2008: Under The Sea

Perfect Phu Quoc view

"I haven't seen you light up a cigarette yet," I say, "are you sure you're German?" This guy might end up being my dive buddy today so I figure I should be chattier than I feel. I've only dived once since I got my scuba certification a little over a year ago and I'm a bit nervous. Yesterday, I did a refresher course in the swimming pool. Fortunately for me it was a class of one and my trainer, Jo, was an instructor trainee... she was exceptionally thorough and patient and not yet jaded by the rigorous pace they set at these places.

Still, I had to do the thing with the mask again, and that almost killed it for me. First I had to show her I could fill my mask with water, leave it like that for a few seconds while breathing through my mouth out of my regulator, then clear it out again by cracking the seal, tilting my head upwards and gently blowing out through my nose. She demonstrates... makes it look so easy I think well, I managed it before, maybe I can still do this. You can't breathe through your nose anyway with a scuba mask on so why should it matter if the mask is filled with air or water?

Somehow, though, it does. I duck under the surface, fill my mask with water, breathe through my mouth, not so bad. A second passes, two seconds... then the water tickles my nose, reminds me that, if I COULD breathe through my nose with my mask on, I would be breathing water. Never mind that I have plenty of air coming in through my mouth, I want air in my nostrils. I snort, forget what to do, and pop up to the surface coughing and sputtering as if this were my very first day of scuba lessons.

But Jo is patient. "What happened there?"

"I got water in my nose."

"Yeah, everyone freaks out about that." Jo is Irish, probably in her late twenties. She has a beautiful, friendly smile that seems completely sincere and the healthy glow of someone who spends her life being nourished by the sea. Her eyes are full of life and also full of understanding. Maybe she remembers what it's like to be new at this. "It's normal. No-one likes getting water up their nose. Let's try again, OK?"

I don't feel like such a dunce. I try again. I think I do alright. I get the water out of my mask at least, but my technique isn't quite right. I'm supposed to leave the water in my mask longer, wait for her signal before blowing it out. I also have to repeat the procedure two or three times to get all the water out. But at least I don't pop up to the surface before it's done... that's something, right?

"You got it 80%" Jo says, and beams a proud smile at me. "But you need to tilt your head back more as you blow out. That's why you still have a little water left after the first try. Let's try again."

Again? She wants results and technique too? But I'm glad she's picky because I actually do it right this time... wait patiently for her signal, blow rather than snort, and tilt my head back all the way to get every last bit of water out of my mask on the first try.

Good. Now I have to take the mask all the way off, breathe for 30 seconds without it, put it back on again and get the water out of it, all without coming to the surface. I actually manage to do that OK on the first try. Now I'm starting to feel confident again. All the rest of the stuff is pretty straightforward. We finish up the refresher course as the sky blazes into the creamy reds and oranges of a tropical sunset, and Jo signs me up for a real dive for the next day.

That's today.

Now I'm on the boat on my way to Turtle Island, a little nervous about getting into the ocean for real but feeling pretty confident. I chat with a German guy who introduced himself on the dingy that chugged us out to the dive boat. I appreciate the company. Most of the tourists who come to Phu Quoc are in pairs. I'm used to traveling alone, and usually I have no trouble making passing friends along the way, but at Phu Quoc it's couples here, couples there, couples couples everywhere. They look at me with curiosity. Where's my other half? Did we have a fight? Did he left me here alone? Should they feel sorry for me? Or did I... is it possible... that I came here alone on purpose?

Even I, a veteran solo traveler, start to feel conspicuous in my aloneness.

But there are a few others of my kind here and over time we gravitate towards one another. Martin is here by himself, too and he speaks English almost fluently. We chat on our way out to and back from the dive site, but he is an experienced diver so he is teamed up with someone else for the dives themselves. On its boat dives, Rainbow Divers breaks people into groups no bigger than 4, including one local dive guide, based on experience. Today we've got 2 snorklers, two experienced divers, and me. Which means that I, once again, have Jo to look after just me... yay!

We ease our way down the anchor line to the sandy bottom, hang out there for a moment to orient ourselves, then swim over to an area of corals, boulders and overhangs. Every inch is packed with life. Giant cone-shaped sea sponges filter water and provide hiding places for small fish. Larger fish lurk between boulders. Most of them I can't name. We see striped ones and spotted ones, neon blues and yellows, puffer fish, barracudas, nudibranches (sea snails), anemones, sea urchins with bulbuous neon blue eyeballs in the middle. Once in a while I look to my side and see a whole school of tiny fish swarming around me... soon I'm in the middle of them - I can spin around like I'm in a space suit, up, down, over, right, left, and on every side are tiny fishes not at all bothered by my presence. I feel so grateful to them for sharing their world with me. Then, suddenly they all bolt off as one body and I look around to make sure I haven't lost track of Jo.

When Jo asks me how much air I have left and I see that I've already used half my tank, I start trying to breathe more efficiently so that we don't have to go back so soon. That's when I realize that I am finally becoming comfortable being underwater.

I get back to my bungalow feeling exhausted and very, very hungry. Happy, too, that I'm feeling good about the diving because in a few weeks I'll be in Thailand at some of the best dive sites in the world and I don't want to be encumbered by pointless nerves.

I'm also happy that the loud German family in the adjacent bungalow has been mercifully replaced by a quiet German couple in their 50s or so. Did I mention that there are a lot of Germans on Phu Quoc? Not that I mind Germans - I am half German myself - but they can be so confident, self-assurance bordering on self-absorption. Time to change into a bathing suit? No problem... off with the tank top and pancake boobs go flapping in the breeze - things that really should not be put on public display. Nostrils getting a little too bushy? Fine... I'll pluck them for you, darling, right here on the beach so all our neighbors can watch. We talk a lot, ja, but only to other Germans. The kids wake up at 7:00 in the morning? Other people are still trying to sleep? Who notices things like that... if the kids want to run and shout on the beach at 7:00 in the morning, let them be everyone else's alarm clock. Why not... this part of the island is short on roosters.

At least they are happy self-absorbed kids, though, with happy self-absorbed parents. My first day here I wished they could trade places with a quiet Belgian couple I'd seen at dinner, but the Belgians are at the other end of the scale... too quiet. They don't seem to have anything to say to each other. They don't even seem to like each other very much. They spend their meals straightening out the silverware, fussing with their clothing. Not that I think people have to talk all the time... I get cranky when I have to talk to people all day long. I think some silence is healthy for all but the most outgoing people, but these two seem very uncomfortable with their silence and it's painful to watch. In spite of being woken up at the crack of dawn, I prefer the loud happy Germans.

But they are gone now, and the people who have moved in are content to sit on their deck chairs sipping cheap Vietnamese beer, chatting lazily and holding hands. They seem happy, too, and I like them. Maybe tomorrow we'll even say hello.