R and I spent the holiday in Atauro, an island north of Dili. Officially part of Dili district, its geographical isolation has been a mixed blessing-- it separated islanders somewhat from political violence in the past, but also from water, building materials, reliable electricity and an urban economy. It was often pressed into service as a corral for political prisoners and exiles.
We came here with JB and their family to spend the holiday (Heroes Day and Feast of the Immaculate Conception).
This was a good decision.
The stories I'd heard about crystalline waters, dramatic drop-offs fringed by reefs so shallow you could cruise over coral just inches from your belly; the inky night sky full of sparkling constellations and the odd nebula; the sun rising before your eyes, adding brushstroke upon brushstroke of rose and amber to the swirled cloudbanks... all true.
At the Eco Lodge that we stayed in, the food was delicious, the staff prompt and friendly and the toilets really cool*, but I'll talk about the reef for the rest of this post.
This was the first time R and I had really snorkelled (Banana Island was, in retrospect, a heady mix of us not really knowing how to use our gear, exceedingly rough waters with poor visibility, and the fisherman not setting us down as near to the reef as would have been helpful.)
This was different.
We anchored close to the shore and I looked over to see orange horned starfish lining the sandy floor, snuggled between fronds of waving sea grass. Less than a kilometre from our landing spot was a quiet beach. We waded out tentatively, startling shoals of brown fingerlings. A lone flying fish leaped unexpectedly in front of us. Sand gave way to rocky coral, then live coral. A deep breath, a pull of the mask, and we ducked underwater.
It was another world. The filtered greys and browns turned into a rolling vista of russet, green, gold and pink. There were fronds of coral in improbable shades of lilac. Shoals of angelfish and surgeonfish darted around us. A parrotfish, painted exactly like a Paddle-Pop ice cream. Three clownfish popped in and out of waving anemones. Cobalt-blue sea stars, brick-orange horned sea stars, a cushion star that puzzled me greatly until I went home and had a google. A damselfish drifted past, so intensely indigo that it appeared black at first glance.
There's a learning curve. I panicked when seawater leaked into the mask and took a day or two to realise that it doesn't matter if there's water on your nose because you're breathing through the snorkel tube. I panicked when the occasional salt water crept into my pharynx through an improper lip seal. And I demonstrated the truth known to dermatologists that the area between the shoulder blades is for most people the most inaccessible part of our skin-- with a florid sunburn in a classic "inverse butterfly" pattern demonstrating exactly where I'd failed to slather on enough sunscreen.
But when one gets comfortable enough to not worry about drowning, you see more, and more vividly. B showed me how to dive with the snorkel and pointed out sea squirts and sea cucumbers and a fist-sized cowrie. It's surprising how one has to develop pattern recognition for the undulating ivory shell of a giant clam (you'd think a creature spanning 50cm end to end would be spottable at once, but it takes a second to make out its form nestled among banks of alien shapes and colours). Diving lower, you can see that here the slim fingers of soft coral hide a shoal of wrasses; there, iridescent ice-blue damselfish graze on gold coral like tiny (blue) cows on wheat pasture. You can make out the black and brindled spines of sea urchins tucked away under shelfs of coral.
I left Atauro with a lingering sense of uncertainty of whether it is fair to say that the Christian life is like learning to breathe underwater. What else explains the strangeness and beauty of life under the sun?
---
*Ventilated Improved Pit systems, and the cleverest shower we have ever seen (you'll have to come and see it for yourself).
Comments
Post a Comment