Stereotypes in Paradise

Even though I had to share a communal snorkel set with you know, the 200 other Whitsunday travelers that have used that set before me, I'm pretty sure that sailing the Whitsundays has been the highlight of my trip to Australia. The last time I was in the tropics (I consider the tropics the areas between the tropics of Capricorn & Cancer), I was 8 years old and unbelievably jet-lagged in Hawaii. I slept most of the time, and the rest of it I spent eating fruit.

So when I arrived to the Airlie Marina on Monday morning bright and early, well-rested and laden with a box of wine, a bag of clothes and a beach towel, and saw all the freaking huge boats that we might be sailing on, I knew I was done for...Miraculously, Ash and I made it to the marina early and had a chance to take in all the huge boats - we're talking multi-million dollar yachts that are 10 time bigger than my apartment, that come outfitted with jet-skis, a dingy, diving platform and enough decks for everyone on board to have a private sunbathing area. Therefore, when our boat crew arrived to bring us down to our boat, we had pretty high hopes for what we'd be calling home for the next 3 days. We walked down the ramp into the floating dock past rows and rows of beautiful, shiny boats...and kept walking, and walking....and walking....until we stopped in front of the smallest boat on the docking lane, with the least shiny paint job and the most unglamorous name. Welcome aboard the Enid...

At first glance, the Enid didn't look like she could hold more than about 2 people comfortably for more than about 3 hours, but here we were, 17 people total, preparing to share an insanely small amount of space for 3 DAYS. However, there were places to cram things and people all over that boat. Everyone on board had a bed, albeit you woke up staring into the faces of your 7 newest best friends every morning. Everyone on board also had plenty of room to spread out on the deck as well. We even had two bathrooms, the smallest kitchen I've ever seen, and a separate crew's hold underneath her deck.

Each day we snorkeled, sunbathed (sometimes covered head to toe in blankets), star-gazed, bush-walked, watched for whales, turtles and dolphins, and in Ash and I's case, drank several cups of red wine each night...not too shabby for a little 23 foot timber sailing boat.

Anyway, on to the stereotypes:

Tom, our skipper was the picture of a seasoned seaman. Portly with a very capital, bolded P, frizzy white hair that was permanently blown into a Crusty the Clown type do, big blue eyes and a wry sense of humor and a very, VERY interesting history...He'd been to college and gotten a master's degree in astrological navigation (or something like that....he can tell exactly where he is by looking at the stars and doing a few calculations...), but before that he was a chef and somewhere in there had a few kids...The only thing missing from the image was a flask. However, the law is so strict in Australia for commerical captains and alcohol consumption that he'd probably lose his job just having a dry flask on board the vessel

Lindsay. The first mate, and stereotypical young, sexy Aussie dude. No lie, every time he popped his head above deck, all the ladies' eyes, directly to him. Or if he hopped around the deck to hoist the sales, ladies' eyes, on him. Or jumped into the dingy to bring us to shore, ladies' eyes, on him. When he was explaining the various techniques for snorkeling, all the ladies just started smiling lazily. And even more so when he wore his aviators. Hilarious. Ash and I determined that his one major flaw was his unbelievably random sense of humor....that wasn't humor, just more of a blurting out random facts about unrelated topics.

And Ashley, our hostess. She did all the cooking for us, in the tiniest kitchen I've ever stood in. All you had to do was pivot and you were instantly in front of the stove/oven, sink or counter. Take one step to your right and there's the fridge. Lean a little to your left and you could get a slight breeze over your forehead through the hatch above you.