Barbados: Yes Please

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The Atlantis Submarine, a tubular white vessel that can take 48 passengers 150ft below the sea in pressurized, air-conditioned bliss. The submarine was invented in Vancouver, a marvel of soft adventure, perfect for anyone who wants to go unda da sea, without actually getting wet. We caught a boat out to the reef, and waited for Atlantis III to surface from the depths like a graceful beluga whale. We climb aboard, bobbing with the swells, a peaceful blue atmosphere below courtesy the portal viewing windows. Lock. Check. Dive! Dive! Dive! The captain sits up front, staring out a bubble, surrounded by an impressive array of buttons and knobs. We are told that the sub can submerge to much greater depths than 150ft, but that is all that insurance can handle. Watching a digital altimeter, I learn how light is filtered the deeper you go, so that some colours change or disappear altogether. We pass a shipwreck, an old barge rusted and dead, yet teeming with all manner of marine life. A turtle glides effortlessly in front of us, padding up some rocks, unbothered by the aquatic spaceship in its wake. We are all mesmerized, the sound of water, the shades of blue, the hallucinogenic fish. I close my eyes, sink away into the soporific depths of the sea. A great Rabbi once said that everyone should try and find 15 minutes each day to spend time with their God, whether it’s a deity, a spirit, a messiah, an energy, or just a feeling. For a full half hour, somewhere beneath the waters of the deep blue sea, I know exactly what the Rabbi was talking about. Chilled out in absolute wonder. I see schools of red snapper, parrotfish, and other species on the handy fish guide next to the windows. Did you know there’s something called a Jew Fish? I wondered if it was celebrating Rosh Hashona, the Jewish New Year, as I did in a small Bridgetown synagogue the following day. Happy 5770 we say. Shana Tova little fishy.

A couple years ago, on tiny Turtle Island off the coast of Malaysian Borneo, I had the privilege to witnessing a mature sea turtle swaddle onto the beach it was born, and lay dozens of white, ping pong ball eggs. Watching the mother turtle - herself a miracle of survival since only 1 in 1000 turtles born ever reach maturity - nest on the beach, depositing her eggs, before sliding back into the sea exhausted, is something to experience. This night, as part of Julia’s segment for the show, I stood with the crew and some turtle conservationists as a momma Hawksbill turtle continued the cycle of life. Besides the usual on-shore predators like dogs, cats, lizards and birds, some locals have taken to stealing eggs to sell. The conservationists cover up the mother’s tracks but do not remove the eggs. They hide the nest (even though momma does a great job herself, camouflaging her eggs beneath sand and plants) and return when the eggs hatch. Turtles navigate by the light of the moon, and we’re not really sure how the few female survivors will know to return to this exact beach when they mature in 25 years, except they do, another miracle of nature. Earlier we had helped dozens of hatchlings make their way into the sea, careful to avoid shining any light they might confuse with the moon. Covering our camera and headlight lamps with red gels makes us completely invisible though, our sorcerers cloak to observe the natural world at work. It was a clear, warm night, the moon high, the stars bright. Another 15 minutes with God perhaps. Maybe I’m just getting old and sentimental, but I seem to find the time for this heavenly consultation every time I travel, which is probably the reason why everyone should travel in the first place.

Gonzo Gallery for Barbados: Yes Please

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