Who Knew Crabs Like to Surf?

17 August

Javier, Beatrix (the Spanish students), and I ended up not going to an island because while I was busy trying out the homemade ice cream (mmm, cashew) and running into John in random places, (like ya do in a tiny town), they had been out bargaining and comparing deals and that kind of thing*. The deal they worked out was much cheaper (a good thing), on a dhow instead of a motor boat (a good thing), and went to beaches on the mainland instead of out to the islands (possibly not so good).

The first place we went to was Carrushka, which was just a nice beach where we could swim and pick up take-away lunches to eat on the way to Veranda.

Back on the water, the wind was wild, crashing waves up high and tilting the dhow nearly perpendicular to the horizon. We had to switch over to sitting on either gunwale whenever the waves or the tacking back and forth hauled the dhow up onto opposite sides.

This didn’t make me nervous.

One of the guys bailed the dhow out with the bottom half of a water bottle, which he used to fill the bottom half of a jerry can, which when full, he would empty into the sea. But y’know, after all the bailing the boat wasn’t really taking on that much water.

So this didn’t make me nervous either.

When they started to hammer shims into the rudder handle just after leaving Carrushka, I became a bit nervous. Javier and Beatrix, however, thought I was paranoid**. I wasn’t sure what would happen as we cruised aimlessly on the current back to the shore. Eventually they got the rudder and rudder handle back in place to their satisfaction, and we headed to the natural pool at Veranda.

The tide was coming in so strong at Veranda that there was no visibility for snorkeling. When I tried to get out from the barely submerged ledge we were snorkeling from in the hopes that clarity would be a better away from the silt getting tossed against the rocks, I was swept up in a current that looked fast, but not as fast or deep as it was. That was about 35 seconds of pure panic while I told myself not to, y’know, panic and to remember that you get out of a current not by fighting it, but by working your way out.

So, that seemed like a bad thing to keep doing.

Plus, the ground kept bubbling up underneath us. It was probably just clams, but Beatrix and Javier were unwilling to dig them up to either to check what they were or to eat for dinner, and I wasn’t entirely willing to discount the idea of Kraken. While looking for a place to lay out or swim that would neither be potentially fatal nor washed away in 4.5 seconds, Javier climbed over this big dune and then called Beatrix, who called me over.

On the other side of the dune was the ocean, and playing in the surf were hundreds or thousands of crabs, all dancing on a stretch of beach at least a mile long.

At first I thought the crabs were anxious*** about being left behind by mama ocean. But then, after watching them for a while, most of the crabs would get tossed onto the beach, then scurry back towards the water a bit (sideways, natch. Funniest. Design flaw, er feature. EVAR) and then crouch down and wait for the waves to come and toss them back onto the beach again. They were bodysurfing! I swear I heard some crab giggles.

Eventually one of the dhow guys came to get us and said we had to leave agora (now). He seemed aggravated and in a hurry, which we didn’t understand until we got in the dhow and instead of taking us out through the cove, they started pulling the dhow between the bushes that lined this tiny inlet. The current that tried to take me on a trip to an unknown destination wanted to go for the whole boat now, and avoiding it was going to be tricky.

When we finally broke free from the bushes (after the sail caught on the rocks, a rope loosened, and the boom and sail came down–knocking one guy’s hat into the water and almost taking him with it) the current caught the stern and spun us around until we scraped up onto a sand/rock bar. Eventually, we got out on the ocean instead of spinning around like the dhow was about to vomit pea soup, but the water was so rough they stored all our katundu under the pilot’s bench. Despite my misgivings. everything stayed dry. And it wasn’t that bad of a trip–watching the sail look more and more like oil cloth every time it dipped into the water was somehow more fascinating than worrisome. There were a few big splashes, but nothing too major.

By the time we got back, it was nearly 4 and I was sunburnt, tired, thirsty, caked with sand and salt, and exhilarated.

*I know you’re thinking: Dude, how’d she get other people to do her leg work for her? I’m lucky, what can I say? And really, could you not say “dude” so much? When do you think you are?

**Which just goes to show, no matter what country you live in, you (meaning me) don’t get any better at dealing with the vagaries of another country.

***Why yes, I am quite good at anthropomorphizing, why do you ask?