Cozumel's Underworld

Since I was a child, I have been drawn to water. Call me a fish out of water if you will. As we grow, swimming lessons have taught us to swim on top of the water, only diving down as long, or as deep enough, as our lungs allow. I was taught a way to break that limitation. SCUBA diving has opened up a whole new world for me to play in. Looking up from 100 feet below the surface of crystal clear warm water of the Western Caribbean, the only sound you hear is the rhythmic wheezing of your regulator as you take breaths in and out watching the bubbles dancing their way to the surface.

SCUBA stands for self-contained-underwater-breathing-apparatus. SCUBA was first introduced into the recreation world by the ocean’s leader of underwater exploration, Jacques Cousteau, in 1942. Imagine strapping on almost 80 pounds of gear, which is what will keep you alive. With enough pressure to send you shooting off like a torpedo if punctured. All the air you will be breathing for the next hour is attached to your back by one small Velcro strap. A mask that suctions to your face and makes you unable to breathe through your nose. Waddling to the entry point is a workout in itself. Try not to fall down because if you do the saying “I’ve fallen and can’t get up” really applies. As you sink down into the water all the weight and bulkiness vanishes.

Picture yourself on the Island of Cozumel, located in the warm Western Caribbean water southeast of the Yucatan peninsula. An easy half an hour ferry ride from Playa Del Carman. Cozumel’s entire existence depends on the deep pockets of the tourists who flock to this island that is only 15 miles wide by 30 miles long. My experience does not include the crystal clear windows, overstuffed chairs and nice bathrooms of the world’s largest cruise ship; my boat is a 35 foot dive boat in need of a good paint job and a new engine, but it is filled with good old friends and new ones, about to jump into the blue water to make new memories. Boats are not allowed to drop anchor in the blue waters that look so shallow. The entire reef is a protected environment. Fishing, hunting, anchoring or harvesting is punishable by jail and a hefty fine.

Largely, Cozumel’s income comes from sun burned tourists on large lavish cruise ships. Tuesdays and Thursdays are the days to avoid the downtown area and even the streets in general. Teenagers on mopeds fly down the side streets; they don’t even have a license to drive in the states and yet they are whizzing by about to crash. Cozumel’s police officers are on special motorcycles that have a 150cc engine to speed faster than the moped’s 50cc engine. Entire Hispanic families will be on the moped. Father will be driving; mother will be on the back holding onto the baby. While the older child will be standing between the father’s legs. Locals don’t bother with helmets, and yet all the crashes that happen are by the liquored up American tourists. Trash cans mean nothing to the tourists. When they are done with their $1.00 bottle of Corona, they leave it in the middle of the beautiful park in the center of the plaza surrounded by palm trees swaying in the light warm breeze. Local merchants are selling and bartering cheap diamonds, yelling at you while you are trying to people watch as they pass through the plaza.

SCUBA Club Cozumel is the little dive resort, we will call home for the next week. Walking into the room the air is stale with a hint of salt. The accommodations are minimal, television and phones are not in the rooms. The bed is hard with a bright striped top sheet. A fridge, clock and bottle opener, attached to the wall, is the only necessities that you need. The alarm goes off at 6 am, the sun is already bright and the day is warming up. There is a busy swarm of activity at the Fat Grouper, the restaurant at center of the dive resort. A short walk down some slippery steep stairs and across the patio to breakfast. Consisting of good black coffee and the local grub. Cactus omelet, Mexican sausage, and a spicy potato dish that to this day I have no idea what’s inside. After the filling meal, all your gear must go out to the dock.

The overly used boat painted a pretty shade of blue looks muted compared to the waters tossing it around, arrives at the dock 7:45am sharp and we leave promptly at 8:00am. If you are not on the boat, you will get left on the dock. An hour and a half boat ride to the first dive hole gives you the time to put your gear together. This is where the novices and die hard divers split. Novice divers will go up to the top deck and watch the scenery splash by, gawk at the huge cruise ships that tower overhead, people look like ants waving to us from their balconies, while party barges dance their way by to the sounds of the Caribbean rhythm blasting from the huge speakers. Die hard divers are talking about last year’s trip and what they hope to see this year, how long they were down or how deep they went. Assembling their gear in the slots closest to the exit points for the quickest entry. Making sure that all their gear works properly and squeezing into their wetsuits. Then after they know all their gear is in check and secured, they venture up to the top deck to take in the sights and smells.

A relaxing hour has passed and the skipper lets us know we are getting close. Novice divers then hurriedly throw their scuba gear together, finding out they have left something behind. Needing to borrow it from someone who brought some extra. When the boat comes to a relative stop its time we have all been waiting for. Snugging up your buoyancy control device and squishing your mask to your face to ensure a snug fit, so they will not shift when you hurl yourself off the edge of the boat.

Waddling your way to the edge of the boat, mentally timing your jump to the bobbing of the waves. It’s now or never. Cur-splash!! You are bobbing up and down like a buoy waiting for the rest to take the plunge. Looking down, the bottom looks so close just feet away, yet its 40 feet down. Your senses are confused, gravity is nonexistent, up is down and down is sideways.

Your dive master will lead you in and out of caves, shoots and gardens; this gigantic playground has to offer. Sinking down to the rhythmic sound of your respirator sucking air from the tank on your back is the only thing you can hear. Hitting bottom you look up and see a little oval looking object, an odd buzz sounds as the oval speeds away. You realize it’s the boat. Giving the all ok sign, we follow the dive master.

The sandy bottom is warm and sparkling with the sun’s rays. The colorful parrot and squirrel fish are so used to seeing odd looking divers pointing and staring they go about their daily business of pecking the coral for a bite to eat. Colors are so muted, yet vibrant in their own sense. The deeper you venture the darker and muted it gets. Colors wash out; even your own hand looks grey in color. Knowing your time here is limited to the 3000 psi of air, you take in the sights as fast as they fly by. Training has taught you to always check your depth, air and time. Looking at the computer you are 80 feet deep, have 2300 psi left and only been down for 15 minutes. Where did the time go?

Oh, something big and shinny has caught your eye, along with the rest of the group. The dive master puts his hands together palms side together and interlocks his fingers. This only means one thing, Barracuda! Scary looking long silver fish with teeth like an alligators. Casually glide past on their way to find their next meal which you hope is not you. The current is picking up, flying even faster across the reef. It becomes second nature to check your dive computer it reads, 40 feet, 1000 psi and 30 minutes gone. You didn’t realize how fast you were breathing when you saw the barracuda.

You signal the dive master that your air is getting low. Holding your computer and tapping the pressure gauge, with the same hand flashing 5 fingers closing into a fist and flashing 5 fingers again the dive master does the same meaning that he understands, that you only have 1000 psi left. Asking the other diver how much they have, knowing that you all have about the same breathing rate, your time here is slowing coming to an end. With reluctances you and the group start your assent.

15 feet from the surface you must stop for 3 minutes and let the bubbles that have forming silently in your blood stream dissolve. The world that you were once apart of looks so distant. 3 minutes are over, like always they went too fast. Floating up, your head breaks the surface; once again you are a buoy, bobbing in the waves. Spitting out the regulator to save air you switch to your snorkel and are in awe of what you just saw. Your mouth tastes of salt. The boat sees you and starts to head your way.

The captain maneuvers the boat with such skill that the flipper friendly ladder is at your finger tips. The waves still tossing you and the ladder around, it’s hard to pull yourself up. You didn’t know how tired your body would be. Luckily there are eager deck hands to help you up. Back on the boat, you un-suction the mask from your face. One consequence of that is snot pours out of your nose. After securing your tank and gear for the ride home, everyone heads to the top deck. No one talks to each other. Everyone is in awe of what they just left. Making sure they remember every little detail of the brain coral, spotted eel and asymmetrical ripples of this watery playground.

Back at the dock, gear is unloaded just as fast as it was loaded. At 1:30 pm lunch sounds good, so does a nap. All that must wait till your gear is salt water free. A couple dunks in the fresh water tank will do the trick. A quick shower to go you salt water free and on to lunch. Fresh fruit tastes like it is right off the tree. Food has never tasted this good.

Sitting on the warm lawn chair with your feet in the sand and a cold corona in your hand, listening the waves crash on the shore lulling you to sleep. You think to yourself, could this get any better? You know it will, because tomorrow will bring another boat ride out and another chance to play in the underwater playground reserved only for you.

Cozumel will have millions of people pass through it yearly, but for the week that you are there, you are the only one. The mopeds whiz by, the cruise ships horns blow as if to say good bye. You think of what grand adventure awaits you tomorrow, in and out of the water. There is a whole island full of culture and adventure that awaits you.