The down side of being an overly independent solo traveler

If I could travel the rest of my life as a hobo with my posse of cats in tow, begging for change, trying to hitchhike my way back to Hawaii, I absolutely would. Traveling alone is an amazing and gratifying fete once you get the hang of it. You have the ability to do anything and everything you want, or absolutely nothing at all, without so much as a word to another person. It is the purest form of freedom. You can completely disappear, and as amazing as that sounds, it is also incredibly terrifying. Solo travelers fall victim to kidnapping, trafficking, injuries and death everyday. When traveling alone, you must be diligent about every little detail. I say that because after having put myself in numerous dangerous situations, it is a miracle I’m still alive today.

Nothing brings out my reckless like the sea. I love snorkeling so much that I travel with my own gear now. But as my wild encounters grow, so do the extensive lengths I’ll go to experience them. Like a junkie feigning for the next hit, I continue to put myself in even sketchier situations, most recently when I traveled to Maui last. While the winter days are hot and sunny, the seas are significantly rough. This is great for surfers, not so much for snorkelers. The current is not something to play with, as even Olympic swimmers get caught in riptides and die. Just this year NFL player Peyton Hills almost died saving his own children from drowning at the beach by a rogue wave. I myself am the worst swimmer on Earth, hands down. I have no coordination. I panic under pressure. I can’t remember to breathe through my mouth, and once I’m in the water, I kick my feet like I’m having a seizure. I rely so much on the oxygen in my fat cells to buoy me that if I actually fucked around and lost weight, I’d probably die.

So there I was, alone on a Maui beach in the middle of a storm. I felt like Patrick Swayze at the end of “Point Break”: the sea spray on my face, hair sticky and matted, knowing I probably wasn't coming back. LOL, I joke, but conditions were less than ideal. I hadn’t told anyone where I was going. My intuition told me to sit this one out, but I’d already had a run in with my better judgement the day before, having almost capsized my kayak, then vomiting all over myself and the neighboring waters because I’d forgotten to take my medicine. I spent the rest of the previous day sleeping in the back seat of my rental car, trying to overcome the nausea. I was leaving the next morning and couldn’t let this trip end on a bad note even though I knew that every time I threw a Hail Mary, I usually end up at the hospital. The broken leg in Amargosa. The sprained ankle in Havasu. The torn foot pad at Life is Beautiful. The ball pit incident at Great America. I could tell you stories for days.

So I strapped on my GoPro and waded into the water. The current was strong and minimal effort was required. This also meant it would be that much harder to get back but thinking ahead isn’t one of my strong suits. If it was, I would have checked the weather and sea conditions beforehand. By the time I realized the blobs bobbing in the distance were sea turtles, I was right in the center of a huge underwater current, heading straight for the reef. Right along with me was the pod of turtles, also along for the ride. To my amazement, there were at least ten, many the size of my own body. They were so close I could have reached out and touched them, but I didn’t. In fact, I had to make some quick maneuvers to avoid them running into me. I try to be uber vigilant about keeping my distance and respecting the animals and their environment, but on this day, the sea was in control. The awe and wonderment only lasted a few moments before a huge current pulled me back and threw me violently against the coral bed. I realized I was about to drown if I didn’t turn and swim. I was attempting to flee into deeper water with a large school of fish beside me. The struggle went on for a long time. I was getting tired. I was panicking. Most importantly, I was all alone. No one knew where I was or what I was doing. So I closed my eyes and tried to calm down. I was running out of options. I decided to stop fighting and follow the fish. When they swam feverishly, so did I. When they slowed down, so did I. There was no point in fighting the current so I just tried to ride it out. Eventually I made it back to shore, my heart beating through my chest, but alive.

After I was calm, I had a stern conversation with my other personalities about the stunt I’d just pulled. How irresponsible and reckless I’d been. How the authorities would find my rental car in the following days and assume I’d drown. How mad my mom would be when she found out I’d left all my money in a trust to my cats. What a total disregard I had for my own personal safety. I returned to the hotel and jumped on my phone to check in for my flight. On the home page, right under news, I saw an article that looked interesting. A snorkeler, dead in Wailea. A shark attack. Breaking events. That’s when I found out, in that very cove, in the dark waters below me, a tiger shark was circling, looking for something to sink it’s teeth into. While I battled away with the turtles, a 60 year old tourist from Seattle was drug to her death, only a cloud of blood left in the water, her body never recovered. Just down the beach, I, a giant glazed jelly donut for a human being, bobbing in the water all by myself, surrounded by dozens of plump sea turtles: a little shark buffet.

Moral of the story: don’t be stupid when you’re traveling alone.

xoxo, The Bitter Bitch