I’m on the ship, on the Danube and I can’t hear a thing. Stretched out on the bed, one wall has become a window, thrown wide open to ooze in the summer from floor to ceiling with a light, tingling breeze. The slow ripples of the river cruise past, soft and supple, a soulful slinking procession of jade.
Florida is known for its crystal, turquoise blue. So why am I deliberately slipping into the mud with a snorkel? To go swimming with manatees, that’s why. To search for and understand those gentle marine giants who carry with them an eco success story all of their own. Here’s an ethical guide to swimming with manatees.
It’s an inauspicious start. No map. No SatNav. No cash – my very last dihram cleared out by the unexpected fuel charge.
No internet access to check the route. No signal on my iPhone. Just a pen, a scrap of paper and a hastily scribbled map, uneven streaks of biro connecting Moroccan towns that appeared on a picture in the hotel lobby.