Although it was not always the case, rain had a peculiar way of changing my mood. It would bring a certain melancholy mixed with a hint of nostalgia and it would bring upon me an indistinct sadness that I carried with me like a rotten bag of potatoes over my shoulders. At times, this sadness, this vague loneliness would seep into my being like drops falling into an empty jar, somewhere in the darkness echoing regrets and past wounds. It was raining in paradise tonight. It was raining hard, with drops that hurt and were like small relentless darts piercing the ground. But tonight, oh tonight that jar that was hidden in the depths of my private solitude, that jar that was always thirsty for the melancholy and sadness was filled with the love of her breath, the warmth of her body and with each kiss, each splendid “I love you” sadness packed up and took it’s cold torturous hands, once used to chilling even my bones, and left. This was our first rainy night as a married couple and I, for the first time, felt whole when it rained.

It was a night tempered by furious winds from the sea and lighting streaks across the dark sky. The sound of the rain was fighting a losing battle with the sound of thunder rolling from one side of the punished island to the other. If the clouds were God’s wooden floors, then that night He was moving furniture around; that’s how the stern, harsh sound of rolling thunder sounded. We would be awakened by the recurring thunderclap that sounded like shattering crystals across the infinite sky. We could hear objects of all kinds flapping, pieces banging into the thinning palm trees which were fighting the heavy winds. I was more at peace than Monica. She was freaking out. Any major roar in the sky from thunder and she would twitch in her sleep.

In case you didn’t notice on the previous video I posted earlier, our love shack doesn’t have any lock, so essentially any one could at any point walk right in. As we were sleeping, Monica whimpered silently with fear. She made that sound that a frightened child would make. Her breathing increased exponentially, it felt as raging as the wind outside, but instead of the furious breathing of the sea, it was a breathing that cried of desperation. And then she made that sound: It was a genuine, gut-filled, blood rushing, breath-taking, my-life-is-flashing-before-my-eyes type of panicked shriek! She was wide awake, almost crying. “What’s wrong,” I urgently asked. “Someone is grabbing my feet!” she exclaimed panic-stricken. I searched in the darkness of the night for a silhouette of a perpetrator. And with all the wind that was angrily blowing through our love shack, the waves hammering the sand, the flapping of the leaves from the palm trees, the thunderclap, the lightning and the torrential rains this was a perfect setting for a horror movie. I narrowed my eyes and saw no movement by the door, no shadows among the shadows. Then a flash of lightning revealed nothing. I asked Monica if she wanted me to turn the light on. She whimpered again. My hand reached slowly towards the light and I felt Monica hold her breath in suspense, as if waiting to scream in terror. If this was a movie, there would have been that ominous sound of a violin or Psycho theme soundtrack as the camera focused on my hand slowly turning the light on and then it would have focus on her fear-gripped eyes as she hid her lower face behind the covers waiting to see the midnight foot masseuse at her feet.

And as you might have guessed it, it was nothing. I explained to her that the chances that a man was going to cross the jungle in the middle of the night, during a raging storm, only to come and give her a foot massage was very rare, almost next to impossible, and that that man would only be me. I must admit that she does have nice feet, but c’mon. As it turns out, luckily for her, her midnight foot masseuse happen to be me anyways. Well, sort of. You see, every time there was a loud thunderclap, Monica would twitch. It was like an automatic reaction or reflex. So, I thought she was having a nightmare, and like any loving husband, I moved closer to her and with my lonely feet caressed her tiny feet. I was only seeking to comfort her, to shield her from her own dreams. Little did I know this simple action of love was going to make us feel as if we were about to star in our own (very fake) horror movie sketch.   After laughing about it, we went back to sleep with the soundtrack of nature’s rage.

When we got up, we decided that this was going to be our last day Derek’s Place.  As beautiful as it was, we had had enough of walking through the jungle to eat or dive.  And since we were going to do a night dive, it was best if we took a room by Dolphin’s Dive Shop.  We took a few pictures, ate breakfast and said goodbye.  Once more we were going on our perilous, mosquito-ambushed battlefields of the jungle, except this time we would be carrying all of our gear, including Monica with the luggage that weighed and measure half her size and no $20 would-be hustler around to carry anything.  We walked and walked as the earth was sweating with humidity.  Sweat was dripping down our forehead like rain drops down a foggy window.  It sucked.  We had to stop occasionally because although Monica, with her 105lbs of fury, was giving it all she got, it was still tiresome and heavy.  This wasn’t a time for pictures, a time for enjoying a nice stroll in the jungle, or kisses, or caresses.  No, this was torture.  Forget being lovey lovey talk, this was a time for moaning the lower back and shoulder pains; a time for wrinkled foreheads and narrowed eyes of worn down fantasies of paradise. 

Once we got to the other side of the island.  We decided to stay at the Lobster Inn, which is within 2 minutes to Dolphins Dive Shop.  At a price of $10 a person, beachfront access, proximity to dive shop, and a restaurant downstairs, we were getting a bargain!  Right?  If by getting the size of a room that is equivalent to a prison dorm where only the bed fits; and the shower stall and toilet are next to the bed; no A/C; and mosquitoes that hungry only for the blood of only foreigners, then Yes, this was a bargain!  Man, anytime you had to use the bathroom, I felt like it was a prison, where you do your business in front of your prison mate.  Sure it had a sliding door to provide “privacy”, but it didn’t help that it was see-through.  And I have to mention that it was very um, uncomfortable.  I had to keep telling Monica to leave the room since I still hadn’t fully recovered from eating the forbidden fruit.  This place was still a good deal and very inexpensive.

At 11AM we went out to the dive shop and realized that we were late.  We almost missed the boat, which was at the other side of island.  We had to run, tank over shoulder, as fast as we could to get to the boat.  That’s when we discovered the nicest beach on the entire island.  This beach was beautiful; with white sands, huge palm trees, clean and even nicer luminous blue waters than Derek’s Place.  On the beach, there were some cabanas (huts) that you could rent for about $10 a night.   If I had known about this place, called Elsa’s, earlier, I would have definitely rented at least one night there and instead of Lobster Inn or Derek’s Place.  Anyways, I won’t write too much about the dive because I have the video below.  But I must say that Monica did it again.  She was all over the place.  She looked like an octopus in distress.  She was waving her arms around like a drowning person, her gear was loose and all over the place and she couldn’t control her buoyancy.  Oh, and we had our first argument as a married couple, but not one word was spoken during the argument because it was underwater.  So we had to use hand signals and ugly looks to convey our feelings.  We were following the dive master and he went into a cavern, but I didn’t want Monica to go into the cavern because I was afraid she was going panic and leave me without a buddy, and as a widow, of course.  So, I motioned to her with my hand to stay while I went into the cave but she got mad at me because she didn’t want to stay behind.  So she went in and was all over the place.  There were many times that she could have banged her head on knife-sharp rocks if it wasn’t because I was doing my husbandly duties and rescuing her by pulling her down as she floated away.  She got mad at me for that and we left the cavern and surfaced.  At the top, we decided that I wasn’t going to rescue her and I was just going to let her swim like an injured octopus with a bruised ego. 

This day was by far the best dive we’ve had.  I saw a total of 7 sharks, one of which I followed until it scared me by turning around and swimming towards me.  A cold chill escaped out my back in the warm Caribbean waters as I was face to face with this animal could easily rip a limb from my body.  It was great seeing sharks up close and not through a glass.  They ranged from 4ft to 8ft in length.    We saw all types of fishes, including a nasty looking toad fish (which I heard I should feel privilege because they are rare), more sting rays, and the majestic and elusive spotted Eagle Ray.  I tried chasing it but it was gracefully fast with it’s very long tail trailing behind.  I dove a total of three times, including a night dive, which was exhilarating and scary at the same time.  I think I am done with night dives.  It was something new and exciting, and there are different animals that come out, but I thought that the only exciting part of it was when we waved our hands in front of us and see the green phosphorus glow in front of us.  Other than that, you couldn’t even see your hands in front unless it was with a flash light.  Monica was very brave and I am very proud of her for jumping into the darkness.  Anyways, check out the video below:

After our night dive, we went to eat back to the Cuban restaurant, but didn’t eat the food.  We were tired and went back to our room to sleep as we had to wake up early to take the boat back to Big Corn Island.

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