Stepping Toward the Water

The first time I travelled alone, I was scared shitless. A few weeks after I graduated from university in April 2014, I wanted to plan a graduation trip to Costa Rica with a few of my friends. My goal post-graduation was to become a writer who travelled the world, telling stories of all my epic adventures. Costa Rica, with its tropical rainforests, turquoise waterfalls, active volcanoes, and leopards, monkeys and venomous snakes, seemed like the perfect starting point. My friends, however, decided not to travel with me. After sulking around my parents’ house for several days, my dad convinced me to travel solo to a safer destination: a resort in The Bahamas. A week later, I stood in the lobby of Atlantis on Paradise Island adorned in skinny jeans and a denim jacket. Sweat drenched beneath the denim. My parent’s old carry-on luggage bag stood beside me. My heart raced.

“Welcome to Atlantis,” the man behind the front desk said, “is this your first time staying with us?”

“Yes,” I said, as I fumbled my backpack open, yanked out my humidity crumpled confirmation papers and handed them to him. He gazed at the papers and started typing on his computer.

“Any particular reason for choosing Atlantis?”

I pondered for a moment, and then sighed.

“To be honest, I was planning a grad trip to Costa Rica with some friends and it fell through, so I decided to go on a trip by myself. I figured staying in a world-famous resort was safe.”

He studied my dishevelled brown hair, five o’clock shadow, denim jacket and skinny jeans, and laughed.

“Yeah, to be honest, you don’t look like a resort guy, that’s why I asked.”

I smiled.

“Yeah, I hate the idea of resorts. Don’t get me wrong, Atlantis looks incredible and I’m already blown away by it from this lobby, but I don’t know if sitting on a beach chair for the next four days drinking and sun tanning is my thing.”

I sighed again.

“But, like I said, I’m kind of scared to be solo in a different country, so it’s better than nothing.”

He handed me my confirmation papers back. The voices of travellers echoed through the lobby. Wafts of humidity spilled into the check-in line, as the sliding doors slid open and closed.

“Yeah, that’s totally understandable. It’s definitely a bit daunting to travel alone.”

He pulled two hotel room cards from his desk, scanned them through a machine and slid them to me. The turquoise cards stated “Atlantis.” They glittered in the hotel’s low yellow lighting.

“Can I give you some advice?” he asked.

“Absolutely.”

“Enjoy the resort for the rest of today and maybe even all of tomorrow. Grab some drinks, chill by the beach and pools, wander around the aquariums, and do all of that resort stuff that we’re known for until you’re feeling comfortable being here alone.”

He pondered for a moment. My sweat beneath my denim jacket cooled, as the air conditioning seeped past the denim.

“Then do yourself a favor and get off the resort. People come to Atlantis year after year. Some families have been here every year for the last ten years. They’re very well versed in what Atlantis is, but they’ve never seen The Bahamas. You seem like the kind of guy that likes to explore and go on adventures, so do yourself a favor and do just that. Truly experience what The Bahamas is.”

“That’s good advice, but how do I do that? Like I said, I’m solo and a bit scared, so I wasn’t exactly planning to go wandering around the island by myself.”

“Well, that’s the best part about staying at Atlantis. You don’t have to go by yourself!”

He pulled out a brochure, opened it up and lay it across the desk.

“We offer group excursions for all kinds of adventures around The Bahamas. There are simple ones like city tours of Nassau and snorkelling on some of the reefs, then there are epic full day adventures like this one to Exuma.”

He pointed to a section on the brochure that displayed images of giant powerboats cruising through shallow turquoise waters, secluded beaches, and iguanas roaming around the sand. My eyes widened.

“That looks insane.”

“It is. The excursion is our most popular, and we run one every day. It usually sells out very fast though, so, if you’re interested in doing an excursion of that size and nature, you’d need to decide pretty quick and try to sign up. Like I said though, just chill for the rest of today and even tomorrow until you get your bearings, and then figure out what you want to do.”

I studied the brochure for a few moments. My heart pounded.

“Where would I sign up for these excursions if I were to go on one?”

He pointed down a hallway that was lined in royal blue carpeting and adorned with sea shells.

 “There’s an excursion office right down there. Go in there and chat with them when you’re ready. They’ll hook you up.”

“Thanks man, I appreciate that.”

I picked up my room key. He extended his hand.

“My name is Mark,” he said, “if you need anything, I’m usually working at this desk during the day. Enjoy your stay at Atlantis, and remember what I said: see The Bahamas.”

During my first afternoon and then first morning at Atlantis, I walked around the resort, watched the sting rays, sea turtles and sharks swim in the resort tanks, ate dinner and breakfast at the chain restaurants, drank Heineken after Heineken on the beach, and grew bored of the overall resort vibe. Around noon on the second day of my trip, I gazed out at the vast, turquoise Caribbean Sea. Warmth filled my chest. My heart raced. As the trade winds whipped behind me toward the water, I stood, brushed the sand off of my legs and marched toward the resort’s main building.

“How can I help you, young man?” the woman behind the desk asked, as she straightened out the various stacks of brochures on her desk. I clenched my book tighter between my arm and chest. My legs stiffened. “Um, I was hoping to look at some excursion options.”

The lady looked up at me, pondered for a moment, and then grinned.

“Ah, yes my boy! We’ve got lots of excursions. Full day ones, half day ones, hour long ones. Whatever you like. What’d you feel like doing?”

“Well, that’s just it. I have no idea. I just think I’d like to get off the resort, you know? See The Bahamas.”

The lady grinned again. She picked up a brochure.

“Ah, yes. You want to see The Bahamas. Not a problem, not a problem. We’ve got lots of different excursions to help you do just that. Look here.”

I stared down at the desk, as she opened up the brochure, slid her hands across the glossy paper, and flattened the creases. The brochure twinkled in the office’s fluorescent light. Small photos of tour buses, catamarans and powerboats filled the blue sheet.

“Now, if you want to see Nassau, we’ve got a bus tour that takes you through the city. It lasts for about three hours, and the bus stops a few times so you can get off, take pictures and ask the guide questions.”

“Hmm,” I said, as I remembered the broken-down cars on the drive to the resort, “I’m more of a nature guy. Is there anything that can get me out on the Caribbean Sea?”

The lady slid her index finger across the brochure. Her coral fingernail stopped on a picture of turquoise water with a massive catamaran cruising across it.

“This snorkelling excursion is a good one if you’re looking to get your feet wet without taking up your whole day. The excursion takes about three hours. One of our drivers takes you down to the harbour, a catamaran picks you up, and then you sail out to one of the local reefs. From there you get to snorkel for a few hours. You’ll see lots of tropical fish. Maybe even a shark. Does that sound more appealing?”

I studied the photograph and words “Snorkelling Tour” beneath her coral fingernail. I’d never snorkelled before, but it did seem like the kind of adventure I could get behind. Open oceans and seas fascinated me when I was a kid. I used to watch videos about scuba diving and snorkelling and read books about sharks every day after school. This was my chance to actually go out into the vast unknown and see some of the sea creatures I’d always dreamt of seeing. Sounded pretty fucking scary to me.

“Is it hard to snorkel?” I asked.

“Ah, my boy, not at all! They give you a life jacket and you just swim around a little bit and check out the fish. Piece of cake.”

I pondered for a moment, and then set down my towel and book, and pulled out my wallet.

“All right, I’ll do it. Sign me up.”

She smiled.

“That’s the spirit. You’ll love it.”

She studied her computer screen. The screen’s light illuminated her face.

“It just so happens that I’ve got an opening for tomorrow’s tour. Our driver leaves from here for the harbour around 9 AM. Does that work?”

“Works perfectly.”

“All right, you’re signed up and ready to go.”

She handed me my receipt. I shifted toward the door.

“Oh!” the lady said, “one more thing. How long are you here for?”

“Just three more nights.”

“There’s one more excursion you should check out and think about doing. It’s a bit more of a time commitment, but it’s worth it.”

I stepped back to the desk. The lady flattened out the brochure again, pushed it toward me, and placed her coral fingernail on it again. She pointed to a photo of a white, snake-like stream of sand that weaved across the turquoise Caribbean Sea. Two large, cigarette-style boats zoomed beside it. My eyes gaped.

“Where is that?” I asked, “That looks insane.”

“Ah, my boy, it is insane. That’s Exuma.”

Exuma is like a National Park in the middle of the Caribbean Sea. It consists of over 365 cays and islands that offer seemingly untouched beaches, a vast diversity of wildlife, and, of course, endless views of the surrounding turquoise waters. Exuma, in its own way, is the wilderness of The Bahamas. 

“How long is that tour?” I asked.

“Takes up the entire day. You leave here around 8 AM for the harbour, then you take one of the power boats for an hour or so down to the islands, then you chill there all day drinking beer, snorkelling, hanging out on private beaches, walking along the sand bars and feeding iguanas.”

The lady pulled out another brochure. This brochure was dedicated to the Exuma excursion. An “As Seen in National Geographic” icon popped out at the bottom of the page.

“Looks like it’s a big deal.”

“It is a big deal. Visitors usually book it months in advance.”

I studied the enlarged photo in the new brochure of the snake-like, dried-out sandbar that weaved across the turquoise water. It honestly looked like an s-shaped beach just appeared in the middle of the Caribbean Sea.

“Is there any space for the day after tomorrow?” I asked.

“I have to check with a different tour company located in Nassau. Give me a sec and I’ll call them.”

The lady picked up her phone, rested it between her ear and her shoulder, and flicked the edges of the brochure with her coral-coloured nails. A moment later, a voice muffled through the receiver.

“Hello? Yes, it’s me. How yah been keeping? I’ve got a man here looking to do the Exuma tour on the day after tomorrow,” she said, “Nope, it’d just be him by himself.”

My cheeks reddened. Sweat formed between my sand-covered toes.

“Ok, sounds good. I’ll tell him.”

The lady placed the phone back on the receiver. She crossed her hands on top of the desk.

“The tour’s full,” she said.

I groaned.

“I guess I should’ve tried to sign up for excursions the day I got here. I wasn’t sure I was going to do any until a half an hour ago.”

The lady grinned.

“You know, sometimes people bail out on these things last minute. Why don’t you try back later today, and maybe a few times tomorrow and we’ll see if a spot opens up for you.”

My red cheeks grinned. I grabbed the brochure off of the desk. My sweat and sunscreen-covered hands smudged the blue desk top.

“That would be amazing! I will definitely be back. Thanks so much.”

“No worries. Enjoy your snorkelling tomorrow and the rest of the evening.”

My heart pumped against my chest. Sweat dripped down my ribs. I blew a bit of air into my lifesaving jacket, shoved my snorkel’s mouthpiece between my lips and flopped my flippers down the steps of the tour group’s catamaran. My foot leapt off of the bottom step. Saltwater slithered around my legs, whirled above and beneath my board shorts, and wrapped around my entire body. My goggles dipped beneath the water. My brown hair swayed like windshield wipers across the lens. Water seeped into my snorkel.

After a few seconds, my lifesaving jacket pulled me back to the surface. My head popped up above the water. I peered around at the turquoise sea, drained the water out of my snorkel and shoved it back into my mouth. Fellow tour group members snorkelled in front of me. Small wakes trailed behind their kicking flippers. I studied them, clenched my mouth piece between my teeth and dipped under water.

Bright orange and blue and yellow and purple coral reefs rose from the sea floor. Jagged edges, dimples and erosion marked the reef’s branches. Small orange, blue and yellow fish swam around the reef. I kicked my flippers a few times. My lenses fogged. I struggled to breathe through my mouth piece. After about fifteen seconds of “snorkelling,” I surfaced.

Why is it so hard to breathe through this mouthpiece? I thought. It’s literally just an enlarged straw that I need to breathe through with my mouth.

I frowned, shoved the mouthpiece back in my mouth and kicked my flippers around a bit again. The reef reappeared. The fish swam beneath me. About thirty seconds later, my mouth piece dipped below the surface. Saltwater hit my lips. I surfaced, pulled my snorkel out of my mouth and spat out water.

This can’t be that hard, I thought.

I studied the other snorkellers again. Their snorkels rose well above the water. Their flippers sparkled, as their feet kicked into the air, dripped droplets and crashed into the saltwater surface.

I’m going to figure this out. There’s no way I’m coming all the way out here and not figuring out how to snorkel.

I drained my mouthpiece again, shoved it back into my mouth and swam across the surface. I focused on keeping my head above the water and breathing through my mouth. On the next few tries, I stayed in the water for a little bit longer every time. Eventually, I was able to snorkel around for several minutes without having to surface, and that was a crazy feeling. I’ve never tried scuba diving, so I imagine that is more epic, but being able to breathe technically underwater for even a short amount of time is a wild experience. Especially when there is an underwater jungle filled with coral, sea shells and tropical fish to explore beneath you.

I kicked around and around and around the reef, and then I froze. The reef stopped. What seemed to be a several-hundred-foot cliff edge appeared at the edge of the reef. Endless blackness loomed below and to the side of the reef. 

I stared out at the vast, empty sea in front of me, and was honestly surprised how cool I thought it was. Here was this massive, empty void that gave me a sublime, impossible to grasp feeling, and I couldn’t stop staring at it. The reef had seemed like a safe haven. It was almost like an amusement park we had been dropped off in. The black abyss in front of me, though, was the unknown. The wilderness of the sea. I wanted to know what was out there. I thrived to explore.

A new sense of adventure awoke in me at that moment, though. I had always thought I had loved adventure back at home, but this was different. I had truly gotten a glimpse of what was, to me, the complete unknown.

###

“Oh, welcome back!” she said, “and how was the snorkelling yesterday?”

I grinned.

“It was incredible. I’ve never done anything like that in my life.”

“Yes, the Caribbean Sea is a beautiful place. Glad you enjoyed it.”

“Now all I can think about is doing more excursions.”

The lady chuckled, as she grabbed the excursion brochure.

“Ah, yes, The Bahamas can do that to a person. What were you thinking for today? A tour of Nassau? A sunset sailing cruise?”

“I want to go on the excursion to Exuma.”

She pondered for a moment. Her coral fingernails tapped on the crumpled brochure. The fluorescent lights flickered on the brochure’s glossy paper.

“So, you want to go on the big excursion, huh?”

“Yes.”

“Good for you. The only problem is that it may still be sold out. That trip books out months in advance. When do you leave again?”

“The day after tomorrow.”

The lady shifted over to her computer. She scrolled through the screen. The screen’s glow illuminated her eyes.

“Hmm, the group for today has already headed down to the harbor, so you’re too late for that. Your only option is for tomorrow.”

The lady typed, scrolled and pondered at the screen. My palms pressed into the desk, as I leaned forward to stare at the picture of the power boats cruising through Exuma on the brochure. She sighed.

“I’m sorry sir, it looks like tomorrow is fully booked.”

I groaned.

“So, I guess there’s no way for me to get on the boat?”

“It’s not likely,” she said and contemplated at me for a moment. My head slinked down toward the floor. I guess that was it then. My new found love for adventure and exploration was coming to an end. All because I was too afraid to book anything other than an all-inclusive resort when I planned my trip. The poolside lounge chairs seemed like they were going to be my home for the rest of my adventure. I groaned again.

“You know what,” she said, “if you really want to go on this trip, why don’t you come back a few times throughout today to check and see if anyone cancels. Sometimes that happens, so you never know.”

My head shot up. My eyes widened.

“So, there’s still hope?”

“Absolutely my friend. We’ll try and figure something out.”

I thanked her and thanked her, and then thanked her again. Over the rest of the day, I must have gone back to that excursion office four or five times. I honestly thought, on one of my last attempts, that getting on that tour in such short notice was impossible. After all, who in their right mind would cancel on such an epic trip at the last minute? Either way, I don’t think I was going to give up on it until the bus to the harbor was leaving the following morning. So, as the sun was starting to set over the Caribbean Sea, I strolled back into the excursion office. The lady behind the desk forced a small smile.

“You really want to go on this excursion, don’t you?” she said.

“Yes. Ever since I saw the brochure of it, I haven’t gotten it off of my mind. I don’t think I can leave the Bahamas without going to Exuma.”

She tapped her coral fingernail against her chin. A moment later, she picked up the phone.

“Let’s see what we can do.”

The phone’s ring muffled against her ear.

“Oh, hey dear!” she said into the receiver, “yeah, it’s me. Listen, remember that guy I was telling you about that wants to go on the Exuma trip tomorrow? Yeah, the guy by himself.”

I frowned. Was that really such a strange thing on this resort?

“Is there any way you can squeeze him in?”

The lady looked at me. She grinned.

“Yeah, he’s a nice guy, too. Yeah. Mhmm. Yeah, I told him what happens in The Bahamas stays in The Bahamas.”

The lady chuckled. Another chuckle echoed through the receiver. My cheeks reddened.

“Ok. Is that right? I’ll tell him.”

She placed the phone down on the receiver. The receiver echoed, as it clipped back into place.

“Well,” she paused, “she said that they can fit you in.”

My eyes widened. My mouth drooped.

“Are you serious?”

“Yes sir! You’ll need to be down at the front doors at 8 AM so that they can take you to the harbor. You’re going to Exuma!”

“I don’t know how you did that, but thank you so much,” I said, as I pulled out my credit card and paid for the trip. I gawked at my reflection in the debit machine’s green screen, as the transaction was approved. The lady smirked.

“No problem. Enjoy your trip.”

I staggered out of the excursion office. Tourists whizzed up and down the hallway headed to and from the beach and pools. My fingers clutched my confirmation receipt. After practically begging for an entire day, I was actually going on an excursion to a set of remote, wild islands in the middle of the Caribbean Sea. And I was going alone.

The boat’s bow lifted into the air. My back whipped against the bench, as my hair whirled above my scalp. The turquoise water blurred beneath us. After a few minutes, we adjusted to the boat’s speed. I chatted for a bit with a young couple beside me, who were from Texas. As the woman from the couple chatted with me, her face tensed. The boat rose, dropped and slammed into the water. A moment later, the boat slammed into the water again. I peered over the edge. Nassau was nowhere in sight. The turquoise sea, which now had several royal blue, dark patches, surrounded the entire boat. Large waves rolled around the boat. On an incoming wave, the boat dipped in the wave’s arc, rose up over its lip, and then thundered back down onto the back of it. The woman turned to me and said “I don’t think I can take this for the rest of the ride,” as water splashed on her, her boyfriend and myself.

I, on the other hand, seemed to love the adrenaline-inducing boat ride. I’d never experienced a powerboat drive as fast as this one was, let alone one that was racing over giant sea waves. Every time the boat launched off a wave, I braced myself on the bench, watched as the boat’s bow rose away from the sea, and then grinned as it landed back on the water. I could see how this ride could be hell for some people, but for me it was one hell of a ride.

Eventually, after about an hour or so, the boat passed through the sea’s rough waters. The water became turquoise and shallow again. A few small land masses appeared on the horizon. Exuma revealed itself for the first time.

Our powerboat zipped across the turquoise water, veered toward a small island that looked like a tropical hill and slowed down. A small wooden dock rested at the edge of the water, palm trees and green foliage covered the island, and a wooden cabana nestled into the trees and side of the hill. A man with long, curly hair, a five o’clock shadow and a white tank top stood on the dock. The sun shadowed the wrinkles on his cheeks, as the boat brushed against the dock’s wooden slats.

The man on the dock grabbed the side of our boat, pulled it toward the dock and tied the boat up to the rusted metal cleats. The turquoise water shimmered through the dock’s weathered slats. Coral splayed across the seafloor. Our boat crew carried the coolers off of the boat, hauled them up a set of wooden stairs that led through the palms and bushes, and dropped them in the cabana. Our guide stepped off of the boat.

“All right everyone. We’re finally here in Exuma. We’ll hangout at this island for the next few hours to start. There’s a private beach on the back side of the island. All you have to do is climb those steps, head straight through the cabana over a bridge, and then take another set of steps down and you’re there.”

We all climbed off of the boat and stood on the dock. The mid-morning sun poked through the palm leaves and brushed against my sunscreen-covered skin. Our guide pointed to the man with curly hair that helped us dock the boat.

“Our island friend, Manny, lives here. He’s nice enough to let our tour group come and hangout here every day. He’s also going to be preparing us a beautiful Caribbean-style lunch right there in the Cabana. It’ll probably be ready in about an hour. We’ll call you up from the beach when it’s done.”

Our guide grinned.

“And one more thing. Those coolers that our crew brought up are filled with beer. Help yourselves on the way down to the beach.”

He turned, ascended the steps and disappeared into the cabana. We followed. The white coolers chilled in the shade beneath the cabana’s thatched roof. I flipped open the lid, grabbed a Sands beer, which is a local, Bahamian brew, popped open the tab, crossed the bridge to the backside of the island and stopped on a platform. The beer’s condensation cooled my fingers. My mouth gaped.

On the back side of the island, a beach wrapped in what appeared to be a perfect circle around the turquoise water. Black rocks, palm trees and another small cabana framed the cove. Nothing but turquoise water filled the skyline behind it. I pondered at the view for a moment, and wondered how the hell the guy that lived here managed such a sweet gig. This guy Manny seemingly had just decided to move to an island in the middle of the Caribbean Sea, work out a deal with a local tour company, and then spend his “working days” making meals and partying with tourists. How the hell could I do that?

I clambered down the steps. My feet landed in pure white sand, as I hit the bottom. The sand draped over my toes and feet. I sipped my Sands beer. The empty beach lay in front of me. Yes, I thought, this island life is pretty sweet.

For the next hour or so, our tour group chilled on the beach, swam in the water and drank beers beneath the sun. A stingray even swam through the cove and joined the party. I snapped a few photos of the beach, but had to ask a few of the couples there to snap photos of me in the scene, just so I knew that I really had been there. As I drained the last bit of my beer into my stomach, our guide hollered at us from the top of the steps.

“Lunch is served! Come get it while it’s hot!”

We dragged ourselves away from the beach and headed for the cabana. Serving trays filled with chicken, ribs and tropical fruit salads and salsas lined the wooden tables beneath the cabana’s roof. Small crabs crept across the wooden floor. Their red pincers scraped along the worn wood grain. I grabbed another Sands beer from one of the coolers, scooped a bunch of food onto a plate, and ate, while I watched the turquoise Caribbean Sea sift toward the island.

As I shovelled the last few bites of food into my mouth, our guide approached our group.

“If you’ve got any leftover food on your plates, follow me. I’ll show you how to dispose of it on the island.”

A few other tour group members and I followed our guide to the platform at the top of the steps. The water splashed against the shore about ten feet below us. Our guide grabbed a dirty plate from one of our tour group members, picked up a piece of half-eaten chicken, and threw it into the sea. As our mouths all drooped and our eyes widened, a flock of seagulls dove toward the water. A school of large fish bolted toward the surface. Bubbles erupted. A dorsal fin jutted above the turquoise water.

“We’ve got all sorts of wildlife on the island that likes to eat our food,” our guide said, “seagulls, fish, and even the occasional lemon shark.”

I peered down at the water again. Two beige, six-foot-long sharks circled in the water. The school of fish and seagulls all fluttered around them. Our guide tossed more food into the sea. The sharks whipped around, opened their jaws and snapped at the water. Our guide grinned.

“Feel free to toss your leftovers in the water too,” he said, “just make sure you bring your plates back up to the cabana after.”

I gazed down at my plate. A few pieces of fruit, a hunk of chicken and a small piece of bread lingered. I chucked all of them into the water. A crash of water thundered below. My leftover food disappeared. For the next ten minutes or so, I watch some of our other tour members throw their various lunches into the water. The seagulls and fish and sharks fought for the food every time.

After what seemed like everyone had a turn at throwing food into the water, our guide ushered us down the wooden steps and back to our powerboat. The boat rocked against the wooden dock. A seagull sat on the bow.

“Ok, next we’re going to go snorkelling, and then on our way back we’ll take you to the sandbar in the middle of the sea. After that we’ll make a quick pit-stop to see the iguanas on another island, and then we’ll head home. Everybody ready?”

I sipped my beer. The group cheered, as we all filed onto the boat. The dual engines roared. The boat headed toward a large reef a few minutes away from the island. Large rocks framed the reef from the rest of the sea. The water on top of the reef bobbed and weaved. The boat’s engines silenced. Our guide stood, grabbed a snorkel set and inflatable life vest, explained to our group how to use them, and then pointed to the rock outcrop surrounding the reef.

“See that rocky outcrop that’s surrounding the reef? It’s kind of like a fence. Make sure you don’t go outside of it. The current beyond that is very strong. There’s a good chance it will drag you out to sea, and then we’ll have to go out and save you. Try and stay as near to the boat as possible. If you start to notice that you’re drifting out toward its boundary, swim back immediately.”

The boat’s crew members handed out snorkeling sets and life jackets to everyone on board. I threw my life jacket on, inflated it enough so that I’d semi-float along the water, but not enough so that I couldn’t swim below the surface, and then adjusted my mask. The mask suctioned to my face. My flippers flopped against the boat’s white floor. I grabbed my GoPro and selfie stick, hobbled to the end of the boat, stepped down on the metal safety ladder, and hopped in.

Water engulfed my face. My brown hair whirled in front of my mask. I inhaled through my mouth, and then breathed out. A whooshing sound rumbled through the snorkel. Once the bubbles around me settled, I kicked away from the boat, swam while my selfie stick dragged behind me, and gazed around. A large reef protruded from the sea floor. Blue and yellow fish floated between the coral. I turned on my GoPro and kicked around some more. A small, blurry blob drifted in front of me. I squinted. The shape of a tiny, transparent jellyfish appeared. Tiny bubbles dissipated behind its body.

After learning how to snorkel on the excursion a few days before, I felt very confident swimming around that reef. In fact, I loved it. I felt like I was truly exploring an unknown world that, until this trip, seemed like an unattainable, otherworldly place that was only accessible by those that worked on the Discovery Channel. Every time I poked my head above the water, peered around at the rocky outcrop and turquoise water, and dove back under water toward the coral and fish, I still couldn’t believe I was actually in the middle of the Caribbean Sea swimming. But there I was, alone, and learning what it meant to completely live in the moment.

We swam around the reef for thirty or so minutes, and then hopped back into the boat. The boat roared out of the rocky outcrop. The sun rose high into the sky. The turquoise sea below glistened. After a few minutes, the water beneath us shallowed to what appeared to be about a foot of water. Then, in the distance, a long, snake-like stretch of dry sand appeared in the middle of the Caribbean Sea. And I mean long. The snake-like sandbar drifted on for what looked like miles. Our boat stopped in the shallow water beside it. The crew threw an anchor in the sand.

“All right everyone!” our guide said, “this is one of the famous sandbars in Exuma. In low tide, as you can see, the sandbar completely dries out, leaving a dry pathway of sand right across the sea.”

We all gaped off of the edge of the boat. The sandbar literally had small waves breaking on its edges.

“We’re going to all hop off the boat, wade over to the sandbar for a bit, and let you all check it out while we chill on it for half an hour or so. Sound good?”

Our tour group mumbled a “yes,” as we all snapped photos of the sandbar. Our guide popped open the cooler.

“And don’t forget to take a fresh beer with you. Can’t have you chilling on the sand without having a fresh Sands beer in your hand,” he said and smirked.

I grabbed another beer, climbed down the ladder at the back of the boat, and hopped into the water. The water rose a few inches above my ankles. My feet sunk into the sand, as I waded toward the sandbar. Crabs crossed the sea floor below. The hard shells softened in the sunlight. A few minutes later, my foot landed on dry sand.

This was something that I hadn’t expected. I knew that sandbars were typically a shallow area of water that seemingly pop out of nowhere in lakes and seas, but I had no idea that a sandbar could literally dry out, day-in and day-out, and create a path through the sea. The sandbar here was literally a private beach that wasn’t connected to any island or anything at all. It was, at this point in my life, the wildest beach I’d ever been on.

We chilled on the beach for a while longer, and then we waded through the turquoise water, hopped back on the boat, and blitzed across the sea. We drove over to another island shortly afterwards. Upon arrival, what seemed like hundreds of iguanas ventured out of the bushes and onto the sand. Our guides provided us with grapes to feed them. I approached an iguana, crouched and held out my grape. Within seconds, the iguana yanked the grape from my fingers. After we handed out all of our grapes, we hopped back on the boat once more for the cruise back to Nassau, as the late afternoon sun twinkled across the Caribbean Sea.

With that, the final tour on my final full day in the Bahamas that I had begged to go on had come to a close. All I could think of as the boat treaded back toward the main land was how epic it had been, and how incredibly accomplished I’d felt. Sure, I hadn’t gone on some wild trek through the Costa Rican jungle like I’d originally planned, but I’d still grown the courage to step outside of my comfort zone, travel to a resort by myself, and then find every way I could to get off of the resort and experience the incredible world that’s out there. As the boat roared across the Caribbean Sea, I knew something had changed in me.

A Texas-themed restaurant and bar sat in the resort’s shadow. I stepped inside, found a spot at the bar and ordered a pint of Sands beer. As the bartender placed the beer in front of me, a voice called to me from a few bar seats away.

“How was your trip?” the voice asked. I peered around, as I clung to the condensation-covered beer glass. Mark, who was the hotel employee that had checked me in on arrival, was sitting at the bar, drinking a beer and watching sports on the TV. He grinned.

“Shit dude,” I said, “The trip was incredible! I took your advice. I spent the first day on the resort, got kind of bored of that and then did a bunch of excursions to get away from the resort as much as possible. I literally just got back from the excursion to Exuma. It was the most incredible place I’ve ever seen in real life.”

Mark nodded, as he sipped his beer. The TV’s glow illuminated the beer’s bubbles.

“That’s great, man,” he said and pondered, “So you saw the Bahamas?”

I smiled.

“Yeah man, I saw the Bahamas.”

After a little while, Mark left. I drank a few more beers, and then headed back toward my hotel room. A faint purple glow emanated above the sea. Small yellow lights lined a pathway toward the water.