"You're a Fish!"

Christmas Island is an absolutely incredible, spectacular, mind-blowing example of a pristine tropical island.
"All my pictures are of sunsets and palm trees," exclaimed the Canadian, a native of New Brunswick. "Have you ever seen so many palm trees?" He paused. "Well, I guess you're from Los Angeles..."
I considered my response. I have indeed seen a lot of palm trees. But not like this. Not growing crazy-wild, leaning out over empty white sand beaches, standing so close to each other their fronds all mesh together in a canopy, laden with so many dozens of coconuts it's a wonder their slender trunks can support the weight, and growing long untrimmed beards of ancient fronds that reach the ground. They are palm trees as palm trees want to be.
This, I felt as I looked into the water and saw the bottom 20 feet down, was the ideal place to swim as much as possible. I swam basically every day. I snorkled on the perfect reef, stalking all the colorful shiny tropical fish. I even discovered I can still dive, though not as well as the Canadian, the skinny, bearded wonder, who dives like Pocahontas in the Disney movie. I wore my bathing suit to work so that I'd never miss an oppertunity to swim.