(All times are US Eastern Standard Time)
©︎Moto Suzuki
©︎Moto Suzuki
9.11 in the Bahamas
Friday, September 7
Participants began arriving one after another on late-night flights from Tokyo and other cities into Fort Lauderdale, Florida (about a 30-minute drive north of Miami), and it was past 2am everyone settled at the hotel near the airport.
Saturday, September 8
After breakfast at the hotel, a van I had arranged took us to the marina.
We boarded the live-aboard dive boat called Bottom Time Ⅱ, which I used every year and whose crew I was already familiar with, and set sail for the Bahamas.
The captain told us, “No hurricanes are forecast this week, so it should be a wonderful cruise.”
Two couples were even on their honeymoon—though they had already held wedding ceremonies back in Japan, the captain had agreed to perform a symbolic wedding at sea as well. With that in mind, the participants, and I myself, were in an especially festive mood.
Between the Florida peninsula and the Bahama Islands flows the Gulf Stream—one of the world’s two great ocean currents alongside our own Kuroshio, the Black Current that flows along the Pacific Coast of Japan. To reach the Bahamas, vessels must cross this powerful current, which means the boat rocks and pitches. In the era before air travel, when people traveled by ship, this was the infamous “Bermuda Triangle,” where many ships were lost. True to the name “Pirates of the Caribbean,” there were also many pirate ships in the area, leaving behind numerous wrecks. These wrecks now serve as artificial reefs and popular dive sites.
In contrast to the image of giant luxury “Caribbean cruise ships,” there are many smaller live-aboard vessels here that accommodate 15–30 divers. Guests sleep in cabins, while onboard chefs provide three meals a day plus snacks, all while the boat cruises different sites for a week of diving.
At the time, there were even several boats running special operations to swim with wild dolphins. Over about ten years, I personally spent time on five different vessels. But the one I used most often was Bottom Time II—a catamaran large enough to be stable, bright and comfortable inside, and captained by someone whose respectful approach to dolphins inspired real trust.
We completed entry formalities at Grand Bahama Island. In practice, this meant an officer came aboard, checked our passports, and stamped them—a simple procedure.
There’s a stretch of open water, with no islands visible, where the seafloor rises and creates a shallow bank. Because dolphins often gather there, boats offering dolphin-swim trips head straight for this area, commonly called the “Dolphin Site.”
Slower boats take about five hours from Grand Bahama Island; ours reached it in around three. Arriving there, spirits soared: “Wow, we made it! We’re in the Bahamas!” The setting was the very picture of the Caribbean’s beauty. The seabed is pure white sand, only 7–8 meters deep, and the clarity makes the pale blue water stretch out endlessly. Jumping in, everyone exclaimed “So warm!” The water temperature was high, and when we dove below, visibility could extend tens of meters through a luminous blue.
By evening, a crew member shouted, “Dolphins!” A few people quickly geared up and slipped into the sea—but the dolphins soon disappeared again.
Sunday, September 9
Rain began falling in the early morning and soon turned into a storm.
Even though the boat was a catamaran—normally stable and less prone to rolling—the seas became rough, and it was judged too difficult to remain out at the Dolphin Site with no islands for shelter. Instead, we moved closer to land, to a wreck site where schools of fish gathered, and went snorkeling there.
Just after 2 p.m., a crew member shouted, “Dolphins!”
Everyone rushed out to the deck to see four spotted dolphins—but they disappeared almost immediately.
In the evening, another call: “Dolphins!”
This time it was a pod of about 15 bottlenose dolphins with calves. The baby dolphins were adorable, but before long, they too were gone.
Monday, September 10
This morning dawned bright and clear, with a huge rainbow stretching across the sky.
“Since the weather is so beautiful, let’s hold the wedding on deck,” the captain suggested, and soon everyone gathered there.
The captain apparently held a license to officiate weddings, so the ceremony would be legally recognized.
Of the two honeymooning couples, one was joining for the first time. The other, however, had a deeper story: the bride had been participating my dolphin swimming program in the Mikura Island since its very first year, and the groom had later joined the same program. They met through that shared experience and eventually married. I had even signed their marriage papers as a witness back in Japan, so to see them now surrounded by dolphin friends in the Bahamas, exchanging vows at a shipboard wedding, was truly moving.
The captain recited the familiar vows in English, I translated into Japanese, and the couples each replied “I do” in English.
Of course, everyone was secretly thinking, “If only dolphins showed up right now, it would be perfect!” But sadly, none appeared…
Later in the afternoon, after leaving the Dolphin Site and moving to slightly deeper waters, we did encounter a large number of dolphins!
Everyone jumped into the sea, but the conditions were challenging: the water was deep, the waves high, and the current strong—tough for beginners experiencing dolphin swimming for the first time.
On top of that, the captain enforced a strict approach: “Don’t chase the dolphins" "Don’t touch them.” (In the Bahamas, some spotted dolphins actually enjoy being touched by humans, and certain boats allow guests to do so. But not here.) If you swam behind the dolphins, shouts came from the boat: “Don’t chase them! Dive down!” Even if you surfaced to rest, thinking “I’m exhausted, I just need a break,” we hear “Dive!”.
Even those used to swim in the strong Kuroshio currents around Mikura Island found it physically exhausting. We ended up repeating the cycle nearly ten times—swim with the dolphins until tired, climb back aboard to rest, then jump in again whenever the dolphins were still around.
By the end we were happily worn out, and the day wasn’t over yet: after the shipboard wedding came the reception. The crew surprised everyone with a heart-shaped cake decorated with the couple’s names, and we all shared a slice of happiness together. It was a truly joyful day. ❤️
Today, the two of them are building a happy family together. (The photos are shared here with their permission.)
Tuesday, September 11
Early in the morning I was woked by an enormous clap of thunder.
Looking out from the cabin window, it should already have been dawn, but the sky was covered in storm clouds, so dark it was impossible to tell whether it was morning or night. Bolts of lightning split the sky and struck down into the sea, their full shapes clearly visible across the horizon, since there was nothing at all to block the view for 360 degrees.
Even at breakfast time the sky remained pitch black, with torrential rain pouring down. I had been to the Bahamas many times, but had never experienced weather like this before. We ate our meal in a heavy, uneasy atmosphere, then just chilled in the lounge when the captain suddenly appeared and said: “I have a very bad news.”
My first thought was, "Has a hurricane or tropical storm formed?"
But instead, he told us: “Just after 8:00 this morning, an airplane crashed into the World Trade Center in New York. Then another plane struck the second tower. Both buildings have collapsed, and it seems many people have been killed.”
There was no TV or radio onboard, but the crew stayed in touch with the office staff in Florida by radio, and that was how they had heard the news.
“It’s still chaos and the details aren’t clear, but it’s being called terrorism. All airports in the U.S. are shut down, and there’s no telling when flights will resume,” the captain said.
From our isolated world at sea, it was impossible to truly imagine “two airplanes crashing into the twin skyscrapers in Manhattan one after another.”
What felt more real to us was the question: Will we be able to return to Japan as planned?
Of course, we also worried about how anxious our families in Japan must be. Fortunately, the travel agency in Tokyo that had arranged the participants’ flights was in contact with the ship’s office in Florida, and called everyone’s families that we were all safe and continuing the cruise as scheduled.
The captain then announced: “It looks like the bad weather will continue, so we’ll move toward Bimini.”
Dolphins also inhabit the waters around Bimini, one of the Bahamas Islands, but the visibility there isn’t as clear as at the Dolphin Site, and the sea has a slightly greenish tint. We had all wanted to swim at the Dolphin Site… but the weather was out of our control.
That entire day felt as though the whole world was in mourning: the sky remained dark, rain poured down, the wind blew, and the boat rocked—an atmosphere heavy and somber, completely different from the bright Bahamian sea of the day before.
We did a little snorkeling in the waters off Bimini, but otherwise spent the day quietly, lost in thought.
Double rainbows appeared in the sky in the evening
Wednesday, September 12
It’s been pouring rain since this morning, and the thunder is intense.
We still ran the boat searching for dolphins in such weather, but didn’t see a single one.
Some people who think “For me, it doesn’t matter if it’s raining since I’m going to get wet anyway. I want to go in the sea at least once a day,” went snorkeling in the rain at the sunken ship point.
Since the boat doesn’t rock when we’re sheltered behind the island, we borrowed the kitchen and made Japanese style curry for lunch using curry roux that the staff had brought from Japan.
The taste of homemade Japanese curry was a hit—not just with us Japanese, but also with the American crew.
We kept the boat running until the evening searching for dolphins, but still didn’t see any.
With the rain finally stopping, we decided to go ashore.
Men in the kitchen
Taste of home
Even American crew loved it
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Thursday, September 13
Whether we laugh or cry, it’s the last day. We have to leave the Bahamas around 3 p.m. to get back to Florida before it gets dark.
The captain knows very well that participants traveled all the way from Japan, spending both time and money to get here. We could swim with dolphins only once. So he thinks, “Even though they’re wild and this is nature, for the sake of my honor, we have to somehow swim with dolphins one more time…” and he drives the boat in a desperate search.
But even after lunch, we still don’t see any dolphins.
The 3 p.m. deadline is fast approaching.
Everyone stares at the sea from the deck, hoping and praying to spot dolphins—but time runs out.
Then the captain announces, “We were supposed to leave at 3, but we’ll stay until evening to keep searching for dolphins, and we’ll get back to Florida by midnight.”
However, as the sun begins to sink, the dolphins still don’t appear. With a heavy sigh, the captain finally says, “I’m really, really sorry, but the sun is setting. This is it. We’re heading back to Florida.”
“Is this really the end…? But this is the nature which we can't control” everyone murmurs to themselves, watching the sea as evening approaches.
The boat engine roars and speeds up. Goodbye, Bahamas.
And just as we’re lost in thought…
Dolphins leap out of the water and head straight toward our boat!
The captain shouted, “There’s a big pod up ahead! Get ready to jump in!” We hurriedly put on our mask, snorkel, and fins and plunged into the water.
They were spotted dolphins. At first there were about fifteen, but their numbers quickly grew.
There were roughly three times as many dolphins as humans, and no matter which way we looked, there were dolphins everywhere. Swimming in a dreamlike state, we suddenly noticed—there were also bottlenose dolphins!
In the Bahamas, spotted dolphins are known to be friendly. When people say they want to swim with wild dolphins in the Bahamas, they almost always mean spotted dolphins. Bottlenose dolphins also live in these waters and they approach boats and swim close to the people but not in the same friendly way. There’s also some territorial rivalry: larger bottlenose dolphins often chase away the spotted dolphins.
But in this movie-like, overly dramatic ending scene, the spotted dolphins, the bottlenose dolphins, about fifty to sixty dolphins in total, the Japanese, and the Americans all seemed to merge into a world without boundaries or gravity, swimming together as one.
We lost all sense of time and didn’t know how long we had been swimming. Eventually, the dolphins disappeared, and we climbed back onto the boat.
Having already spent well over our schedule, the engine started, and the boat began its journey back to Florida.
Watching the sky and sea shift from orange to night, we silently wished, “Don’t let this be a dream.” Then, the dolphins returned, jumping and swimming around the boat once again—both spotted and bottlenose dolphins together. Even the crew, usually experienced, were stunned, saying, “We’ve never seen anything like this.” The more than fifty dolphins swam and jump alongside the boat for over thirty minutes before finally disappearing into the darkening sea.
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Still buzzing with excitement and feeling like we were in a dream, we had a late dinner and went to sleep.
Even though we were about to cross the Gulf Stream again, I hadn’t imagined the seas would be rougher than on the way here.
But as we headed toward Florida, the ocean grew wild. Every time a suitcase on the cabin floor shifted, it slid across the room from one end to the other, banging against the walls with a loud “thud, thud.”
I was sleeping on the top bunk of a small cabin at the front of the ship—the part that rocked the most. Somehow I managed to sit up and peek through the round window. Even though it was pitch dark, enormous waves, like walls, were crashing toward the boat. Each wave swept across the deck and flowed toward the back. Some waves seemed as high as five meters. I closed my eyes, thinking, “This is it,” but the boat somehow rode over them, plunging not like a roller coaster, but like it was being slammed down. I was probably seasick, but I had to cling to the bed, fighting fear, leaving no room to even feel nausea.
If I went out on deck to get the fresh air, I would be thrown into the pitch-dark stormy sea. I couldn’t even make it to the bathroom.
“How much farther to Florida…?”
Just when both my mind and body were reaching their limits, the boat slowed and the engine stopped.
I cautiously got up and looked outside. It was the marina we had left a week ago. The warm lights made all the tension drain from my body.
“I survived.” With that thought, I slept deeply for several hours until dawn.
Friday, September 14
At dawn, everyone gathered in the lounge, celebrating that we had made it through safely.
When we saw the captain, he looked completely exhausted. “This is the first time I’ve ever faced conditions like this. The forecast didn’t predict any rough seas, and I don’t know why it suddenly became such a storm. It was like a movie 'Perfect Storm'. Now I can say it, but there were many moments when I truly thought we wouldn’t make it…” he said.
I wanted to say “Otsukare-sama”, A Japanese expression of gratitude for someone's hard work, but I couldn’t find words that quite fit in English. Feeling frustrated, I ended up saying “Thank you” over and over, trying to convey my gratitude.
The crew had been in daily radio contact with the office and had informed us that the airports were still all closed. Our travel agent in Tokyo, worried about us, had kindly arranged for a Japanese staff member to meet us at the marina, so I asked for an update in Japanese, and he explained “International flights have no clear plan to resume yet, but some domestic flights might start today. It’s still chaotic, so nothing is certain. I’ll keep checking your flights and let you know. In the meantime, please enjoy your time in Florida,” we were assured. And so we headed straight for Miami.
Fort Lauderdale, where we disembarked, is a small town with not much to do and there are more flights to Japan from Miami, I usually ask the travel agency to arrange a hotel in Miami after we disembarked the boat.
After checking into the hotel in Miami, I turned on the TV. CNN and other news programs kept replaying footage of the moment planes struck the World Trade Center and the towers collapsing. It was the first time I saw clearly how the planes hit the towers and the buildings fell. “So this is what happened…”
Even more shocking, the ticker at the bottom of the screen read, “AMERICA’S NEW WAR” on every channel.
“What? They haven’t even confirmed if it’s terrorism or not yet. Why are they already talking about war?”
I didn’t fully understand the situation, but I sensed that some huge force was at work—and it was terrifying.
However, we are in Miami, so we tried to stay positive like “We don’t know when we can go home, but there’s nothing we can do. Let’s enjoy Miami!” and headed to the beach. Despite being on the same East Coast as New York, Miami Beach felt almost unreal in its carefree atmosphere.
We shopped, had lunch at stylish cafés, and in between, the travel agency informed us, “It seems international flights are still not resuming tomorrow.”
OK, so we don't know when we could return to Japan. “Let’s have Japanese food for dinner!” We enjoyed an American-style sushi dinner at a casual Japanese restaurant by the beach, and said “Since we don’t have to wake up early, let’s go out tonight!” and head to a lively dance club to enjoy the nightlife in Miami.
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Saturday, September 15
After taking a short trip to a nearby shopping mall and spending a relaxing day, we received a message from our travel agency. “Your flights look like they’ll be departing tomorrow.”
Relieved at the thought of finally going home, yet a little torn thinking, “I could still enjoy a bit more time in Miami with everyone who we already feel like family,” so we went to a slightly upscale restaurant for our final dinner together.
9月16日（日）
Flights from the U.S. East Coast to Japan are early in the morning under normal circumstances, and this time, with the airport still in significant chaos, we only managed a short sleep before checking out of the hotel and heading to the airport.
When we arrived, “chaos” didn’t even begin to describe it—it was chaos multiplied by a million. Exhausted travelers who had apparently been sleeping and waiting at the airport for days were sprawled on every floor and bench. And the lines… it was impossible to tell where they started or ended—an incredibly long. We searched for our gate, only to find that the security check lines stretched to a terminal two over from ours. Pulling our suitcases, we ran endlessly. When we finally reached what seemed to be the end of the line, a staff member told us, “Tokyo? Stand here,” and we waited. But the line barely moved.
“Time’s almost up for boarding!” I kept saying to staff, but it got us nowhere. Desperate, I ran through the airport, calling out to anyone who looked like staff, until finally someone said, “For that flight, get everyone over here immediately.” I sprinted back to the group, and together we ran to the gate they had indicated.
We all returned home safely.
Thursday, September 11, 2025
It’s been twenty four years since then.
On land, people destroyed buildings and took countless lives because of differences in race and religion—a tragic event. And, almost in sync, the waters of the Bahamas on September 11. 2001 were dark, as if mourning. The contrast is striking: different species of dolphins—spotted dolphins and bottlenose dolphins—and humans of different races, Americans and Japanese, swimming together in the sea without any boundaries.
Having experienced something like this, I wanted to help create a world where humans don’t fight each other and live alongside other creatures as fellow inhabitants of the Earth.
But now, twenty-four years later, unfortunately, the world has grown even more divided. Discrimination persists, wars continue, and climate change and species extinction are accelerating.
It’s easy to feel powerless. Yet, looking back on those roller-coaster days of that week in September 2001, I remind myself:
“After a dark downpour, a rainbow appears. Even though we hardly saw any dolphins all week, in the end they appeared like something out of a drama.”
Likewise, no matter how hopeless the political and diplomatic situation may seem, I believe that by connecting with people who have a vision for the kind of world we want, and taking even small actions toward that vision, we can keep moving forward. And this is the resolve I renew today.
Mariko Miki
At home in Kanagawa Prefecture in Japan