Cabo de Palos, Spain

With 2 days advanced warning and a borrowed tent I stepped into Leonardo’s car to make yet another epic journey to the south coast of Spain for scuba diving. This time we would make it all the way to the Mediterranean, hoping to catch some “big blue” sea at a marine reserve on a seamount off Cabo de Palos. Two sandes de queijo e presunto and 1 major traffic jam later, we arrived at our destination, La Manga campgrounds outside of Cabo de Palos. This has to be one of the most spectacular campgrounds I have ever witnessed, emphasis on “spectacle”. There were at least 400 lots in this place, a quarter of them occupied by privately owned make shift vacation homes that had likely endured the construction phase for a good 15 years. Some of these structures were constructed out of plywood covered in glued-on Spanish tiles or stucco. The campground also had two huge pools, a few bars and a meeting house on a lake with a tapas bar and full stage.

We were lucky enough to arrive just in time for dinner hour, which is approximately 12am in Spain. The place was packed with people aged 6 months to 65 years, all speaking in fast elevated tones and munching on garlic smeared octopus bits. But wait, there’s more….entertainment, which consisted of a man on a synthesizer accompanied by two young woman singing “Baila, baila, baila”. One of the singers was wearing some serious FM boots, two leather garter belt (one on each thigh), fishnets and black wool (yes they were actually wool!) hot pants. As if part of the routine, as the first cry of “Baila!” escaped her lips, the stage filled with dancing vacationers, most of them either under 6 or over 60. I watched the skewed mass and well dressed singers with a dropped jaw and was comforted by the fact that the 3 others I had come with all had the same expression. Apparently the glory of mixing dance, FM boots and 5 year olds has not reached Portugal yet…After a few songs we wandered back to our tents in awe. (below: Filipe's feet the next morning swarming with flies)

The next morning we gathered our dive stuff and headed to the pool bar for breakfast. With thoughts of toast loaded with butter and fresh OJ, I watched as 3 men in their 60s guzzled down beer and shots of ouzo. We quickly coursed through Filipe’s marine organism ID books and were on our way. But the boat wasn’t leaving for a few hours so Leonardo and I had some time for some snorkeling at a cove a few blocks from the dive shop. This was my first snorkel in the Med and it was amazing. Clear deep water with lots of little fish, a really large species of seagrass (Posidonia) and boulders. The color of the water was this deep yet transparent blue with an indigo hue, which I assume only occurs in nutrient depleted waters. It was already worth the 9 hour drive.

On the dive boat we headed out to the marine park, anchored and dropped down. I was not prepared for what I would see. The best visibility I have ever experienced, about 120+ ft (which wasn’t even the best it could be), revealed an underwater mountain extending from 30 to infinity ft covered in algae, sponges, swarming with fish and at least 10 divers, all encased in an endless indigo blue sea….then a 60 lb grouper swam by me and I felt like I was going to faint. (note: all underwater shots were taken by Filipe Alberto or Leonardo Mata, aka. dr. kill)

Was this narcosis, the bends or just the most intense visual overstimulation I had experienced at depth? My tight hood and the 76 F water temp did not help my blood pressure infused excitement and I started to notice that I could hear my heartbeat, which is a bit scary for a diver more accustomed to the sound of darth vader-like breathing. I knew I had to calm down. Then, I turned around and my dive buddy was gone…well there was a guy who looked like Leonardo, same fins, same mask but who was the new guy next to him? These two guys must have been one of the 5 other pairs of divers we had been on the boat with. (Note all the divers on the anchor line. With 4 dive boats anchored on the same seamount, the site was fairly crowded near the platform.)

Convinced my buddy had ditched me, I started swimming back to the anchor to get a familiar frame of reference, only to notice that Rita and Filipe were back near the surface. I turned around again to look for my buddy and the Leonardo imposter and his lurking friend were motioning to me wildly from below…the international scuba signal for “where the $%!& are you going?”. Was I doing something wrong? Who was this guy anyway. Clearly they knew something I did not and I had just broken some rule, touched some rare protected alga or unknowingly fin slapped an endangered fish. The lurking friend approached, giving me the ok sign and I thought he must be some sort of scuba police guy who was now sticking with me because he thought I was a narked out tourist….Then Leonardo “returned”, grabbed my vest and signaled for me to follow him. I was mad though, where the hell had he gone anyway!? Overheated and head pounding I hovered above the other divers thinking, “should I just go up? Maybe I’m dying or will soon, that would suck. I better calm down, go sit in some algae. But that dive cop is still following me so I better act cool, swim a straight line” After 11 minutes (I was watching my dive computer very closely) of internal debate I forced myself to closely inspect some algae and forget about the big blue sea 70 ft thick above me…the effect was calming.

We piddled around a small area for another 30 minutes and then ascended. I was totally drained. The waves were rough, the back of the boat was rocking wildly up out of the water and the boat tender was speaking to me in Spanish, flashing his gold tooth at me (yes, he actually had a gold tooth). I still have no idea how I got my gear and body back into the boat. After a bumpy, seawater soaked ride back to the docks, we had a “de-briefing” where I discovered that there was indeed no Leonardo imposter and scuba cops don't exist. He had no idea who the lurker was, the guy had apparently just started following us, making it appear that I was the odd diver out. We set out for dinner in Cartagena promising to be a better dive team the next day. Cartagena is a really nice town just to the west of CP and has some old very well preserved buildings as well as a roman amphitheater that was unearthed by teh bombing during the spanish civil war.

Diving began the next morning with a shore dive in the snorkel spot from the day before. It was even better on the bottom. So many cool, colorful invertebrates and fish. I got to see a really large moray eel with yellow spots, which we tried to cajoule out of its hole. It was just what we all needed after the stress of the last dive. (below: Leonardo's mad scuba skills almost surpass mine)

In the afternoon we went out on the dive boat again, through Atura-sub. We anchored at another spot in the marine park called Bajo de dentro and descended. This time, I was ready for the sight and could not believe what I had missed the day before. The first thing we saw was a 30-member school of grouper 30-60 lbs each. They swam by slowly, ogling us. We followed the school around the seamount where among many other creatures that I am not mentioning, we saw a school of barracuda. It was wonderful to be in the big blue, just cruising around and not feel like shark bait. I was completely relaxed, my buoyancy was perfect and I had mad scuba skills. It was a complete 180 from the day before. I wanted more…turned out we all did and the next day we booked another dive at the same spot. It was the best diving we had all done. (i swear I am not narked in that picture!)


That night we drove up the coast, stopping to wander through a town which had one of the most crowded beach scenes and to see a jazz concert in San Javier featuring Anne Hampton Calloway “the best American jazz voice of today” (not really) and Brazilian composer Ivan Lins. One last night at La Mangapolis and another heavenly dive at Bajo de dentro and we were back on the road again to Portugal. Now I am back at work to face yet another week of poorly amplified DNA. Why can’t vacation be every day?

ps. It may be heartening for some of you to know that the mullet, still only reported from isolated regions in the US and most of Canada, is alive and thriving in southern Spain.