Is flying like swimming?

MOOREA, French Polynesia - There’s something about fresh sea air that feels so great!

The tiny airport is no bigger than my mechanic’s garage. One-by-one, the 19-seaters take off.  There is an approximate boarding time but it’s very much first come, first serve. First, pink cards numbered one to 19 are given out, then yellows and when those are out, blues. Passengers board by colour. Life is so simple. Why can’t the rest of the world operate this way?

Vicky was waiting for our taxi at the front entrance of the Westin Moorea, “We have saved the best bungalow for you. It’s the last one so there is nothing separating you and the horizon.”

She was right, the walkway on stilts was like someone rolled a carpet of boards into the sea while bungalows set up shop along the path over water, and ours just happen to be at the end.  The bungalow was stunning. It was entirely constructed with Teak wood and contained all the modern amenities of a six-star hotel. Except for a glass cut out in the middle of the bungalow floor, the wood continued to the patio doors onto a two story deck. I have arrived in heaven. Snorkel, mask and fins hung by the door. The ocean was calling. Normally, stairs off a deck would land you on the ground; these magical steps led us into water that you could snorkel in for hours.  And that we did.

Floating effortlessly in warm Pacific waters is how I imagine flying. Waist deep for about 500 metres, this whole new world of sea life was curiously comforting. We were exploring them, as much as they were exploring us.