I’ve been home from Australia nearly a week, and I’m still smiling over some of the comments locals there made about Hawaii.
One day we anchored Honu in a picturesque bay in the lee of Hummocky Island. Because it was late in the day, and it takes time and effort to inflate our rubber dinghy and attach its outboard, we jumped in the water and swam ashore for a snorkeling excursion and beach walk.
About an hour or so after swimming back to the boat, our distant boat neighbors motored toward us in their dinghy. When the Australian couple saw our home port, Honolulu, on the transom, they called out, “Hello! We came over to see what crazies were swimming in shark-infested waters. Now we see. You’re from Hawaii!”
They sped away, leaving us puzzled. Did they think that Hawaii residents are braver than Australians? Or that we foreigners don’t understand the risk? Or that Hawaii residents are foolhardy? We never found out.
Nor could we find information anywhere that Hummocky Island is more “shark infested” than anywhere else in Great Barrier Reef waters, or in Hawaii.
On average, three people die from shark attacks in Australia annually. Given the number of people in the water, the chances of an attack are so minuscule I never even think about it.
No sharks showed up on this trip, but we could not shake the sharp teeth of politics.
While checking Honu into a marina during stormy weather, I slid her official certificate over the counter. In big, bold capital letters, the heading says, “UNITED STATES OF AMERICA.”
“Sorry,” the manager said, pushing the paper back. “We’ve stopped accepting these.”
I was speechless. This vessel documentation is as official as it gets. No other boat papers exist.
“Relax,” the manager laughed. “I’m just kidding you. But, really, what were you thinking, electing that clown?”
How does one answer such a question? “We’re from Hawaii,” I said. “It wasn’t us.”
“Hawaii! OK, then. You can stay.”
That guy was joking, but a young convenience store clerk was dead serious.
“I always wanted to go to Hawaii,” she said, “but I saw a TV show on tsunamis and now, forget it, I’ll never go there.”
Rendered speechless again.
The friendly woman at Townsville’s Breakwater Marina, where we left Honu, gave us a farewell that made us laugh.
“Have a good trip back to America,” she said as we finished up the paperwork. “Sorry! I mean Hawaii.”
And finally, as I folded up the last of Honu’s laundry and said goodbye to another marina worker, she said, “You’re not leaving us?”
“Yes. I love Australia, but I love my home in Hawaii, too,” I said. “I’m going from one good place to another.”
“Fair dinkum,” she said.
Reach Susan Scott at susanscott.net.
