's work for my favorite little yellow belly.

Finding the world in Curacao

My recent return to Curacao, more specifically Willemstad, a UNESCO World Heritage Site, allowed me to understand a little better the Caribbean island I just got a taste of on my first trip two years ago.

Curacao, sister island of Aruba, is home to 45 different ethnic groups from across the world. Natives of the island typically speak at least four languages fluently (Papiaments, Dutch, English and Spanish). Even the waterfront business district of Curacao's capital, Willemstad, is a rainbow of colors.

I originally visited Curacao for Carnival, and had the opportunity to march in one of the festival's parades. There's something about dancing down the road with a group of people from milky-white to espresso-brown celebrating together. I had such a healing, inspiring "We are the World" feeling that even now brings back fond memories.

While in Willemstad on my first visit I had the opportunity to tour Museum Kura Hulanda, an anthropological museum that explores the several of the primary cultures of Curacao. The museum was created by Jacob Gelt Dekker, owner of the adjacent Kura Hulanda hotel. One of the most in-depth areas of the museum chronicles the African slave trade, showing how much of the world either participated in it or was affected by it, and still is.

Formerly the grounds of the museum and the hotel were the site of slave trading on the island. But instead of silently ringing with the cries of inhumane treatment Africans experienced there, the place resonates with a great peace. Perhaps that's because its past has not be forgotten and its present is filled with beauty and a giving spirit. Dekker, a global entrepreneur and traveler, has founded many organizations that assist the children of Curacao, Africa and many other countries across the world.

His hotel, Kura Hulanda Hotel, a series of restored Dutch colonial homes, cobblestone streets and lush, green courtyards is a place of such peace and beauty, that I yearned to stay there when I first visited the museum and grounds. I was thrilled when the opportunity to do so recently came my way.

The several days I recently spent there filled me with peace and reinvigorated my spirit. In addition to taking the shuttle out to the sister property, Kura Hulanda Resort, for some oceanside pleasures, including snorkeling, I primarily spent my time relaxing at the boutique hotel and walking in Willemstad.

There's something wonderful about cozying up with a biography of Charles Darwin in a reading chair in a room that was built around the same time Darwin lived. (The only thing more relaxing was the massage I received in the spa.) Times I wanted to connect with my present, I took my laptop out to one of the property's many courtyards or al fresco cafes and chatted with friends via Facebook.

One of the high points of my trip was meeting Dekker and talking to him about some of his projects, including the medical diagnostic facility he's planning for Kura Hulanda. That operation will complement the dialysis center he also operates adjacent to the hotel. After talking to him I felt like I'd met a true Highlander, an immortal who has lived and touched many lives.

When I was younger I felt little to nothing was being done to help the downtrodden of the world, but I have become more optimistic. As I have lived I have been fortunate to meet people like Dekker, with both resources and desire, who are making a huge difference. But all of us can make some difference. Even if it seems small to me or you, it's huge to the person who is helped.

Lyrics of We are the World
by Michael Jackson and Lionel Ritchie

There comes a time
When we heed a certain call
When the world must come together as one
There are people dying
And it's time to lend a hand to life
The greatest gift of all
We can't go on pretending day by day
That someone, somewhere will soon make a change
We are all a part of God's great big family
And the truth, you know love is all we need

[Chorus] We are the world
We are the children
We are the ones who make a brighter day
So let's start giving
There's a choice we're making
We're saving our own lives
It's true we'll make a better day
Just you and me

Send them your heart
So they'll know that someone cares
And their lives will be stronger and free
As God has shown us by turning stones to bread
So we all must lend a helping hand

[Chorus] We are the world
We are the children
We are the ones who make a brighter day
So let's start giving
There's a choice we're making
We're saving our own lives
It's true we'll make a better day
Just you and me

When you're down and out
There seems no hope at all
But if you just believe
There's no way we can fall
Well, well, well, well, let us realize
That a change will only come
When we stand together as one

[Chorus] We are the world
We are the children
We are the ones who make a brighter day
So let's start giving
There's a choice we're making
We're saving our own lives
It's true we'll make a better day