14. A Shark in the Dark

On 28 March my brother arrived in Male'. The original plan had been for him to join me on Ihavandhoo for two weeks, but now that wasn't possible so we decided to split the time between a lazy week swimming in the Maldives and a hectic week travelling in Sri Lanka.

I met Bryn at the airport, slightly fatigued after a 15 hour trip, and then cruelly frogmarched him across Male' to catch a local ferry bound for the island of Maafushi. (A 200 dollar spedboat or 2 dollar ferry - you do the math. s.) This was an inhabited island, so hotel rooms could be procured for about 10% of the resort cost. It meant adhering to Muslim rules (no alcohol, bikinis, or idolatry) but otherwise had all the necessities for a nice relaxing beach holiday. Including some powerful A/C which made me swoon with happiness. Being on Maafushi also gave us access to local people and affordable cafes, so Bryn got to see a glimpse of island culture and traditions, which visitors to resorts tend to be cocooned away from.

The best part of Maafushi was the truly stunning reef. Our beachfront room opened out into the most phenomenal snorkelling I experienced in the Maldives. A vast colony of fragile living coral which was home to fish of every size, shape and colour. It was particularly stunning in the morning, when the tide was out, and sunlight reflecting through shallower waters really framed the diversity and variety of life below. Every day we snorkelled several times, for several hours each go. One evening I even managed to glimpse a big four-foot reef shark, all angular and point, which emerged from the deep waters and passed a few metres in front of me. It was there, and then it was gone. No time to be afraid. But finally I had completed the four things on my snorkelling list: shark, manta, turtle and sting ray. Admittedly I only acknowledged this list after seeing all four, and if I'd seen a whale it would probably have been a list of five, so I'm not sure it counts as an achievement.

After three full days we were exhausted, and my cash reserves were reaching Lehmann Brother levels, so we hopped the ferry back to Male' where accommodation was cheaper, i.e. free. (Thank you Lorne and Kat). We passed a few more days on various other empty beaches, where we saw parrotfish and a stingray and only a limited amount of litter. In a moment of highly-anticipated triumph I finally finished Bill Clinton's epic seven-million page autobiography, started many weeks before on Ihavandhoo. It ranks as one of the worst-written books I've ever read; just a tedious account of every day in office, except for a few months in 1997/8 which he mysteriously skips over very quickly. I've since read Dubya's book, and the difference could not be more stark. Clinton may have nicer politics, and a far superior record in office, but Bush is a much better writer. Or at least he found a much better ghost writer.