The first dive had us doing a lot more than I expected. Most of the time was gobbled up by practicing mandatory procedures. Clearing water out of your mask, taking the regulator out of your mouth, manually inflating your BCD, switching to an emergency oxygen supply etc etc etc... Actually breathing underwater was remarkably easy. Going underwater, your body's immediate reaction is "NOOOOOO!!", but once you breathe that first confident breath, you immediately relax. The second-stage regulator in your mouth clicks open and closed with a confident pulse, and it only gets easier from there. Joe seemed quite confident with all four of our performances so he took us on a little leisure swim. We went deeper, to about 8 meters, and the pressure became apparent.
I was always baffled as to why SCUBA diving required such extensive certification. I naively thought it was as easy as breathing through a hose as you swam, like a natural extension to snorkeling. Without a doubt, you require certification to deal with the pressure. Go down too fast and your eardrums squeal in a desperate attempt to equalize, making sure you feel ample amounts of pain. Rise too fast after being down for a while and get a bloodstream full of nitrogen and a trip to the depressurization chamber. Ascend while holding your breath and your lungs explode. I'm always amazed at how dumb some people can be, and with these kinds of consequences, it's no wonder certification is required before they slap an oxygen tank on the back of any jackass who wants one.
My ears were squealing as we made our descent, but nothing too bad. We saw a stingray, a lionfish and tons of other little fish darting all around us. So much more vibrant and colourful and intense than the lakes in Ontario. Growing up nowhere near an ocean allowed this to be one of the few experiences I had not yet grown jaded of. And the clarity. A boat roared overhead like a zipper across the sky and we could see each ripple left in its wake. Clusters of clownfish swam in and out of sea anemone. Sprawling reefs laid before us, complete accessible, if not a little overwhelming. Before we knew it, time was up and we had to head back to shore. The day was only half done.
The second dive, I later found out, didn't even qualify as a dive. If there were any swimming pools on the island, surely we would have done it there instead. We practiced procedures the whole time, including one which had us swimming without a mask for some distance. A little disappointing compared to the first dive, but Joe assured us that by getting it all out of the way early, we could spend the next three dives just enjoying ourselves. At the end of the day I was ready to sleep on any surface that would have me.
Day 2! After a long night of dreaming that I was an astronaut suspended in space, I made ample preparations for the two dives I was about to take. This included drinking ample amounts of water. Last time, my throat felt like an arid chute and there is absolutely nothing you can do about that underwater, so I took precautions. Again, I was the last person to arrive, but I was on time. First order of business: more videos. At one point in the video, a large group of divers gave each other simultaneous high-fives and it ended in a catastrophic fail. When it came time to dive, Joe took us around the peninsula into the next bay where we could frolic through the coral. We did the classic back flip off the boat method of entry and immediately began our descent. My ears were not having it this time.
One of the many things I learned about myself in Korea is that my septum is deviated right at the bridge of my nose. This means that one nostril cavity is smaller while the other is bigger. As you can imagine, my small left nostril had trouble equalizing my left ear, so I descended at a tragically slow pace. In order to equalize, you have to plug your nose and mouth and breathe out sharply. The stupid video made it look so easy. I did this close to thirty times before my ears started squealing. The sound was insane! I'll try to describe it as succinctly as possible. Think a very high squeal, gradually descending in pitch, but punctuated with brief silences. It honestly sounded like someone was playing Atari in my eardrum. Missile Command.
Finally my ears equalized and I joined the others at the bottom. We swam around and then over a huge reef. The visibility was a little bit lower than the day before, but the scenery was no less stunning. It can get a little hard keeping track of your position underwater sometimes. Occasionally I would rise a little and have no idea that Adam was directly above me. Other times it seemed like a full rotation was more than 360 degrees. All the clumsiness got a little bit better as the swim progressed. We saw a cuttlefish scoot across the sand.
Our second dive of the day took us to Palau Becil, the big island. I had a hamburger for lunch (first hamburger of the whole trip I should point out) and it was sitting like a cannonball in my stomach as I swam about. We covered coughing and swallowing water and even belching while diving, but not vomiting. I didn't want to vomit. I didn't, don't worry. We came across some very large triggerfish, some which were potentially aggressive, so we turned back.
On land we talked to the owner of the dive shop. He started his business back in 1993. At that time, he was the only dive shop on the island. They didn't even have generators, just torches, and you had to pay a fisherman to drive you over. Originally he was a plastic salesman from Kuala Lumpur. He was on a business trip in Jakarta when the riots broke out, so both him and a coworker were fatefully given some free time to do whatever until things settled down. In that time, they cultivated a passion for diving. In his 20s and feeling the pressure to start making a life for himself, he took time off and pursued his hobby while he could until he felt it was time to return to business and real life. That time never came for him, and he opened a dive shop on the Perhentian Islands to support himself. Business picked up and the islands started getting discovered by the tourist circuit. Now he's top recommendation in Lonely Planet and business couldn't be better. Stories like his always seem to comfort me when I feel like I'm failing at being an adult. This guy never intended to become one, but somehow things worked out.
Things get interesting here at night. The restaurants stretch right out to the shoreline, making long, narrow strips of tables and chairs, each place with their own distinct colour to know which customer is within their jurisdiction. Dive shacks magically transform into bars and dig sand pits, placing candles inside so patrons can sit around and enjoy a drink on the beach. Coolers magically roll out of hiding and sell beer, vodka and whiskey. It's a far cry from the gong show that was Kuta on Bali, but it does retain a jubilant atmosphere. Unfortunately. most of the time Adam and I were too tired to really partake in any of the festivities and ended up going to bed early. I keep telling myself that I am going to party hard at least once on this trip. It's gonna have to wait until SCUBA lessons are over though.
Last day of the course started out like any other. The four of us showed up and Joe had us do a bit of bookwork. We did our "final exam" of sorts and everyone did decently. I got 96% despite not even learning the final unit until that morning. I've always had a way of hacking it like that. Adam scored 100% and a free T-shirt (which he promptly lost). Afterwards, we wasted no time getting suited up and in the water. The last dive was the sweetest.
So that's it. I am now SCUBA certified, something I thought I would never do in my life. Four years ago I was so sheltered and cloistered in my parents' house that the thought of even being abroad was unthinkable, let alone wild, off-the-cuff touring. Things have been both remarkable and remarkably easy so far, and throwing a SCUBA certification in there on a whim was no exception. I expect to dive the hell out of Thailand.
In the evening, we met with some dive friends and celebrated our accomplishments over bottles of the local fire water. The cabana bar played reggae covers of selections from Dark Side of the Moon. We swapped stories and email addresses. The ocean heaved only a few meters away. The sky was clear and the stars were more striking than anywhere else I'd been thus far, like jeweled shrapnel embedded in the firmament. We had spent four days and four nights on the Perhentian Islands, longer than we had spent anywhere else on this trip, and honestly it was worth every damn minute.
The 8am beach was quiet, save for the few tourists who were waiting for the ferry off the island. Every morning there was a new row of departures. We were among them this time. We hopped on the boat as the others alighted. Tourists flow in and out. The island breathes them. They are necessary for its survival. We left exhausted and sun-kissed, ultimately satisfied. A vacation within a vacation. Now it's time to move on.
The beautiful and painful descent.
Adam Harrison: SCUBA dude.
Me.
Class photo.
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