The guide was a loose unit, only vaguely interested in us. You do this before? Four out of six of us said no.
This is the throttle. No brakes. Okay, follow me!
He took off like there were killer ants threatening to crawl into his jocks. He didn’t look back.
We blasted around the island, warp speed for mamma. We had to go fast to keep up with the Tahitian lunatic. I squealed a lot, quite a lot. Cody loved every minute.
It was exceptional fun.
We stopped. We saw a humpback whale. He was close, maybe ten metres tops. He was playing. It was remarkable.
We stopped. Cody leapt off and swam with the stingrays and the reef sharks with the Tahitian lunatic. I didn’t. The stingrays were slippery and slimy, and crazy friendly. If I didn’t know better I would say they were smooching up to my boy.
The Italian man ran his jet ski into the West Coast American woman’s leg. Luckily, not particularly fast. Just to be sure it was a real cock up, he did it once more. She screamed. Her new husband from Boston screamed too, but in a manly way. He looked like he wanted to strangle the Italian. No one was happy. I think it hurt everyone.
We were out in the big blue for two whole hours. The water that sprayed up onto my face and legs was tepid, a Pacific miracle.
When we got back, nothing was broken but the Italian man still prayed for forgiveness. The Boston Strangler took his details. I didn’t see the Italian’s prayers answered.
It was quite some adventure.