creatingourownadventures.com

Christal Wagner Photography

BELLA ITALIA

I first visited Italy in the spring of 2013 with my family. Although this trip was almost ten years ago, this post serves as a reminder to research and plan your trip abroad so that you might see as many sights as possible, leaving no regrets as you depart for home. While there is much to see wandering on foot, many tourist sights require reservations. I invite you to read through our family’s experience and build your own adventure. While I hope to inspire, if ooking for more concrete information, might I recommend picking up a book by travel guru Rick Steves – I never go to Europe without a Mr. Steves paperback companion!

After a late start, in 2013, I finally graduated from the University of WI – Milwaukee. My brother, having recently graduated and relocated from Indiana was getting settled into the music scene in Chicago. My mom and dad had decided that before life gets any busier, and we all start to be pulled in numerous directions, a dream trip to Italy was in order. And so, the planning of a great family adventure began …

My parents were the masterminds behind it all. They booked flights and museum reservations, planned surprising side trips and noted Rick Steves’ recommended strolls to stumble upon unique nooks, hidden statues and lesser known views. With his money belt secured and a briefcase full of printed pages of itineraries in hand, my dad didn’t miss a thing! (In recent years, it has become clear to me that I have picked up more than a few of his travel habits!) We were soon to set out on the trip of a lifetime. My dad had booked a limo ride from a local company to transport us which was genius as we avoided having to pay to store our car at the airport. Instead with our luggage in tow, we kicked back, starting our vacation mood early as we cruised to O’hare in style.

Flying direct into Fiumicino, Rome’s airport, we were picked up by the hotel staff. After much research, my parents chose to book our stay at the Palm Gallery Hotel, a boutique hotel, on a quiet block on Del Alpi.  Run by a lovely woman, Luisa, and her few very friendly staff members, we were welcomed immediately. After a nine hour flight, we were thrilled to have made it to our destination. Enjoying our first moments in Italy on the hotel’s patio surrounded by lush flowering tropical plants we were feigning exhaustion but after a quick complimentary espresso, we began a walk through the neighboring streets. Although jet lagged and becoming slightly delirious, we were hoping to find a real meal. We stopped at a place called Ristorante Queen 225. The first of many delicious meals abroad, I enjoyed an orrechetti dish complete with broccoli and sausage, fresh bread, and the first of many glasses of the region’s wine. 

Having thoroughly enjoyed our lunch we arrived back at the hotel, ready to overcome the jet lag with a brief nap. The block appeared fairly quiet and mostly residential, yet only a short walk to the train station and nearby bustling piazza. Our room was clean, cooly modern, and lightly artsy. A blooming orchid set upon the desk was a lovely touch to the room’s calming ambience. We wound open the windows allowing natural light to spill into the room and the sounds of the neighborhood below to drift us to sleep. 

Feeling refreshed and reenergized we awoke and took to the streets. Exploring on foot we walked from block to block, past homes, shops, and many ristorantes eventually making our way to a larger intersection and a more heavily traveled piazza. Bustling with the evening crowd, we stopped at a place called Butterie for bruschetta topped with cannelloni beans, pizza and wine. I ordered a capricciosa pizza that I would later try to recreate back home. Like a work of abstract art, the pizza was an asymmetrical spattering of ingredients including ham, hardboiled egg, black olives, and artichokes, all sprinkled atop a layer of mozzerella.

A plethora of fresh fruit, pastries, jam, prosciutto, mortadella, capicola and a spread of cheeses, we began our second day, and every morning after, with a breakfast for guests of the hotel. A cat sat leisurely on the open window as we finished off morning cappuccinos and called a taxi to Vatican City. Rain would fall steadily on that May day but we would be busy joining the crowds of tourists heading inside anyhow. We borrowed a couple umbrellas and headed out for the day. Our first stop would be Vatican City and the Vatican Museums. You could spend days taking in all this museum has to offer. Particularily memorable for me were Gian Lorenzo Bernini’s angels, the Roman busts of the Chiaramonti Museum, the sculptures of the New Wing, sarcophagi of the Pius-Christian Museum, and the 460 epic paintings of the Pinacoteca room. Later we moved toward the line for the Sistine Chapel. Filing in a limited number of people, temporarily fenced in like cattle, tourists entered, as intimidating officials enforced a respectful silence. Onlookers stood soundlessly in awe, taking in Michaelangelo’s masterpieces that owned the space. Looking above, Michaelangelo’s depiction of nine scenes from Genesis hovered overhead, towering from behind the Altar, the vibrant fresco of The Last Judgment. 

A short walk over to Saint Peter’s Basilica, we waited in a long line of tourists to step into the church. Viewing a mass in progress, we respectfully observed, and moved about to view Michaelangelo’s Pieta, Bernini’s 90 feet tall baldacchino (alter), and the intricately detailed mosaics that filled the church. We received our reservation time for later that afternoon and began the trek of 552 steps to the viewpoint at the top of the dome. Walking single file through tight corridors, narrow staircases, and at times walking tilted at a diagonal, it was quite a maze of a path. Turned sideways and in close quarters, other tourists coming up just behind you, feeling as if absurdly traveling further back in time with each step, climbing St. Peter’s is an experience. While moments of the journey left you slightly winded, and tight squeezes  a little suffocating, the view of the the grounds and city below was well worth the moments discomfort.

On our third day we had reservations to the Borghese Galleria to view the collection of Scipione Caffarelli Borghese. The two hour appointment allowed a limited number of guests to enter and explore the exhibit at their leisure. Each room is a work of art. Frescos, sculptures and paintings fill the space transporting you to some other time and place. Among others, the Borghese Galleria features the work of Italian sculptor, Gian Lorenzo Bernini. In the 1600s, Bernini created detailed marble masterpieces, many of which depict a scene and appear to be paused in action, ready to spring to life at any moment. Patrons quietly wander from room to room viewing the works with quiet awe. In Room 4 – Room of the Emperors, the Rape of Proserpina is displayed in the center so that viewers may see from all angles catching the details of her tears, the sway of her hair and coiled curls of Pluto’s beard, the indentations in her skin due to the God’s powerful grasp (255 cm). Down the hall in Room 2 – David Room, Bernini’s depiction of biblical David captured as his muscle flex, torso spirals, expression full of effort as he prepares to hurdle the stone at the giant, Goliath. In Room 3, you cannot miss a 243 cm sculpture of Apollo and Daphne. Bernini captures the transformation of Daphne into a tree complete with her hair sweeping up into leaf shaped ends as she rushes to escape Apollo’s arms. While few of Bernini’s works can be found on the streets of Rome, the Borghese gallery has room after room to explore and is a wonderful collection to visit. Each room is filled from floor to ceiling with classic works of art by great artists such as Caravaggio, Titian and Raphael. 

After a walk through the grounds and gardens of the Villa Borghese, we began a journey in a different direction. Following dad’s walking directions inspired by the one and only Rick Steves, we traveled down Via Veneto.  We found ourselves standing in front of the church of Santa Maria della Concezione Dei Cappuccini. We entered the church and walked through the museum portion where we learned of the Capuchin monks. Unbeknownst to us, dad had been planning a macabre side trip. The  Capuchin Crypt located beneath the church housed an exhibit of mummified remains. With walls covered in pelvises and curated rooms of skeletal remains, this was truly a spectacularly spooky experience.

Each day we followed a basic layout to insure that we wouldn’t miss any landmarks or museums we deemed as essential places of interest. With a few key places to visit per day, we had plenty of time to explore freely in between. I recommend this approach when visiting a new place as otherwise you may arrive, become overwhelmed, and end up not doing much at all. I suggest making a trip outline, and allowing time in between to go off course and entire free days where you simply wander and go where the wind takes you.

On the fourth day, I started with an appointment at a neighborhood salon where I received my first haircut abroad. I hardly get my hair cut but this was a very unique experience to have among the locals. The stylist snipped away at my hair while conversations in Italian flowed over my head. Following the styling, I met up with my family and we began an epic walk through Rome. With stops recommended in Steves’ book on Rome, we made our way to the Victor Emmanuel Monument, Palatine Hill and saw the ruins of the Roman Forum, before enjoying sandwiches and sodas at a small cafe near the area of Circus Maximus. Later that night we would join the hoards of tourists who smothered the Trevi Fountain taking selfies and such. Unfortunately, the massive amount of tourists made it difficult to enjoy the beauty of the fountain and see its entire design. Sigh.

On the fifth day we headed out early to avoid long lines outside the Colosseum. This is quite a spectacle of a site. The structure of the arena is set up for you to wander through areas and overlook the space where they used to hold gladiator fights, a glimpse into the area where the animals were held in cages below is visible as only a new partial piece of flooring exists. We later found our way to the hidden gem of a museum, Musei Capitolini. Unfortunately, the exhibit containing Bernini’s marble Medusa bust was under construction although there were many other impressive works of art throughout the museums walls and courtyard. We viewed Boy with Thorn, Capitoline Venus, and corridors of impeccably crafted marble works. I was especially impressed by the massive bronze statue of Marcus Aurelius on horseback.

On the sixth day we found ourselves outside the ominous columns of the Pantheon. Entering we stood underneath the portal and marveled within. Enjoying pistachio and stracciatela flavored gelato on the streets we continued our walk to find the nearby Elephant and Obelisk statue by Bernini, enjoyed a rest near the great fountains of Piazza Navona, and took photos upon the Spanish Steps. We later took a city bus and then walked alongside the River Tiber before journeying into Trastevere where we enjoyed a round of Aperol Spritz. The next day we would begin early as we planned to head south for a 36 hour side trip.

On the seventh day we traveled to southern Italy by high speed train. Purchasing tickets online or at the station, you can find yourself miles away for a day trip in a matter of hours. Traveling on Trenitalia we found our way to Naples. After visiting the Museum of Naples, we went to find a traditional Napoli margherita pizza for lunch. After waiting in line for an hour, we were seated in the small bustling pizzeria. As we enjoyed our lunch beers, we eagerly awaited the famed pies. Fresh tomatoes sauce, mozzarella, a few leaves of basil on a wood-fired crust – fresh and simply delicious. Julia Roberts visits the same establishment in the movie Eat, Pray, Love. 

Continuing onward we took a regional train to Pompeii. Walking the quiet ruins with Mount Vesuvius leering in the distance was quite a somber experience. Remnants of stone buildings and vacant streets told the tragic story of the people whose city was ravaged by the volcano. After a long afternoon exploring the site we made our way to our final stop of the day. 

Boarding the regional train and heading further south, we made our way to the coastal town of Sorrento. Upon arriving we took an extensive walk up toward our hotel where we enjoyed an exquisite view of the Bay of Naples that only became more and more beautiful as we climbed higher. We walked down to a seafood restaurant on the water’s edge and enjoyed the region’s wine and fresh seafood and pasta. The following day we explored the shops and cafe of Piazza Tasso before boarding a ferry at Porto di Sorrento. Cruising on the ferry we enjoyed another yet a different view of the coast as well as menacing Mount Vesuvius before docking in Naples and traveling the 140 miles by train back to Rome. 

A couple things I left out. Throughout this entire trip, I began to suffer from a blossoming dental emergency! Long story short, I was in a massive amount of pain with the change in elevation and on our last days desperately needed to see a local dentist. Luisa, the hotel’s owner came to our rescue and after a short call, accompanied us to the office. The dentist speaking to me mostly in Italian removed the absess for only 50 euro and on his lunch break! Just like that I was able to continue my trip pain-free until I could return to the states and receive a full root canal. 

During the trip we had so many amazing meals but decided to have our last night’s dinner at the neighborhood establishment we enjoyed most, Da Emilio. We spent the last days of our adventure enjoying the simple things of the trip. Meandering around to enjoy the sights sounds of the neighborhood one last time, we popped in and out of shops, and stopped for espresso and gelato at various cafes along the way. To wrap up our experience, we enjoyed each others company and fell into conversation as we enjoyed a final bottle of wine on our hotel’s patio. What an experience it had been. Ciao for now Italia.

Movies:

Roman Holiday (1953)

La Dolce Vita (1960)

The Talented Mr. Ripley (1999)

Angels & Demons (2009)

Eat Pray Love (2010)

To Rome With Love (2012)

The Great Beauty (2013)

Books:

Rome Travel Guide by Rick Steves

Bernini & the Art of Architecture by Tod A. Marder

The Agony & the Ecstasy by Irving Stone

Eat Pray Love by Elizabeth Gilbert

Angels & Demons by Dan Brown

Even though I always bring too many books when I travel, I purchased one at the airport anyhow. Dan Brown’s Inferno would be the perfect read while in Italy. More perfect would have been rereading his Angels & Demons as the majority of Robert Langdon’s adventure took place with the Popes in what would be our main destination, Rome. Nerd alert, I know. The freshly released Inferno would keep me company and get me thinking about how Florence should be next on my list. This family trip would have me hooked. I felt obligated to return and I knew I would, drawn to the food, the language, the people, and of course the exquisite art and riveting history. 

Research: 

An art history crash course or brush up would be helpful! 

You will learn a great deal about Roman History along the way but digging a little deeper would provide context for much of the art and architecture you will view.

A language app can be very helpful in learning to understand and communicate common phrases. I recommend Dua Lingo as it is incredibly user friendly and super fun.

Travel Tips:

Wear basic, solid colored, simply classy attire. No slogans or sports teams. Romans dress well and you want to blend in. Avoid hanging out in congestion of high traffic tourist areas where there are pickpockets lurking. Also, try eating at restaurants at least a few streets away from the action where food is most delicious and priced appropriately. 

Eating in Italy is an experience. Do not be in a rush when you sit down in a restaurant or you will be disappointed at the time the experience takes. The food is prepared fresh and meant to be a time to socialize enjoying the food, and company you are with. If you need to catch a train, or have tickets, stop into a cafe for a quick sandwich or pastry instead.

There is so much to see in Rome. Make sure to research where you’d like to visit and sketch out a loose plan for each day so that you do not have any regrets. Save time to wander of course but I recommend planning at least one site or area to explore per day. Many museums and popular sites require tickets or reservations in advance and only allow a certain number of people entry per time slot. 

Roma Pass: We had purchased a Roma Pass for this trip allowing free admission to certain museums, access to public transportation and skipped lines for 48 hours, plus additional discounts. There is a bundle option includes complementary audio tours. For example, while walking into Saint Peter’s Basilica is free, purchasing the Roma Pass allows you to skip the line which can save you hours.  If you know which sites you intend to visit, this can be helpful in in saving time and money. If you are not sure where to begin, purchase the pass and go with the website’s recommendations of top sites. After buying pass, you still need to make reservation for specific museums and sites so double check so that you get your preferred time slot. I’ve missed climbing the Duomo in Florence twice because I forgot to follow through with the very same step after purchasing a Firenze Card!

Christal Wagner Photography

A SWEET SPOT FOR SOUVENIRS

Having time to reminisce this morning, I dusted off my electric Moka Pot and scooped in the grounds. A wave of nostalgia runs over me just hearing the water begin to boil with the scent of the espresso simultaneously beginning to seep into the air. I am brought back to a specific time and place. A view of a piazza through an open green shutter window. The barely audible voices of venders setting up their fruit markets on the cobblestone street below bounces through my window as I too prepare for the day. I am reminded of the much loved burnt pot on my host family’s stove and an evening picnic set atop the city walls where we could gaze into the Tuscan hills beyond.  Although you can certainly purchase this coffee pot in the US, perhaps even at a Target nowadays, the Moka Pot created in 1933 by Italian designer Alfonso Bialetti reminds me so vividly of my travels and mornings waking up in Italy with a delectable pastry and of course, an espresso. 

Although the Moka Pot was actually a post-trip present gifted to me by my partner, It stirs up memories and emotions and I’d consider it to be a souvenir of a time. I always mark my travels by purchasing a few souvenirs and sometimes, I discover something new that I want to introduce into my everyday way of living, hence the Moka Pot. It’s perfect for mornings when I have time to sit with my thoughts, let my mind wander, and enjoy the moment I’m living in.

When I travel, I always purchase souvenirs that remind me of the time and place. I love to sprinkle memories of my travels around my house, as they catch my eye when I pass and I am instantly refreshed. Don’t tell my partner, but one day, I sort of hope my home will feel like a museum of colorful objects and artifacts from a lifetime of exploration! Am I giving you serious Indian Jones vibes?! Now, I am not quite as eccentric as I made that sound but, I do love to decorate my living space with art, color, and the rich memories of travel. Currently, in our home, you might find yourself on more of an “I Spy” adventure of little trinkets than a museum of treasures, however, large or small, all are just as valuable to me. Wandering around from room to room you might pass by a painted ceramic feline friend from a shop in downtown Cozumel tucked between books, a hallway with quirky prints from the music festival Bonnaroo by artist Chuck U, and a deck of tarot cards and prints by Italian artist and illustrator Alexander Daniloff. 

While I love souvenirs I do believe in budget travel and purchasing from local artists whenever possible. When I was younger, I remember traveling to NYC and shopping at the same big department stores we have in the midwest. Why?!? The purchasing of the souvenirs is part of the journey and should mostly happen while you adventure. I do not travel to shop, but rather I shop, as I travel. Maybe its wine from a vineyard you visited, or a local coffee brand and bean, or item from a boutique you stumbled into while on an evening walk. These items can be practical, affordable and rich with culture if you venture even ever so slightly off the path.

On a fourteen day stay in Lucca, Italy, my partner and I explored daily, always finding new streets with new treats to enjoy. Some times we grabbed some prosciutto for a salty snack and other times we picked up little things to take home to savor like the bottle of Lucca wine we still keep displayed on our rack. Walking anywhere near Via Fillungo, a main shopping stretch, a local perfume shop was oozing scents of the sea that could be noted as soon as you would arrive on that block. Aqua di Lucca became the scent of our evening walks. On our last night we decided that we should buy a bottle of what turned out to be a unisex cologne. That bottle of still sits on my dresser and will run out this month, a whole two years after purchasing it, wearing it, and enjoying the memories it stirred up.

I have a few favorite kinds of souvenirs that I pick up from every place I visit. An easy item to pick up is a postcard. Some I grab to send out to family members and friends on my mind, others I keep for my own reference, and recollection. Postcards often feature high quality images representative of the area. While sometimes image is an accurate depiction of area, other times it is hilariously awful. Either way there is always a variety of postcards available to suit everyone’s style and sense of humor, plus, they are very cheap to collect! I do love visiting museums and often photography is either not allowed, or, a camera is unable to capture the art appropriately. I do find museum gift shops to be often over priced, however, the postcard rack is bursting with affordable tokens of the experience. My collection of cards is ever growing as I have picked up postcards since I was just a kid visiting Graceland in Memphis.

Since I am an earring maker myself, I cannot resist earrings made by artists of other areas. My favorite pair has to be from a store called My Ocean run by Bahamian artist, Tanya Klonaris-Azevedo, and her husband. The day I visited the store in Nassua, the power was out in the entire area. Most stores were dark and quiet but the door was open to My Ocean and two young ladies working invited me in with their welcoming smiles. The store was filled with vibrant textiles, bath and body products, lovely ceramics and handmade jewelry. The pair of earrings I purchased feature a gold-plated metal square with a bit of chain and little pink and magenta fabric pieces dangling. I love to seek out local artists and galleries when traveling picking up handmade crafts, art pieces and prints. Since I myself am an artist, I am interested in supporting others doing a similar things and I am always on a budget. You don’t need to be rich to make these discoveries but you do need to venture into the little stores and galleries that may be tucked away in slightly less traveled corners. 

I have stayed in Lucca on two different occasions and one of the most memorable shopping experiences was when I stumbled upon the night market and what looked like a tented library. The night market featured local artists with jewelry and much more. The tent in the middle of a quiet piazza where several intersecting streets seemed to just end, featured used books, stamps, postcards and other unique items. When I returned to this area with my partner a few years later we found several more gems! From books on Italian folklore, comic pornography (!), aged maps, local artist prints, old postcards featuring wonderful historic images of the surrounding streets, this was the ultimate thrifting experience. These items while some of the most inexpensive souvenirs I have ever picked up, are some of my most beloved treasures as they hold history and were definitely an adventure to peruse and uncover, and for me, that’s what it’s all about. 

What trinkets have you picked up to remind you of your travels?

I recommend checking out these folks out, if you are traveling to any of these places anytime soon, give them a visit!

NASSAU, BAHAMAS

https://www.myocean.com

LUCCA, ITALY

http://www.daniloff-art.it

https://www.aquadilucca.it/en/

MINNEAPOLIS, MN

https://cargocollective.com/chucku

(Discovered at Bonnaroo Music Festival in Manchester, TN, USA)

Christal Wagner Photography

YOUNG & DUMB

I bit my lip, and clicked purchase. I brief moment of regret reeled through me as the spinning rainbow wheel of destruction rotated on the computer screen before holding me in limbo. Maybe it didn’t go through, after all my computer was a little on the fritz and the internet we borrowed from the neighbors was a bit slow. Time stood still while I waited with the wheel and then, what was done, was done. Less than 30 seconds later, the page changed. Transaction complete. That was that. In a couple months I would be heading to Costa Rica on little more than a whim. Already living off my credit cards for everything from skim milk and gas, to overpriced sushi and Urban Outfitters’ new trends, I figured I would scrounge up the $800 roundtrip plane ticket later. I couldn’t be the only one of my friends not attending the Jazz Dance World Congress in Costa Rica that year. I mean, how would that look?! I’d gather the under the table cash from my few weekly teaching gigs and save my tiny checks from slinging bagels at Panera Bread for spending money and all would be well. Money was tight, but I’d been invited to stay with a fellow dancer whose family home was in San Jose and we had planned to commute together daily, back and forth from her home, to the main event at the hotel’s convention center. 

My friend arrived first to get reacquainted with her immediate family and closest friends. A few days later I would fly into the San Jose Airport and upon arrival, my friend would scoop me up in their family sedan, and drive me to their home outside of the city. After my first solo flight, I was tired, achy, overdressed and feeling a little all around out of it from the day of traveling. The cabin’s recycled air always stirs me up and getting into a car, just to sit in traffic, allowed the nausea to start to whirl within me. Once we were released from the airport circle, the traffic subsided and shades of green filled my view. The lush green hills completely stole my attention as we drove steadily on the edge of a rain forest covered mountainside. I peered out the window and watched as we sped around each curve. Sharing a narrow two-lane road between the natural vegetation and a tiny safety rail, our car traveled up and round – the untouched beauty of the distant hills popping in and out of view and revealing more green covered peaks of land with every turn as we continue along the mountainside road. The landscape before me was reminiscent of favorite movie scenes from my childhood and suddenly, I was transported into Jurassic Park. Although filmed mostly in Hawaii, visions of Spielberg’s fictional Isla Nublar surrounded us, and being the dinosaur nerd that I have always been, I couldn’t help hearing the classic John Williams theme playing in my head. Not only could you imagine a T-Rex parting through the trees, but having devoured Crichton’s 572 page book as a third grader, my imagination drifted far from the car, and into the world beyond.

Approaching the outskirts of the city, we sped past tattered road signs and began to turn off down smaller streets, arriving upon a more intimate setting. Small weather worn houses with mailboxes out front started to emerge from the overgrown tropical plants. We had entered my friend’s neighborhood and finally, pulled up to the family home. Feeling slightly ill and eager to peel my sweat soaked legs from the car’s interior, stepping out of the car I was immediately out of my comfort zone and felt overwhelmed by my surroundings. It was more run down than I had imagined and although, I am not sure what I had pictured, I remember that I was quick to make judgements.  Discomfort overwhelmed me and I became consumed by it. With a dirtiness to the surrounding buildings, slightly dingy houses and graffiti painted fences nearby, I immediately labeled this scene as a dangerous one. 

Nothing humbles you like travel. Surrounded by Spanish speaking locals, and hesitant of the home cooked food, I quickly realized I wasn’t the adventurer I thought I was, or longed to be. My two years of high school Spanish were of no comfort to me and my words and simple replies seem to form in slow motion. Why could I only remember how to say “hamburguesa” and offer a weak “Hola”?!  This was my first trip out of the country and before this, I had only vacationed with my family traveling to Illinois, Tennessee and Florida. I was overcome with nervousness and insecurity. The reality of it was that I was a white person, very used to blending in with an English speaking crowd, of white people. Oof. It still hurts to admit it but that’s the truth. It took me years to realize that my boyfriend, friends, and family members of color might feel the way I felt at that moment most of their daily lives. I was out of my element and without the comfort of my own family, planning and leading the way, it was clear that the independent woman I claimed to be and in reality, I was a very lost, uninformed and anxious nineteen year old.

My boyfriend and other friends visiting were staying at the convention site and resort center and I was quick to rearrange my plans to stay in accommodations that I found more comfortable. How rude was I?! Looking back, I still can’t believe I would do such a thing. Her family was so hospitable and welcoming but I was so overwhelmed by the change in my surroundings and longed for the American way and comforts of home. Ew. In hindsight, I am appalled and ashamed at my actions and wish I could have been more open minded. Clearly I was not ready for this trip and not worthy of this great adventure, the beauty of Costa Rica, the culture, and all its offerings. Once I was set up at the hotel and crashing with one of my best friends in her hotel room, I immediately felt better. It wasn’t as if I was spoiled as a child, however, I was lacking life experience and this trip was the first among many to change that. Live, and learn.

Fresh towels, crisp bed sheets, air conditioning, served restaurant meals – together, we hugged the hotel and swam in the luxury of its amenities. We took short walks around the property only exiting the premises to head across the street to the mall in the day, and swarmed the hotel bar we frequented with other friends each night. The original reason for the trip was to take dance classes in the day taught by world renowned jazz dance instructors and traveling to the shows at the concert venue downtown San Jose in the evenings. I barely had enough money for the trip so I was grateful that I was able to participate when instructors I knew from Chicago had invited me to join in as an assistant giving me complementary access. We took a 45minute cab ride every night that week to catch the performances, the relentless smell of gasoline polluting the night and filling our lungs as we waited with the rest of the commuters coming and going from the city center and also stuck in the thick rush hour traffic. After arriving downtown and surviving another overpriced cab ride, we stopped and ate at Popeyes Chicken ordering a fast food favorite of nineteen year old me, popcorn chicken. Being a poor, young traveler, this was food I could afford and trusted although, at this point in life, my stomach churns just thinking about it. Thoroughly grossed out, we stopped this trend when one one  of the chicken pieces we received in our order looked as if a whole baby chick had been put in the fryer, bones and all. 

The first week in Costa Rica was filled with friends, dance and drinks. We hung around the hotel most of the day. When we weren’t attending concerts, we only ventured out as far as the run down pastel colored mall across the street where we perused the kiosks in search of cheap souvenirs. We ate unremarkable food in the hotel because we were lame and it seemed a safe, familiar choice. Dancing in classes through the day, and finishing out the evenings in the hotel bar and hallways, we were merely young tourists clinging on to the familiar. As the first week ended, I became more anxious about the plans approaching the coming week. My closest friend and room mate would soon depart Costa Rica and head back to the US but I had planned to stay for additional week with a group of other dancers. At the time of the plane ticket purchase, it sounded like a good idea. 

Traveling abroad with friends, making once in a lifetime memories, my problem was I was so unprepared for traveling as such, and not completely comfortable with the friends I would spend the week with.  For some reason, I had difficulty admitting this to myself and was more afraid of missing out on the memories and later being pushed further to the outskirts of our friend circle upon our return. Nothing seemed worth the risk of becoming unpopular so I jumped on the opportunity following those leading the way through and often seriously going against my gut. I couldn’t back out. I purchased a ticket for two weeks in San Jose and I jumped on the purchase of my first Passport. It had felt like a door to the world and finally, I held a key. In an independent fit, I told my parents boldly that I was going, and I ignored their reservations. As I prepared to depart the security of the hotel and its amenities, the angsty teen was gone, that certainty, merely a facade. Getting me through was the hope that each step forward in our travels would eventually lead me closer to home. I was incredibly homesick while my Costa Rican friend was determined to give us Americans a proper experience of her country and of her life before coming to Chicago, where we all met. More than fifteen years later, I am grateful that despite my fear, unwillingness, and overall sour attitude, she persisted. 

Located between Nicaragua and Panama, Costa Ricans have access to the Pacific Ocean on the west coast and the Caribbean Sea on the east. During the second week abroad, the group of us were fortunate to visit each side. Taking a two hour drive over incredibly rocky terrain, wandering on foot down a narrow path that seemed to part the tropical scene surrounding us on either side, we stopped at a cliff to take in the view and soon after arrived at a private beach. Just a few of us and the serene sight beyond. After making use of nature’s backdrop to take a few posed photos as dancers do, we walked along the coast, set up to sun, and enjoyed an afternoon alone with the ocean. Surprise encounters with jellyfish made for some uninvited anxiety but still majestic memories of this afternoon remain. We packed up before sun down and headed back out. Driving back on the rocky path in the back of a pickup truck I piled in with my friends as we laughed and passed volcanic sites in the distance, moving onto other adventures. 

Seemingly surrounded by jungle, we arrived at another site where a few friends planned to partake in a canopy tour and zip-line excursion, having only a couple hundred to get me through the week abroad, I knew that I had no choice but to sit that one out. I have an excellent photo of one of my friends soaring freely through the trees that is a reminder of what I missed out on. While I do have a tough time with heights, I do wish I had the opportunity to join in as I feel most at ease among the green. Surrounded by the foliage of trees above and below, I can only imagine the glorious views I missed out on. Managing to lift my spirits, my local friend knew of a more private swimming hole right near by. I have a photo of her looking back toward me as she led the way to our next adventure and I enjoyed having time to recharge separate from the group. After walking down a secluded small stone staircase, we gossiped and sunbathed on large rocks taking breaks from wading in the water until our conversation was interrupted by a snake slithering right at us. Although only a small snake, after that excitement, I stayed out of the water except for the occasional dip of a toe.

We spent the night at a house on the Pacific side in my friend’s family beach cottage. With access to the water and a lovely beach view, this house just nestled behind the trees, was at quite an awesome location. We went out that evening and infiltrated a local spot. The bar, or club, seem to be disguised as a shack, it’s cabin-like structure squeezed in along the coast. The group of us drank and danced until we passed through a euphoric state and onto total exhaustion. I gripped my drink, always overly cautious and at times quite uptight. I watched my friends, dancing playfully, singing boysterously and enjoying each other. I noticed how easy it was for them. They were so free. I realized I too could let go and with the next song, and another sip of rum, I too began to give into moment. 

The weather was warm and muggy. Being in a tropical paradise, I shouldn’t have been shocked to catch sight of so many insects lurking about. (Today, I stopped writing to Google “Insects in Costa Rica”, only to see the page flooded with images of beetles the size of my hand. Yikes. I suppose I am grateful that I didn’t have the pleasure of meeting any of those boogers.) We arrived at the vacation property and began to open up the house, eager to prepare for dinner, and brush some cobwebs out of the way. As we began to unpack and select rooms, a fiasco ensued. One room was being held hostage by a massive roach. We ran around with pans and plan to trap the roach but he continued to roam the halls. As we moved beds about and shuffled furniture hoping to coax him out of hiding, he would run different directions sending us shrieking every time. Spiders in the shower, bugs in the cupboards, roaches roaming free – I knew I was in for a rough night. 

I don’t recall if the roach met his fate or, if he lived on long after our visit, but something tells me it was the latter. I do remember that he seemed to own the place sending us humans scattering in different directions and causing delirium with every appearance. I will never forget that evening as it was the most worst night of sleep in my life. Lights out, darkness. All would seem calm until the screeches of communicating spider monkeys and growls of something cat-like outside seemed to taunt me through the open window. Frustrated and slightly freaked out, I flip to my back and begin to focus on the spinning ceiling fan above. With a flick of the light switch, termites could be seen hard at work. Turning on the light seemed to shift their plans sending them scattering back into the wooden bed frame in seconds. Was everyone else really asleep?! Beads of sweat falling from my skin and seeping into the musty old mattress, I laid there in my underwear totally tormented by the world around me. I welcomed the cool flow of air coming from the above as I began to allow the fan’s song to sing me to sleep, its constant loop of revolutions muting the animal world outside.

We spent the last part of our week visiting the Caribbean side. We arrived on a rainy afternoon to what was sort of a commune for younger folks and nomads. Outdoor walkup bars and local eateries, by this point in the trip, I was beginning to feel more comfortable with being exposed to so many new things. It only took more than half the trip. With a few of us to a room, we booked what I might define as raised cabins. We mingled and meandered for a couple days and nights taking in the culture and enjoying our last few days exploring together. We feasted on plates of rice, black beans and shredded chicken, enjoyed music spilling from the bars and local beachside clubs as we enjoyed each others company and met friends of friends. I had become far more at ease, far less fearful, and finally felt a bit more like I could let my guard down.

In 2004, I decided to throw myself blindly into what would be a great adventure without any planning or preparation on my own part. I knew nothing of the culture, and clearly, little about the world. While memorable for a variety of reasons, this trip is definitely one of my most difficult to write about and reflect upon as all I have are the memories of events that occurred, and the residue of the emotional responses that surged through me. I took a few photos, didn’t jot down any notes, and didn’t bring back any souvenirs. I most certainly do not regret the decision to buy that Hotwire plane ticket fifteen plus years ago, but I do still feel a dull stab of regret that I behaved as a sheltered, city-slicker of an American tourist. It took years of reflection to realize that I should have done so much differently. I should have prepared and researched. I should have been honest about my relationships within that group of friends and that I wasn’t so comfortable with many of them. I wish I could have been at ease with my travel mates and been able to just go with the flow of the journey as everyone else seemed to be but I did not know myself at nineteen. I almost allowed my social anxiety to steal away what was to be my first adventure abroad but luckily, it didn’t get all of it.

I often think about my friend and the trip she planned for the group of us. I wish I could have been totally engaged in the experience at the time, however, instead of all in, I was in over my head and could not immerse myself into the vibrant setting. I threw myself into a social situation that already wasn’t typical of my personality, and then spent far too much time being scared and uncomfortable. I remember my inner introvert monologue going wild during this trip and talking myself away from tears, trying to part the thick layers of anxiety for a good deal of time during the two weeks. With all that built up, I’m surprised I am able to remember as much as I do. Nineteen was a long time ago but the lessons I’ve learned and experiences have forever changed me. Someday I will return to Costa Rica and when I do, I vow to breathe it in completely.

Christal Wagner Photography

IT’S COMPLICATED – PT. 2

STRESSFUL SNORKELING

After a few financially strained years and a few more spent relocating, rearranging responsibilities, and prioritizing, I was able to take another trip, albeit a trip seriously out of my price range. Sandals resorts are incredibly luxurious, don’t get me wrong, but at this point in life I now know that I like to see and experience more than resort walls allow. I consider it a serious hobby to craft a trip that doesn’t break the bank, and allows much more room for adventure. At that time I was still a newbie to trip planning and there seemed to be few options. Sandals seemed well-known, safe and easy to arrange.

Upon arriving at Sandals Royal Bahamian, we were informed of a complimentary snorkeling excursion of a nearby reef. We signed up and began our couple’s getaway. As we worked through the week and closer to the booked excursion, I had difficulty even stepping into the water from the beach. I would watch others enjoy coming and going from the shore but it felt an impossible feat to go in even waist high. I felt unbearably nervous and uncomfortable. The water was crystal clear but I felt overwhelmed and began to wonder how I would be able to jump in from a boat in a couple of days. 

We boarded a catamaran for a 1/2 hour ride to the reef’s location, and snorkel gear was distributed. As the shore became further and further away, the sky seemed to darken and I felt myself fill with dread. The boat slowed as we approached the area. One by one, snorkelers stepped off of the bobbing boat. I couldn’t get off. I stood at the edge and fell into some sort of weird paralyzing trance state. With the absence of the sun, the water appeared black and combined with the powerful movement of the water, made me uneasy on many levels. Battling an urge to complete this task, my determination was muted by a thick layer of anxiety. At some point, my flippers found their way to the edge and in what felt like slow motion, I stumbled into the sea below. My brain had overpowered my physical body in a way that I didn’t think possible.

Stunned by what just occurred, my hearing began to return. Choking on salty water and struggling to get my bearings, the boat seemed to cast a massive shadow and its menacing rock seemed to lurk too close to the heads of so many snorkelers. I had a sudden flashback to a time in a neighbor’s in ground pool. The raft was almost the same width as the pool and while some were playing on the raft, myself and others continued to swim. I dove in and came up for air but didn’t have goggles on and could only feel with my hand that I was trapped under the drifting raft. I panicked as my hands searched for the edge. I finally worked my way around the raft and grabbed hold of the side wall, gasping for air. No one noticed that I was stuck under that damn raft and for a moment, thought I might not find my way out of the water. I came up out of breath but to the joyful sounds of Marco Polo. I suddenly became worried for all the unsuspecting snorkelers headed for their doom.

As I watched the snorkels popping up out of the water and life vests popping up as patches of orange about all I could feel was terror consuming me. People spread out over and no land in sight, I thought of my Red Lobster nightmare, being trapped under that raft as a kid, every foreign being I’d ever encountered in the ocean and every Jaws remake I’d ever seen. My goggles filled with tears and my legs kicked frantically in response to my fear. Suddenly I see familiar eyes behind a pair of dorky goggles trying to steady me by grabbing my shoulders. “What’s going on?”, my ex shouted, “Just look under the water!”.  I shook and blurted , “I can’t!”. When he repeated himself, I felt a moment of clarity. I stopped my fussing for a moment and tilted my chin down to put my face in the water. What I saw beneath me was a beautiful world that I felt so privileged to be able to be within. Vibrant fish in small schools moved just past me and colorful coral reef formations decorated the ocean floor below. I was instantly lost in the magic of the underwater world bustling below me. I came up only to confirm that I was in fact “ok”. I cried a garbled cry in amazement through my snorkel tube, “it’s so beautiful!”. Although not funny to me in any way at the time, when I remember this exclamation, tears welling up in my goggles as I announced my realization, I know it sounded hilarious.

That was an exhausting experience. While in the end I was completely in awe of what I was able to witness in the water, the anxiety that I had to fight through to get there left a lasting impression. For about ten years, I had a difficult time setting foot in the ocean. I would come up with a million excuses of why I couldn’t go in further than waist high. The water was too cold, there was no one to watch belongings on the beach, I forgot to shave, etc. After awhile I began to wonder how this happened and felt sick about not being able to enjoy something I found so majestic. 

TIS TIME

Suddenly, on a trip to Cozumel in 2019 on a whim I felt a sudden urge to head into the water. I don’t know if it was the afternoon margarita, or the fact that after riding ATVs through the jungle on a separate excursion earlier in the day, I was feeling especially adventurous. At the Cozumel cruise port, there was an area marked Swim At Your Own Risk. I stripped down to my suit, rented a snorkel, and got in that water. At thirty-four years old, on that awesome January day in Mexico, I was no longer afraid. I was ready. I got in that water and swam as far as the perimeter would allow. Feeling so proud, and free of fear, I swam until I was somehow simultaneously exhausted but completely rejuvenated. 

As I continue to make my way through 2020, I have a goal to not only travel more and to take more adventures with my partner, but to keep setting foot in that water. Since 2019 began I have been lucky to be able to snorkel beyond the Cozumel cruise port. I shared my next underwater adventures with my mom as we both overcame our individual fears and perceived physical set backs to explore both the Belize Barrier Reef and the Mahahual Reef. 

Between the two locations we were able to see an array of species living in these active reef formations. Yellow stingrays, parrotfish, sea urchins and more. We battled against the rough waters of the afternoon tide to catch glimpse of the serene world below. The turquoise water of the Caribbean allowed for extreme visibility of the marine life swirling in and out of the coral reef formations. A glance down to our left, and purple angelfish fish cruised in between the coral fans in the bright turquoise water. A glance down to our right, and our eyes could follow the ocean floor as 12 ft quickly turned to 50ft and the floor was lost altogether. Our eyes could only reach the drop off and beyond a dark blue hue stretched further than sight could allow. With respect of the ocean’s power, we left entranced by its mystic, and in awe of its beauty. 

THE DOOR IS OPEN

As a recently certified PADI Open Water Scuba diver I feel as if I have been given access to door to another world. Becoming familiar with the equipment and having sight underwater has helped me to grow an admiration of the underwater world whilst stifling skewed fears. My childhood interest had never left but somehow it had mutated along the way and needed to become healthily managed by educating myself and practicing the act of simply getting in the water. When I travel now, it is difficult to get me out of the water. Each dip in the ocean serves as inspiration to my future as an artist and is a humbling moment as a human being. Visiting the Bahamas again ten years after my first experience the first thing I did was to rent scuba gear and go on an expert led dive. I descended to a depth of 35ft and hovered two feet above the serene ocean floor below. Hearing only the sound of my own breathing through the regulator as bubbles grazed my face, I took in the world below almost missing a camouflaged sting ray four feet wide settled in the sand below and passing by a lion fish nestled in the reef. After the dive, I snorkeled on and off for hours observing any passing parrotfish and unwilling to let the magic of the day fade.

Living on Earth where 71% of the planet is water, 96.5% salt water and 3.5% frozen and fresh water, it seems like a complete shame to not explore this vast percentage. So much life on this planet that lies below the surface of the water, with greater depths and species still undiscovered. While I may not break any records, or classify any new species, I feel humbled to be able to witness creatures large and small in their habitats as a peaceful observer.  “Take only photos, leave only bubbles.” As an artist, Ive explored both my fears and fascination, as a reoccurring theme in my work. In my research as an undergrad, I choreographed an eight minute solo based on the movement of cephalopods and marine invertebrates. Dancing the choreography with a liquid, pulsating fluidity, the dance composition started as a movement study and was later performed immersed within projected footage I edited and altered taken while visiting the Shedd Aquarium. 

As I approach my PADI Advanced Open Water certification I have begun to perform inland lake dives at a maximum depth of 70ft and learned how to better balance my buoyancy to allow for later exploration of more unique environments and wreck diving. In scuba training you learn safety procedures, equipment management, and how to prepare for a dive. Once prepared to dive, getting local information about the dive site can be key to a successful dive. Being informed, helps you to experience the most enjoyable and safest dive possible.

On a recent trip to Nassau, surrounded by a school of friendly fish as they swirled and swarmed around me, I felt completely at peace. Through scuba diving, I’ve successfully been able to steer fear into fascination and so much more. My complicated past relationship with the water is a reminder not to fear that which I do not understand. Daydreaming, sitting in a cafe in the midwest on a cold January day, my mind drifts and I long for the great underwater adventures that lie ahead. 

Christal Wagner Photography

IT’S COMPLICATED – PT. 1

RED LOBSTER

I looked out over the railing to see the sky beyond starting to shift at a theatrical pace. As quickly as it appeared, an ombre effect was soon smeared to menacing hues of charcoal grey. The sky seemed to crack wide open allowing darkness  released from somewhere beyond to suddenly flood the atmosphere. The howling winds raged and the waves crashed in roaring orchestration. Water lapped up rhythmically before falling into a constant pour over the edge. The boat on which I stood was somehow still afloat, although, nearly incapable as it fell victim to the violent movement of the ocean. Sea-life spilled onto the deck, small fish flopping about seeking sanctuary, larger predators waiting patiently below for my demise. The water crashed louder, jaws of varying sizes opened and closed menacingly at the surface of the water, thirsty at the possibility of an early dinner. Tentacles revealed themselves slithering along the tipping vessel. The ship was taking on water and every creature imaginable was emerging from the depths of the ocean. I turn, throwing back a frantic glance. Surely there must be someone to shout out to for help, or shelter to seek? Staring at my sweaty palms, I am momentarily confused by my existence. Amidst the chaos, I am distracted by my soiled sneakers and disheveled bob cut, I suddenly realize I am very alone. There is no body to this ship , no stern nor bow, and certainly no captain. The abandoned helm alone, spinning wildly. 

I turn again and the ship has managed to downsize in an instant. Torn apart and swept up into the world below, I now stood upon mere planks of wood nailed together. It was barely a raft, somehow bearing a striking resemblance to my backyard deck. The rich orange stain stirs up nostalgia in me and I am reminded of the summertime. A memory drifts to mind… I am playing ship with my younger brother. Today, the backyard, our sometimes baseball field, excavation site, and jungle, was the sea before us. In between bologna sandwiches and popsicles, we tip toed barefoot across the deck, seeking refuge in the shade cast by the patio furniture. Bringing me back to my dire situation, off slides the family picnic table and with it my memories of lunch, swallowed by an angry ocean. I hear what can only be described as a dance of clicks and clacks at various decibels surrounding me from much closer than is comfortable. I freeze. I am shook from my memories as the deck seems to have mutated into battered pieces of driftwood haphazardly connected by rusty nails and unraveling twine. The water works to seep through and I straddle the planks, desperate to stay out of the world below.

It seems as if the rock of the raft has stalled into slow motion, suspending itself impossibly with each nauseating lean to and fro. Still the sounds persist. Click. Clack. Click. Clack. My eyes make their way toward the sounds, and red fills my view. An insurmountable army of zombie lobsters with their needy eyes and oversized claws make their way toward my bare legs. From beneath the mass of crustaceans, a single giant claw emerges from the depths. It hovers over the rest of it’s crawling cousins and reaches out to collect me, and draw me into the sea.

Suddenly this nightmare becomes a tangling of every giant monster movie I’d ever seen, and I’d seen a lot. I wake in shear panic, running in a sweat filled nightgown to spend the last hours of the night on my parents floor. Before falling back to sleep in the safety of my parent’s room, I’m reminded of an image I had seen earlier in the evening… A dirty fish tank, full of slow moving imprisoned crustaceans mindlessly crawling over one another, their life in a constant loop. That is the last time my family ever took me, and my vivid imagination, to Red Lobster.    

HOLLYWOOD HYPE

For years, my fear of the ocean had been growing and becoming more and more debilitating. Somehow while the anxiety continued to stew within, running parallel, so did my intrigue. I’d always been amazed by the ocean and simultaneously my imagination rocked by Hollywood’s influence. I bragged that I read Peter Benchley’s Jaws in grade school and was obsessed with Spielberg’s take on the monster and obsessed over the idea of the man-eating species.  I followed it up with Benchley’s White Shark, then Beast, and  would stop at the public library leaving with eyes wide, and hands full of both shark documentaries and books filled with images of creatures lurking deep below the surface of the water. From Disney’s 20,000 Leagues Under the Sea and The Little Mermaid to horror flicks like Piranha, Iv’e always loved tales of the sea and its diverse, sometimes mystical, inhabitants. Fairytale, folklore, the enigma of Loch Ness, I was and still am intriqued. 

Thanks, and no thanks, to Hollywood’s Blockbusters, my relationship with the ocean has always been a complicated one. The repeated theme of lurking monsters waiting below the surface to eat all humans certainly did a number on me. While the ocean is definitely to be respected, and it is extremely important to be both aware of your surroundings, and informed about what species you might encounter in a given area, pop culture has been unfair to many creatures that are essential to a healthy ocean. I believe that this fear has negatively influenced many humans worldwide creating a devastating impact on marine life and most notably, a negative image of sharks, and a lack of empathy for various species. From plastic to poaching, the ocean world demands our attention.  

MIDWEST DELUSIONS

Growing up in the Midwest, the ocean and all its wonder was a complete mystery. It seemed so far away. Books and movies showed me the sea creatures of nightmares and that became my reality. A vacation here and there would allow brief step in the salt water but the longer time spent away, the more foreign the idea of stepping foot in the water became. On a few early visits to Florida, I recall I skipped along the beach with my younger brother. We stumbled upon washed ashore masses of jelly bodies and had close encounters swimming beside what I remember deciding was a portuguese man of war, or so my library rentals would lead me to believe. Before that, we had only seen a few specimens on a visit to Chicago’s Shedd Aquarium where they were restricted to tanks, not occupying the same waters as we were?! It didn’t seem possible to view these beings in real life even though we were in their territory. As an adult, on a recent visit to the Shedd, I was struck by the vibrant beauty of the jellies exhibit. It was mesmerizing to witness them bob and balloon in meditative synchronization. 

A few years later, on a visit to Clearwater beach, we spent the afternoon getting baked to a crisp, and completely schooled by the ocean. My family was revealed as total northerners when we came stomping out of the water at a ridiculous pace  running, frantically practically tripping over ourselves, to escape the shadowed bodies sweeping across the shallow part of the beach, Floridians shouted, “Don’t Run! Shuffle! Shuffle!”. Oh. It turns out it was just sting ray season. Yeah. Definitely not something you’d hear near Lake Michigan and a sure foreign thought to us. We looked back to see that we were in fact the only people who raced out of that water as if someone had pooped the pool. I swear a few locals shook their heads at our reaction as their five-year olds continued to splash about in their teeny tiny life vests. Meanwhile, we reapplied our sunscreen, and somehow still left that beach streaked with sunburn. 

TISK TISK

As a young adult, I approached the ocean like a careless idiot. No respect for its wonder, no understanding of the creatures whose home I was inhabiting, and no thought for my own safety. A couple of those experiences could have easily become the subject of a made for TV movie focused on a group of barely twenty something Americans acting a fool. Somehow I survived unscathed and Hollywood amped up foolish Americans in peril in a remake of Piranha instead.  

Naive and freshly nineteen, a trip to a remote beach off the coast of Costa Rica left me with trail of welts from a passing jellyfish. Following my local friend blindly, we traveled through a lushly covered path, bouncing along on the dirt road for what seemed like hours to arrive at this secret beach. As I exited the water, and watched my skin react to the exposure of some foreign being. My  friend reassured me that it must have been a school of baby jellyfish. Lucky me, I thought. Mostly disturbed by the fact that I had not seen anything in the water,  began to wonder how it could have been oh so much worse. At the time, I had no understanding of the behavior of different species. All sharks wanted to eat you and all jelly fish to poison you. Well, knowledge is power and quite enlightening. 

At the time, I was consumed with fear and hyper focused on the “aggressive” behavior of life below the surface. I had no idea where we were, my own fault, and at that time, cell phones were practically useless abroad. In hindsight, I should have been more aware of my surroundings and educated on life in this area of the Caribbean before just jumping in. I remember I anxiously watched as the trail of bumps around my back, across my torso, and down my leg became more pronounced and itchy. I tried to hide my overwhelming relief when awhile later my skin returned to its usual form and the raised redness finally disappeared.

I celebrated my twenty-first birthday while visiting Panama City Beach with friends. Soon a few friends, made a few friends, and we had ourselves a party at a rented beach house with direct access to the water. Generally a very chill person preferring small group hangs as opposed to a wild and rowdy bunch, I recognized this scene as a total recipe for disaster. Again, many movies have been made about this sort of scenario – Beach Party gone horribly wrong. It’s almost too easy!

Alongside the PCB house, among a pile of various items for sun and sand activities, a giant party raft was discovered. Having no backbone at the time, I went with the ridiculous plans that were to unfold. At the height of the wildness, sometime long after dark, the boys decided we should take the floatation fun out into the black water. I’m definitely blaming this on the boys. My ally and travel partner, refused to go in the water but the guys agreed to swim the raft out into the night and keep hold while we lounged within. Seemed like a solid plan. We got in, they swam us out, and liquid courage was our only guide. (Yikes!)

A short while later we notice something gravitating toward the raft. Then we notice more somethings glowing and gravitating toward the raft. It’s as if the local jellyfish thought it was their mothership. In an instant we all freaked out and it was every idiot for themselves. As the jellyfish gather and swarm the raft we abandoned ship, er party raft, recklessly. Diving headfirst into the water, just barely beyond the glowing jellyfish, and allowed the raft to float out to sea. We watched the raft get smaller and smaller until it was so far away that in the dark, it disappeared. I imagine the jellyfish had their own late night gathering to get to.

When I recall this event, I am reminded of a hilarious episode of Sponge Bob Squarepants where all the jellyfish move in coordination to a ridiculously catchy  tune. In hindsight, while it certainly was no cartoon at the time, it was a darkly comedic three minutes. What I would have given to hear that theme song followed by waking up in bed! I often wonder if my mind has elaborated upon this day and its events more than I realize. The image of those glowing beings and their swarming of the raft is such a vivid memory but has time changed it? Have dreams twisted it? Was there really an army of bioluminescent jellyfish? 

The next day, we woke hungover and hair tousled. Even though it was August, in typical Spring Breaker fashion, we went back out to the beach stinky and hoping the sun would wake us from our current states. Surprisingly the party raft was in view. Concealing our tired eyes behind sunglasses, we watched from our sandy towels as the guys swam out and successfully retrieved the beach house’s property. Know one would ever know the difference. Sunglasses on, cheap beers nearby, we resumed our beach recovery. A short while later, a baby shark head ripped from its body washed up to our feet on shore. That was more than enough of the ocean for that trip.

(See Pt. 2)

*PC: Christal Wagner Photography