<\/p>\n

Thirty-four days after arriving in Mo\u2019orea, I let out a sigh and look over at Riley. She\u2019s sitting with her chin propped up in her hands, gazing through the window at the still, turquoise waters encompassed by those unreal jagged peaks. Twenty-two other students sit quietly, their eyes glazed over, spirits low. We\u2019re in the tropics, but I swear I can feel the room getting cold.<\/p>\n

I sit and reflect on the past five weeks. We came to Mo\u2019orea on a research expedition, but, in truth, we did little research. The mornings were spent underwater admiring the vibrant colors and sea life; afternoons, we would lose volleyball matches to the locals. In the evenings, well, we\u2019d all chip in for a few bottles of the cheapest Tahitian rum we could find — Rhumba, or as we liked to pronounce it, \u201cRoom-bah.\u201d Around midnight, we would somehow always find ourselves wading into the water.<\/p>\n

And today was our last day.<\/p>\n

My journal is filled from cover to cover with adventures and memories. I\u2019m not one to keep journals, but I felt it was necessary. I didn\u2019t want to forget hitchhiking on the back of the Tahitian chef\u2019s scooter, dodging box jellies as I snorkeled, or even the fact that my research partner didn\u2019t know how to spell saliva. For five weeks, my smile had not left my face.<\/p>\n

Our bags are packed and we await our departure. We have three hours to kill and I don\u2019t want to spend them hung up on the incredible days that will soon end. As if answering my thoughts, Riley asks, \u201cWant to get out of here?\u201d<\/p>\n

Without answering, we both jump to our feet and step outside into the humid air. I\u2019m not wearing bug spray but I don\u2019t care. Let the mosquitoes feast, I think to myself. We walk over to the faded pink kayak and haul it to the shore. A few small fish dart away as we disrupt the still water.<\/p>\n

Riley and I hop in and start paddling, not entirely sure where we\u2019re headed, but relieved to have left the depressive atmosphere we felt just moments ago. It\u2019s probably 85 degrees out as the sun beats down on me.\u00a0We paddle across the bay as Riley chatters away about spinner dolphins. \u201cTim saw a whole pod a couple days ago!\u201d she exclaims, \u201cSomewhere over there.\u201d She points toward the curve of the shoreline.<\/p>\n

An ancient Tahitian man, no less than 70 years old, paddles past us in his outrigger canoe. His whole body is still with only his arms moving to propel himself along. He reminds me of those Hawaiian surfers you hear about in books and movies \u2014 the ones that everybody respects because they\u2019ve been surfing since the sport was created. \u201cO\u00f9 sont les dauphins?\u201d Riley shouts.<\/p>\n

\u201cIl,\u201d the ancient man replies and points off in the distance. Unlike Riley, I hadn\u2019t taken French in high school so I just gaze in the same direction, unsure of what I\u2019m looking at.<\/p>\n

Riley tells me she asked about dolphins and that the old man had just seen some a little ways ahead. We\u2019re close. We start bellowing a very out-of-tune rendition of “Part of that World\u201d in hopes that dolphins like The Little Mermaid<\/em>.<\/p>\n

The clouds slowly start to roll in and I feel light drops on my skin. A minute later, the temperature drops to a chilly 75. Suddenly it\u2019s pouring and we battle the wind through gray, choppy waters. We continue singing anyways and almost miss the old Tahitian man\u2019s excited cries. \u201cRegardez! Regardez!\u201d We glance to our left and spot a silvery fin just as it ducks beneath the surface.<\/p>\n

Encouraged, we paddle with all our might toward the fin. Another fin appears, then three more, then at once our kayak is surrounded by fifty spinner dolphins. I laugh out with joy while Riley squeals. I\u2019ve seen dolphins before, at SeaWorld or on the horizon at the beach. Never anything like this though. Never this close. Never this many.<\/p>\n

We watch the dolphins swim by for several minutes, rhythmically rising and falling as they breathe. Riley and I are euphoric, taking in every bit of the unbelievable scene around us. Once the pod passes, we embark on our journey back across the bay, this time singing \u201cUnder the Sea.\u201d Mermaid sisters, I thought to myself and smiled.<\/p>\n

For the next 24 hours, I am running on a natural high. I don\u2019t even mind leaving Mo\u2019orea, the hours waiting at the airport, or the red-eye flight back into LAX. I\u2019m lovingly greeted by my parents, hug my mermaid sister goodbye, and set out to tackle that infamous Los Angeles traffic.<\/p>\n

By Michelle Ciesla<\/strong><\/p>\n

[French Polynesia by Jason Broersma\/Flickr<\/a><\/em>]<\/p>\n

<\/p>\n

About the Author<\/strong><\/p>\n

Michelle Ciesla is a tri-lingual, coffee-loving barista from the seaside town of La Jolla, California. Half beach-goer, half snowboarder (depending on the season), she spends most of her free time outdoors. She is passionate about travel, writing, marine biology and knows far too much about algae.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

Thirty-four days after arriving in Mo\u2019orea, I let out a sigh and look over at Riley. She\u2019s sitting with her chin propped up in her hands, gazing through the window at the still, turquoise waters encompassed by those unreal jagged peaks. Twenty-two other students sit quietly, their eyes glazed over, spirits low. We\u2019re in the […]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":1,"featured_media":12705,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"closed","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":[],"categories":[2049,1,35,2568],"tags":[2423,2421,2424,2422],"yoast_head":"\n