Okay, so I’ve just realised that I’m behind by roughly twenty-four blog posts, and now that I’m editing this, it’s probably more like thirty. I better get started.
This time, I will actually write about Koh Tao.
Four hours after arriving in Thailand from Kuala Lumpur, we boarded the 10pm sleeper ferry from Chumphon. Despite the Hobbit sized beds, the mattresses were comfortable, and I managed to sleep for the full six sailing hours. I would recommend this mode of transport, that is, I would have, if we hadn’t arrived on Koh Tao at 5am, four hours before we could check into our accommodation. If you should choose this option over the high speed catamaran, I can however, recommend a top notch stone bench outside Davy Jones’ Locker (where my dive journey begins: http://www.davyjoneslocker.asia/ ).
After observing the early morning island life of divers heading out to the longtails with their gearbags, and drunk backpackers stumbling the wrong way home, we checked in, paid for the dive course, and hit the beach. Not before I slapped on the factor fifty, though.
The course started at 4pm that same day. Who needs to nap when your first lesson is in the classroom, watching videos?
For future information, (because I know you’ve all going to want to take a dive course after this) our Padi followed this syllabus:
DAY 1
– Classroom: watching videos and filling in questionnaires (roughly 3 hours)
DAY 2:
– Morning pool session: instructors distribute health and safety information which is then implemented in the pool. Here you will learn and practice the Padi skills (3 hours)
– Break for lunch
– Back to the classroom: last few videos and questionnaires. (You are often given the option to do the exam, too. As a whole group we decided to get it out of the way. so our session took about 3 hours)
DAY 3:
– Two dives and basic skills
DAY 4:
– Two dives and basic skills
– Qualification! (You have to have your photo taken for your dive license. I recommend having it straight after the dives, it’s more authentic that way. You may not even have a choice either way).
Side note: I am claustrophobic and my biggest fear is drowning.
The first dive is always going to be pretty daunting. So why was I the only one that looked like I’d forgotten how to breathe and speak? Like a line of ants, we descended a rope at the end of a fellow dive boat. I probably hadn’t even reached the five metre mark before my ears started compressing. I tried all the techniques I knew to equalize, wiggling my jaw, blowing against the ear drum, etc. Nothing worked. I stopped breathing. A diver should never stop breathing. Ever. It’s the number one rule. I panicked. Without realising, I’d ascended to the surface. Fortunately, our dive master trainee, Arno, followed me. He calmed me down. It took about ten minutes for the pain to subside.
“Do you want to try again?”
“I don’t know. I want to. I’m nervous.”
“Five more minutes?”
“Okay.”
We floated in silence.
“I want to try again.”
“Okay.”
“Slowly?”
“Very. Equalize every time you move down the rope.”
With Arno’s guidance, I successfully made it to the bottom where my group sat waiting.
At this point, I’ll give you a handy hint: it’s not a very good idea to smile when your knees touch the sand, no matter how proud you are of yourself. You don’t want your mask to flood before you’ve even attempted it as a skill.
I’ll never forget that first trip out on the boat. I generally felt ready to quit before I’d completed one dive. Without my patient safety net, Arno, I wouldn’t have given myself the opportunity to become addicted to the hobby I never thought I would be able to try in the first place.
Oh, and before I go, yes, I did qualify. I may have also splashed out on another course, the…
Kinaesthesia 