by Lisa Yee
I couldn’t help chuckling. “Thanks, Dad,” I said, giving him a hug.
As we neared the beach shack, Zac began to quiet down, and soon he wasn’t saying a word. Paloma ran out and greeted us warmly as Camila introduced her to my parents. I was surprised when Paloma hugged me as if we were old friends. Meanwhile Zac pretended to be interested in the snorkeling fins that were piled up on a low wooden bench.
“Zac!” Paloma cried. “Olá!”
He looked up as if surprised to see her. “Olá, Paloma,” he replied, turning red.
I nudged him playfully and reminded him, “Don’t forget to use sunscreen.”
Zac had lost his voice, Paloma’s English was spotty, and my parents’ and my Portuguese was practically nonexistent, so Camila translated for her cousin. She explained that we would be walking for about half a mile to a quiet cove where the water was calm and smooth as glass. Before we left, we each grabbed our snorkeling equipment: a face mask, flippers, and a snorkel with a rubber mouthpiece.
Paloma led the way, with Zac trailing close behind like a puppy. After a while they were side by side, and he seemed to have recovered his voice. Soon he was making her laugh, and his normal fun-loving nature was on overdrive.
Dad grabbed my hand and gave it a “you-can-do-it” squeeze. I gave him an “I-hope-so” squeeze back.
We were the only ones on the beach. Every time I thought we’d stop, Paloma kept going. Finally, as we walked around a bend, we all let out a collective “Ooooh!”
“We are here!” she announced.
The sand looked like white frosting, and the turquoise sea sparkled under the bright sunlight. Lush coconut palm trees lined the beach. I whipped out my camera to photograph the small monkeys playing on their branches. They were so cute, darting here and there, chasing each other. I could have watched them for hours, but Camila was already handing me a snorkel and mask to put on.
Paloma paired each of us with the right size of snorkeling equipment. I had a hard time slipping the rubber fins on my feet. When I got up and tried to walk around, I felt like an awkward duck. I kept tripping in the sand and almost fell a couple of times. I started to get embarrassed until I saw that no one in my family was very graceful with the fins on!
Together, we all waddled to the water’s edge. There, we cleaned off our masks, and then adjusted them to fit around our heads. I had trouble with mine, but Paloma was patient and showed me how to tighten the band so that it would fit snugly.
As we entered the ocean, Dad stayed by my side, but I only waded in up to my knees. Then I froze. Something was stopping me again.
I watched Mom, Zac, and Camila swimming confidently, using their fins, faces down in the water, snorkels up in the air.
“Go ahead,” I said to Dad.
“I’m fine right here,” he said.
Paloma, who had been snorkeling with the others, came back and joined us. “How does the snorkel feel?” she asked, pointing to it.
I put the snorkel’s mouthpiece into place. It felt funny in my mouth and reminded me of when I was at the dentist getting my teeth X-rayed. I had to admit that I was looking forward to snorkeling with the same enthusiasm that I had for going to the dentist.
“You look great,” Dad said. “We should take a picture of this.”
That reminded me! Quickly, I turned and duck-walked back to my beach towel to get my camera, tripping and falling over myself with those huge fins on my feet.
“You go,” Paloma suggested to Dad, as she motioned to Zac and Mom. “Lea can swim with me.”
“You’re sure?” Dad asked. He looked at me.
I nodded with the snorkel in my mouth and my camera’s strap around my wrist.
Slowly, I followed Paloma into the warm water. By the time I was waist-deep, my stomach felt like it was doing somersaults, but I repeated Ama’s mantra in my head: Test yourself. You’ll never regret it.
I thought of the hatchlings—the tiny sea turtles making their way across the sand, facing danger at every step. The sea was their one chance at safety. Here I was, scared that I might get salt water in my nose, and those baby turtles were risking their lives to make it into the Atlantic Ocean.
With Paloma holding my hand, I slowly lowered my head until I put my face in the water. With the mask on I was able to keep my eyes open, and I began breathing through the snorkel. I let go of Paloma, pushed off with the fins, and started kicking. The fins worked much better in the water than on the sand, and suddenly I realized I was swimming in the ocean.
I used my fins to propel me farther. At first, all I saw was the rippled sand below, and the water was so shallow that I could touch the bottom of the ocean with the tip of my fin. But before long, Paloma and I reached the reef. Below us were walls of colorful pastel coral. Lush green plants swayed slowly back and forth, as if dancing to their own music. Fish, big and small, swam past. Some flashed by in a hurry; others floated lazily along, taking their time. In the distance I could see Zac diving under the water with Camila. My parents swam near the surface, and when Dad gave me a big thumbs-up, I returned it.
In the beginning it was hard to swim and take photos at the same time, but soon I got the hang of it. Up close, the coral reefs looked like multicolored bubbles of rocks—reds and pinks, blues and greens. At first when fish swam toward me, I’d flinch. But after a while I started taking photos of the fish staring at me staring at them. I was so glad I had my underwater camera!
I thought again to my last birthday. When Ama gave me the camera, I couldn’t understand why I’d need it, because she knew how I felt about swimming underwater. “We’ll work on it together,” she had promised, but she had died before we ever got the chance.
Now, as I continued to swim and take photos, that’s when it occurred to me: By giving me her journals, Ama was with me in spirit—it was her words that had helped me push past my fear. And she was right: I had tested myself, and I would never regret it. Ama had kept her promise.
nce we returned to shore, I realized that I had never been so hungry in my life. Paloma had brought fresh melon and pineapple slices, and saltenha, a flaky pastry filled with spicy meat and raisins. The air seemed to sparkle with excitement as everyone talked at once.
“Did you see the schools of those fish with yellow stripes?”
“The coral was like an explosion of color!”
“Was it an eel or a small snake that was darting out of the plants?”
“I’ve never seen anything like that before—I can’t wait to go snorkeling again,” I exclaimed, surprising even myself.
After lunch, Mom and Dad headed back to the hotel for some rest while Zac and I stayed at the beach with Camila and Paloma. Zac was acting so goofy around Paloma that I felt as if the tables had turned and I was babysitting him!
“I’d love to go snorkeling again,” I told Paloma. “Do you think we can go tomorrow?”
“That’s a great idea,” Zac chimed in. Then he said something in Portuguese and had Paloma and Camila laughing so hard they couldn’t breathe.
“What did he say?” I asked Camila.
She leaned in close and said, “He said that if you can’t snorkel again, you will shrivel up and turn sour, so she must agree to take you both snorkeling again.”
“Oh, right, for my sake,” I said with a smirk at Zac. But at least we both agreed that going snorkeling again was a must.
While Zac and Paloma talked, I showed Camila some of my photos. “These are amazing, Lea!” she said. “I’ve lived here all my life, but some of these are like I’m seeing Praia Tropical for the first time.”
I showed her more of the photos I had taken on our trip, and stopped at the image of the mermaid statue I had seen while I was shopping with Zac.
“Her name is Yemanjá. She’s the Queen of the Sea,” Camila explained. “She’s an orixá, a sea goddess from African traditions. She watches over the fishermen, keeps them safe, and brings good luck. Yemanjá also protects children, sailors, and the sea. There�
�s a festival in her honor on the second of February—that’s this Tuesday. You should go with me!” Her eyes were shining bright. “Please say you’ll come.”
“Tuesday,” I said, thinking out loud. “That’s the day we leave to visit Zac’s host family in a town near the rainforest. But I’ll see if I can go for at least part of it.”
“You’ll love it,” Camila said. “People bring flowers, perfume, jewelry, and other trinkets to please Yemanjá. The fishermen gather the gifts in baskets and take them out to sea. Legend says, the gifts that sink have been accepted by Yemanjá. When this happens, it guarantees another year of good blessings for all!”
It sounded amazing. Suddenly I had a twinge of sadness thinking about how much Ama would have loved being part of this tradition. I remembered the time Ama came home from India without her favorite watch. “Where is it?” I had asked, touching her wrist.
She smiled. “I left it in India,” she told me. “I had a tour guide who was absolutely marvelous. But his watch had broken, so I gave him mine. He needed it more than I did.”
“But you loved that watch,” I protested.
“I still do,” she said. “But Lea, when you visit a place, you don’t just take—you leave something behind.”
Then she told me about the other things she had left in the places she visited, such as her gooey butter cake recipe that she wrote down for a baker in Paris, and a copy of Around the World in Eighty Days that she “lent” to a woman on a train in Istanbul, and a pair of sunglasses that she gave to a little boy in the Maldives.
As we all started packing up our snorkeling gear to head back to Paloma’s shack, I wondered, What would Ama offer to Yemanjá?
s the week went on, I made sure we had some beach time every day. Soon it was hard for me to believe I had ever been scared of going underwater. I was still wary of the waves, but had learned how to swim under the big ones rather than let them knock me over. And I always brought my camera with me—just in case I spotted one of the baby sea turtles swimming through the waves.
My classmates were impressed by the photos I posted on the class blog. I even took some underwater selfies with fish swimming past! When a couple of annoying boys in my class accused me of editing the photos on my computer to make them more impressive, I took that as the ultimate compliment.
One evening as I was uploading more photos to my blog, Mom came and sat next to me. “You’re really a skillful photographer, Lea,” she said, looking over my shoulder at a photo I had just posted of a teenage boy surfing. The boy was riding the crest of a wave and there was pure joy on his face.
“Look at him,” my mother said, sighing. “He looks like he’s having the time of his life. If only I could do that,” she added wistfully.
“You can,” I told her.
She laughed. “Lea, I’m too old to learn how to surf.”
“When you travel, test yourself. You’ll never regret it,” I said.
Mom sat up straight. “Wow, Lea, that sounds like something Ama would have said.”
I nodded. “She wrote it in her travel journal.”
As Mom gazed at the photo of the surfer, I typed in the caption, “Surfers young and old ride the waves in Brazil, but they all have one thing in common—the sheer joy of being one with the ocean.”
“Thank you, Lea,” Mom said, kissing the top of my head.
“For what?”
“For the nudge I needed.”
The next day, while my mother went in search of surfing lessons, I came up with the idea for a hike.
“We can explore the cliffs—we haven’t done that yet, and I can take photos,” I explained.
“A hike?” Zac asked. “Just the two of us?”
“What about inviting your father?” Dad asked. “I’ve heard he’s quite the explorer.”
“…and Dad, too,” I said, trying not to laugh.
“Well, I sort of thought I’d spend some time with Paloma,” my brother informed me. “Don’t you want to see Camila?”
“Camila’s scared of heights, so she wouldn’t like hiking up on the cliffs,” I said. “Besides, what’s wrong with spending time with me?”
“I’ve spent nearly every minute with you since you got here,” Zac said. His voice softened. “But I only have one more day to spend with Paloma.”
“That’s true, but…” I trailed off. We had been around each other nonstop, yet somehow it felt as if we had hardly spent any time together. Almost as if there had been an invisible wall between us. If only I could prove to him that I’m not just a little kid anymore, I thought to myself, maybe he’d actually want to hang out with me.
Just then, Dad stepped in front of us. “Ta da!” He was all decked out in his Amazon hiking gear, the vest with too many pockets, the complicated pants, the hat with flaps on the sides and back…
Zac and I moaned.
“Come on, kids,” Dad said, grabbing some fruit bars and bottles of water and tucking them into his vest pockets. “I just need a moment to write a note to Mom, and then let’s go on a hike!”
As Dad looked for a pen, Zac and I glanced at each other, not saying a word.
Finally Zac cleared his throat. “Say, Dad, I was thinking that maybe you two could go without me—”
“Nonsense!” my father said. “I haven’t been hiking with my kids for years. Come on, Zac, get ready. Let’s go!”
Hiking up the cliffs turned out to be a lot harder than any of us had imagined. The trail started off easy with lots of low inclines and flat sections, and then all of a sudden it got very steep as it zigged and zagged up the hill, and the foliage became thicker and denser. The paths were narrow and rocky, and every now and then I’d trip on a vine or slip on the loose gravel. Zac charged ahead, as if he was just trying to get the hike over with. Dad and I tried to keep up with him, but I stopped now and then to take photos. When I saw two brightly colored macaws perched in the nook of a twisty tree trunk, I stepped carefully off the trail to get a good shot.
“Can you get any slower?” Zac asked as I returned to the trail several yards behind him and Dad.
“What’s your hurry?” I called back.
“Be nice, you two,” Dad said. “Hey, take a look at this!” He pointed to a clearing. We followed him and found ourselves on a ledge looking over the ocean.
“What a view!” Dad said, pointing out over the cliff. “If it looks this great from this height, maybe we should go on the helicopter tour,” he suggested. “I’ve always wanted to ride in one.”
The sea looked completely different from high up, and we could see deep down into it—the coral reefs, and even schools of fish. The boats sitting atop the clear water looked as if they were floating on air, and farther down the shore we saw surfers. I wondered if my mother was one of them. I hoped so.
I adjusted my hat to shield my eyes from the bright sun and slathered on more sunblock. Dad handed me a bottle of water and I took a big gulp. It was muggy up on the cliffs, but I wanted to climb higher. Maybe if we got a little farther away from town, we’d see some wildlife, like lizards and monkeys scampering up the trees! But Zac had already started heading back down the path in the direction we had come.
“Where are you going?” I called to him.
“It’s too hot,” he said. “I think we should head back.”
“Just a little farther,” I begged. “Please, Zac?”
“Whatever.” My brother shrugged and turned around.
Trying to soften his mood, I quickly snapped a picture of his grumpy face. I looked at the photo and giggled. “Paloma’s going to love this one!”
“What?” he said, perking up. “No! Cricket, don’t you dare.” He lunged toward me but I made a quick escape, running up the path.
“Wait up, you two!” Dad called to us.
I ran ahead, jumping over fallen trees and ducking under leafy branches. After a while the path began to thin, and we seemed to be in an area that wasn’t as well traveled. I stopped to take a picture of a braided
-twisted tangle of vines that looked like a modern-art sculpture. Suddenly, Dad stepped into the shot. He pushed his hands and one foot through the vines and began to thrash about, shouting, “It’s alive! It’s a man-eating vine—run for your lives!”
Laughing, I clicked the camera, but before I could check to be sure I got the shot, Zac grabbed my arm, saying, “You heard Dad—run for your life! I’ll race you to the top!” and I had no choice but to sprint after him. Still I managed to snap some pictures of Zac, who finally seemed to be having a good time. I got a good shot of him swinging like a monkey on the low branch of a tree with big hanging pods like giant string beans, and a great action shot of him leaping off a rock formation that looked like a face.
Finally, laughing and panting, we stopped to wait for Dad.
When Dad caught up to us, he put his hands on his knees to catch his breath. “Let’s have some water,” he said. “Then I think we’d better head back.”
“Aw, come on!” I replied, squinting through the trees. “It’s like being in a jungle. Let’s keep going!”
“It is a jungle,” Zac said, picking a leaf out of my hair. “And I think we may have lost the path.”
“What?” I looked around but saw only tall trees and dense undergrowth. Zac was right—we had completely lost the trail.
“Well, we’re exploring, right?” I said brightly. “That’s what exploring means: to forge ahead where no one else has been.”
“That’s what getting lost means,” Zac countered.
“I’m making an executive decision,” Dad said firmly, holding up both hands. “We’re going back. Besides,” he said, looking at his watch, “your mom should be done with her surfing lesson soon.”
Zac scowled at me and followed Dad as he pushed his way through the bushes. After hitting a wall of brambles, we turned around. Yet we found that going back was even harder than going forward. The underbrush was so thick in places that it scraped my arms and legs. We weren’t making much progress.