Searching for Happiness in a Warm Spring in Florida

by Emily Blanchard (United States of America)

I didn't expect to find USA

I once had a dream that I was swimming in a warm pool in the jungle with dolphin-like creatures. The water was warm; I was happy. As I often had frequent nightmares, this dream stood out. It was the kind that wakes you up in the middle of the night and makes you grateful to remember it. It was also the kind of dream whose feeling stays with you to this day. So, for my birthday this year, I decided to do something different and cross an item off of my bucket list, the closest I had to my dream without perpetuating the captive dolphin industry- swimming with wild manatees in the crystalline turquoise springs along Florida’s Gulf Coast. Seeing the beauty of the springs, I could understand why explorers once thought Florida possessed the fountain of youth. They seemed magical, mythical, otherworldly. I was searching for that feeling of perfect contentment. Maybe this trip would be my dream come to life. Grandfathered in, Citrus County, Florida was the only place in the country where you could legally swim with wild manatees. But I was met with a plethora of tour guides offering swimming options- which one was best? At a loss for how to decide, I asked the woman at the local information center “which one is the most respectful towards the manatees?” She wasn’t allowed to display a preference, but she mentioned a couple of keywords I could use to guide my decision. It was a confusing process, trying to be an ethical traveler. In my more idealistic days I probably wouldn’t have gone in the first place, but I was holding onto my dream of finding happiness. We embarked at sunrise. It was a bitter 33 degree January morning, but the cold weather and early dawn encouraged the manatees to be more active. “You’ll be fine once you’re in the water” we were assured. That was a lie. The water was shockingly cold- more than 20 degrees colder than body temperature, and the buoyancy of the wet suits kept our backs exposed to the brisk air. We were dropped off at a group of docks, the water thick with seaweed. It wasn’t how I pictured it- I didn’t expect to end up at the edge of houses in turbid water. But I felt like a manatee with their poor eyesight- I could only see them once they, also surprised, found themselves right in front of me. I could feel them move underneath me, or was that a tourist’s foot? They chomped on the seaweed, sometimes moving closer and closer to my goggles until I was face-to-face, looking eye-to-eye with one of these majestic creatures as they nibbled on my mask. We were allowed to make contact with one hand, as long as the manatee initiated it. As one turned over, exposing her underside, horrific scars from propeller boats in the Gulf appeared down her belly. This miraculous animal had experienced such trauma at the hands of humanity and yet here she was- still playful, curious, gentle. Our connection was cut short, however, as a swarm of other tourists feverishly crowded around. Another boat approached, cutting the quiet moment. Its proximity swirled the water into a more turbid mess. The manatees began to try to escape. Back on board my hand shook so violently that my hot chocolate flew out of the cup. As I looked out from the boat, I recognized that I was both an admirer and a part of something that needed to change. The very act that brought me this once-in-a-lifetime experience also posed a threat to its source, interfering with its existence. Did the connection at least encourage people to care more for these creatures? Or did they return to their lives as before and miss the opportunity for activism? I don’t know if there’s another jungle out there for me to swim in, if such a place could exist on this earth. I’m still searching. Or would my act of finding it threaten its very existence?