Cemeteries, Massacres and Dolphins
“Oh, the places you’ll go!” ~ Dr. Seuss
I wanted to be a travel writer. There were two things against me. I didn’t travel, or not to places people wanted to read about. My only writing experience was a weekly grocery list. It was long. I had to feed five people every day.
As a young mom, I took my children to places I thought were important. Like cemeteries and monuments.
One trip was to Wounded Knee Massacre Monument in South Dakota. I grew up on and near the rez. I believed it was important for my three, white, middle class, educated, elementary aged children to know the true story of how the United States Cavalry slaughtered innocent, unarmed American Indian women and children. They needed to see with their own eyes the mass grave where the bodies were dumped. Feel the grief rise from the ground where so much unnecessary bloodshed took place.
I guess I was teaching Critical Race Theory before it became illegal in some states.
The details of this family outing have been told and retold many different ways over the years. In all of the telling I’m the villainess who left three children alone in a sweltering vehicle in the middle of nowhere.
I ran off with a random flap of nuns to experience the sacred site of one of the worst U.S. military war crimes of the 18th century. Or, any century for that matter.
In my defense, the kids could have accompanied me and the nuns. They would have been part of a profound encounter with their country’s tainted history. Instead, they chose to stay in the car and talk smack about their mother.
For the record, the windows were down.
Fast forward thirty years. I am a retired adult with a travel credit card and I’m not afraid to use it.
I no longer write grocery lists. I feed myself whatever happens to be in the fridge.
When a dear friend invited me on a trip to join a human pod and swim with dolphins on Bimini, I immediately said, “YES!”
Then, I had to ask my other friend, Google, “Where is Bimini located?”
Bimini is an island in the Bahamas. It is the closest island to the United States, only 60 miles from Fort Lauderdale.
A few details about Bimini include:
It was a hangout for Hemingway. He is said to have written Old Man and the Sea there. The locals viewed him as an alcoholic asshole. Hemingway was famous for being an alcoholic asshole everywhere he went. Academics visit the island to attend literary conferences and experience the Old White Guy of Bimini vibe.
Many a Carib Indian, pirate, smuggler, and countless enslaved people found a homebase on Bimini.
Typical of island life, there is an undercurrent of illegal activity that goes undetected by tourists and the United States Coast Guard. Currently, Haitians arrive and are shuttled to the Florida Coastline for a hefty fare. Smugglers are known for transporting “square grouper” from Bimini.
The Lost City of Atlantis, is a popular dive spot and a New Age attraction. According to the mimeographed information sheet in the room, an American psychic named Edgar Cayce said he encountered a former resident of Atlantis while under hypnosis, and was told the location of the Lost City was near Bimini. Since Cayce’s prophecy, an underwater formation was discovered and has been investigated by explorers and treasure seekers. It may not really be Atlantis. Maybe Belowlantis? Or Nearlantis? An OWG once again wiggled his way into local lore.
Remember Gary Hart? Presidential hopeful. He was photographed with Donna Rice on a pier on Bimini. This indiscetion was named Monkey Business. America has endured many unforgivable breaches of character since then, but this one made way for Ronald Reagan to be elected president. We all remember his contribution to the White House scene. President Reagan invited the religious right for dinner and they forgot to leave.
My new human pod didn’t care about Hemingway, drug smugglers, or the Lost City of Atlantis. They were determined dolphin devotees. A couple of the guests had been to Bimini twenty-five times!
Getting myself to Bimini under current COVID restrictions, airline cancelations, and tropical storm advisories was somewhat daunting. However, everything fell into place. My friend and I found ourselves on a six passenger charter flight above the turquoise blue of the Atlantic.
Once we landed, we were transported by van to a local ferry, shuttled across a short waterway, loaded into yet another vehicle, and driven to a retreat center called WildQuest.
What a perfect name. It’s not a resort. The compound is clean, simple and beachy. My type of place. The first couple of days we learned boat etiquette and safety, snorkeled, and practiced entering and exiting the water.
Due to a major tropical storm that hit the evening before we arrived, the dolphins were sparse and the water was rough. The dolphins swam into the Gulf Stream to escape. That didn’t prevent the crew from doing their best to spot a pod. One of the crew pointed out, “This is WildQuest, not Disney.”
The dolphins are free and wild. They are not fed or manipulated to interact in any way. When they act playful and curious, a couple of people are invited to quickly and silently slide into the water. If the dolphins want to hang around, others from the human pod are allowed to go into the ocean and wait for the dolphins to approach and interact. This entire process is done at the dolphin’s discretion. Sometimes they swim away. Sometimes they stay and want to play.
Mid-week we started seeing more dolphins. They swam beside the boat and performed turns and tail slaps to our delight. We were invited in the water several times each day. The interaction was magical. These quick and lively creatures are able to establish an eye to eye connection. A spotted dolphin swam toward me at lightning speed, stopped three feet away, looked at me for a few seconds and did a deep dive. My cue to dive too.
The first mate explained that dolphins are more active in the afternoon so the catamaran left the dock at 11:30 a.m. and stayed on the water until dusk. Once we arrived from our dolphin search, we had enough time for a quick shower, a drink, and dinner was served. Talk about magic! The chef created meals that were fresh, plentiful, and absolutely delicious. All meals were eaten outdoors at a long table with the human pod.
The staff were from Italy, Amsterdam, Brazil, England, and three from the United States. They worked their asses off to ensure that the pod was fed, safe, comfortable, entertained, and educated about dolphins and the area in general, photographed, and most of all … part of a cohesive human pod.
One morning I walked to the local cemetery. I had spotted it from the boat. There were eighteen people in the pod. Not including the staff. I enjoy social situations but some of the interactions were a lot. One of the males in the pod asked me if my friend and I were gay, another member of the pod asked me if I was over 73 years-old. Neither of these things are bad, it’s just not how I see myself. Ouch!
The cemetery had many graves that had seen better days. The inscriptions were barely readable. There were recent graves from 2020. A couple of women in their 50's. COVID?
I walked to the edge of a deep ravine slanted toward the ocean. Piles of trash. Not what I expected to see on an island based on tourism.
Later, I told my friend about the unusual questions from the human pod. She laughed, “Sequoia this is not the first time we have been asked about being lesbians.”
My friend was an excellent travel companion. I liked the way she said “we” instead of “you.”
“Really? I don’t remember.”
“Focus on our dolphin friends, they are happy to be wild and free. Just like you.”
I put my effort into dolphin pod energy. I sat on the bow with a squad of lovely beings gliding below me. As the boat bobbed in the water my feet nearly touched their backs. They looked up at me with what appeared to be smiles.
“Yes little ones, I’m a silly human.”
I’m a traveler who writes. Or, a writer who travels. The mom of three adults who survived family trips to cemeteries.
Definitely not a 73 year-old lesbian.
