Down At The Bottom

We pay up at the hotel reception, 2JD each for the bus ride, 7JD resort entry and another 7JD to hire snorkel and flippers. The AU$27 seems like a pretty expensive way to get into the sea, but seeing as taking a dip on the public beach in anything revealing more than ankles and wrists is a no-go here in Aqaba we haven't got much of a choice. We pile on when the shuttle arrives, joining a couple of Germans, a few South Africans, two of Chinese girls and an English family, leaving the centre of Aqaba for Club Murjan, which lies 10 km to the south on the way to the Saudi border.

Club Murjan is separated from the ocean by a stretch of grey pebbly beach. It has stripy sunbeds, shade cloth, and a freshwater pool. We tourists strip off, allowing the morning sun to touch parts of our bodies we have not yet dared to show. I grab mask and flippers, and head off to the water.

It is Saturday, and there are a few local families setting up blankets under the umbrellas outside the resort. A few little kids are wading, knee deep in the pale blue waters. You can see from the shore where the reef starts, around 10 meters from the shore, where a line of orange buoys mark the snorkellers route. I am the first to submerge, and swim out to the glass bottom boats that take those who can't swim far enough out to see the Red Sea's under water wonderland.

I am amazed at how quickely the reef starts to appear, I'd be only waist deep if standing, already there are bright colours and sporadic schools of tiny fish. I see spiky sea urchins,and am greatful for the flippers protecting my feet. My belly nearly grazes the knobbly arms of coral stretching out from the sea floor.

Suddenly, the shelf drops away, and an entire world is revealed, teeming with fish of all shapes, sizes and colours- stripy, shiny, pointy and bloated they dart in and out of the corals crevaces. There is so much life down here.

A Mars Bar wrapper floats past my face, and I grab it and tuck it into my boardshorts. I can't bear to see this wonderland spoilt by human trash.

The current carries me down the beach and I lie as still as I can, stretched out in the cool water, trying not to disturb the fish swimming beneath me. Every so often I dive down as far as my eardrums will let me to get a closer look at the fish and their underwater world.

I emerge at the pier and clumsily flipper-walk my way to the shore. Looking around me, I can hardly believe that these worlds coexist, the gaudy beach resort, the drab polluted beach dotted with fully clothed beach goers who stare openly as I pass them, dripping wet in my one piece, and the oblivious ecosystem thriving in technicolour beneath the waves in silent splendour.

Lizard-like, I lay on a sun lounge, luxuriating in the rays of light reflecting off the empty pool, the other tourists stretched out around me, their lycra suits still bone dry.

We pay for the priveledge of privacy and look upon the world outside the metal bars as we look upon the life under the sea; with wide eyed bewilderment. In our enclosure we are free to disrobe, lie hand in hand sipping cocktails. On the beach the covered women are free from lacivious stares of passing men.

In the ocean the fish swim, and swim. They judge no one.