Whatever floats your boat!

So I am not exactly what you might call an 'outdoorsy' person. No amount of pep-talking and Red Bulls can stoke me enough to make me want to trek up a mountain or camp in the wilderness for anything more than a few hours at the most, and even then only for an exceptionally worthy cause. My reasons? Not very commendable but here they are: I don't like wearing 'practical' clothes or sunscreen; the prospect of obtaining 'minor' injuries does not excite me; I don't like reptiles or stinging insects; I can't swim and I hate getting my hair wet unless I'm in the shower. There is quite a hefty list I can produce as to what I fear about the outdoors and the lifestyle it entails. And yes, I am aware of the limitations it places upon the things I can do for fun with other human beings. Nevertheless, it is a fact that I, Rukshani Weerasooriya, am no fun outside of my comfort zone.

Another irrational fear I have (which I seem to share only with one longstanding friend who lives across the world from me) is my fear of nausea. Let me explain what this means. I am afraid of feeling nauseas, being in situations that could make me nauseous, and dealing with the results of nausea. Basically, nausea terrifies me.

So if the outdoors and nausea are two things that scare the daylights out of me, what is an example of something I perhaps should not do? Hmm…how about a ride on a glass-bottomed boat in Hikkaduwa on a windy afternoon? This means sea-spray in my hair and the rough-and-tumble of an outdoor adventure all rolled into one, with the impending predicament of possible nausea as a bonus. How ideal! How perfectly suited to the likes of me! Remind me again why I agreed to get on that boat?

So I got on, for whatever reason, determined to face my fears in style. I had barely sat down when I asked to be let out. They assured me it was safe and I'd be fine. I asked again. They ignored me and pushed off. Terror struck.

I underestimated how rough the sea was. My stomach kept getting left behind and the fumes from the engine found their way to the back of my throat. I was nauseous and my hair was a little wet. But could that stop a pathological grumbler from doing her thing? Certainly not! Notwithstanding the wind and the waves, and the fact that I could barely be heard unless I screeched, I begged to be dropped off on the beach. I was about a quarter of an octave short of reaching my 'hysterical' pitch when one of the owners of the boat decided to feel sorry for me. How gracious of the man! He promised to swing around and drop me off as soon as I'd seen one sea turtle, just one, that's all he asked of me. I hesitantly agreed to his terms, but the co-boat-owner-person was not so obliging. In fact, let me rephrase – he enjoyed the torment on my face. Whenever I told him I didn't like how the boat rocked, he would steer the boat in such a way as to further aggravate the rocking sensation. I would have liked to push him off board, but I wanted to be the bigger person. (How could I be? What was I thinking? I'm barely a few inches over five feet tall!).

After grudgingly looking down through the glass at a few more corals and scurrying schools of striped blue and yellow fish, I was safely delivered to the shore. I watched as the boat took off with the braver members of my family, the majority of whom were aged less than ten years, and I realised I had asked to be dropped off quite a distance from the hotel at which we were staying. Brand new dilemma: I had to walk passed pot-bellied men in swimming trunks and strange psychedelic hippie people to get to where I was supposed to be. New challenge, but marginally better than nausea, I decided. Despite the wet hair, which I could no longer help.

After gallantly keeping a straight face when offers were made for swimming partners and a dozen suggestive comments were tossed my way (they do this to anything in a skirt, how sad), I did eventually reach the hotel, in one piece. To be honest I felt like a coward for ditching the others in the boat (and the hair really did look horrific as it began to dry and frizz out around my face). But at least I learnt how important it is to try stuff I'm not normally comfortable doing. I consider myself a minor victor.
It was fun in the end. At least in the retelling of it.