Pigs Don’t Fly, They Swim
You know that saying “when pigs fly?” As in, “oh sure, you’ll get that 10% raise—when pigs fly!” or “Brad Pitt? Yeah, he’s totally coming over to my house later to eat hot fudge sundaes. When pigs fly.”
Well, I’m here to tell you, friends: pigs don’t fly. They swim.
On my recent trip to the Bahamas, I had the great pleasure of boating through the Exuma Cays. We dropped anchor at quite a few of the 365 cays–”one for every day of the year,” said our boat guide Pat with a broad grin–but the one that stands out most in my mind was the one where I swam with a posse of pigs. Yes, I said a posse of pigs. I’ll say it again: I swam with a posse of pigs.
Big Major Cay is famous for its paddling porcine residents, who—true to form—came waddling into the water as soon as they heard our boat. Now, I’ve fed birds before, and I’ve fed fish—but I’ve never fed pigs. These guys were hungry, and they surrounded our little boat with their mouths open as we tossed them scraps of bread. “You can get in there and swim with them if you want,” said Pat. And so I did. (I wasn’t the only one, either.)
Since this was at the height of the swine flu pandemic, this was perhaps an even braver move than I gave myself credit for. But wow, was it fun—a little like swimming with a cadre of very enthusiastic, very snorty, very aggressive puppies. Up until now, I’d never have even thought of including “swim with pigs” on my must-do-before-I-die travel wish list. Now it’s right up there with my four-hour hike on the Great Wall of China.
What’s the one travel experience you want to cross off that list? And if you say “well, NOW I want to swim with pigs,” then I salute you.