Tarsier Territory

'Is it a mammal?' asks the lady, as the tarsier stares at us warily from its perch.
No. It's a small furry reptile that lays eggs the size of golf balls, I feel like saying. The young take seven years to hatch, then sprout wings and a snout and fly away – never to be seen again…
'Yes ma'am, it is a mammal,' responds our guide, rather more truthfully.

'And how many babies do they give birth to?'
'Only one, ma'am – once a year.'
'And how do they carry their babies?'
'Like that ma'am, in front ma'am,' says our guide, miming a baby tarsier clinging to the belly of its mother.

The tarsier seems to cringe a little as we gather round to snap it with our cameras. In the dim green light that filters through the jungle foliage, I am terrified that someone's flash might go off and blind it. Delicate animals, tarsiers.

PS. Apparently Yoda is distantly related to the tarsier… Fact.

Whale Watching in Mirissa

The open sea is a shimmer of silver under a blaze of blue sky. Our eyes are trained on the boundless horizon: watching, waiting. Was that the crest of a wave, or the back of a whale? A glimmer of sun on surf, or a ripple from the flick of a tail?

We've had a couple of encounters so far, but keep scanning the surface in hopes of further sightings. And all the while the sun beats down, and the boat pitches and rolls on the ocean swells, drenching us in a white salt spray.
'Careful you don't fall in,' says a man to his wife, 'you look like a giant krill.'
In our red life jackets, we all do.

It doesn't occur to me to feel seasick until somebody else is, retching miserably over the side onto the lower deck. It's always the one you least expect – in this case, a tall, solid chap built like a wrestler. A young couple rush to his side, proffering pills. 'Seasickness tablets – we took some before coming on board,' they say brightly; but it is too late, and they are waved aside. We fall silent on the journey back to the harbour.

'I think everyone was feeling a bit squeamish,' said the American lady, meaning queasy, back on shore, but thankfully the evening shadows hide how green we all are around the gills.

Khasab Dhow Cruise

'Look, dolphins!' says our guide.
And there, sure enough, at the foot of a towering cliff in the direction of her outstretched arm, was a small pod frolicking in the waves. We head for them at full throttle, the skipper and his mate whistling and clapping to attract their attention above the roar of the engine.

Miraculously, they choose to disport with us. We watch, enthralled, as they speed alongside the dhow, cresting the waves with wild abandon. And then, unexpectedly, one of them turns on its side just beneath the surface to gaze back at us.
The effect is electrifying.
A look of curiosity?
I sensed an accusation – it is a gaze that has haunted me since.

They slip away from the dhow shortly thereafter. The skipper kills the engine as the game abruptly ends, and we scan the waters to see where they surface next. But they have disappeared into the deep – fleet and silent as shadows in the night; and the vast expanse of empty waves in their wake seems indescribably lonelier and more desolate than before.