by Diego A. Garcia ©2006
On a wooden outrigger, rocking in the swell of the Lombok Strait, divemaster Komang Regig briefs us in broken English. “This is dive site Toyapakeh on Nusa Penida Island. There is Bali.” He points westward to the mainland, stumbles a bit with a wave, and then gains his balance. “You can see swell is bad. Sometimes, strong current here also in deep, and water dingin...cold.”
I look around the boat. Most are smiling, but a few divers look either nervous or seasick. We all gear up and seat ourselves in a line along the edge of the boat, ready to back roll in one after another, swiftly, so as not to be separated by the surface current. Waves smack the side of the boat, almost knocking me into a premature entry. Nervous laughter. Komang yells for the first in line to roll in, then the second, and like skydivers jumping from a plane the others drop.
“I’m scared,” says a young Dutch woman, last in line after me. “I have never dived in currents.” How brave to admit her fear, I think to myself, knowing that she is not alone. “Don’t worry,” says Komang. This seems to be the extent of his encouragement. My turn comes and not knowing what to do to ease her fears, I roll in. She follows.
The group spends no more than a few seconds at the surface, bobbing in the waves, before descending together. At three metres depth, all is peaceful. No surge, gentle current. The cool wash of a thermocline meets us at ten metres - a drop of five degrees centigrade, from 27 to 22. The sharp change in temperature is a shock to the system, and I look over to see how others are faring. The frightened woman appears uncomfortable but less afraid. Komang hugs himself - dingin!
We press on to twenty metres where the colour blue is perfected. The gentle sloping reef continues to forty, fifty, possibly sixty metres, but our group staggers itself at different depths - a maximum of twenty-eight. Here, the current urges us south, ever so subtly. We abide.
Most in our group obediently follow our divemaster, staying near to the reef and examining it closely. I let my mind wander and stare off into the blue, assigning myself the role of pelagic-spotter. It’s August, after all: the season for big things. I’m watching the blue for a good twenty minutes before I hear the familiar clang clang of someone banging a tank, calling for attention. I look upslope and see a silvery mola-mola headed straight for us. Apparently, I had been looking in the wrong direction. The five-metre tall oceanic sunfish surprises all of us, coming from the shallows and easing downslope, dividing our small group. Now everyone is smiling. No one is afraid.
Back on the boat the Dutch woman beams. “So, did you feel alright down there?” I ask. “Yes, of course,” she says. “I almost decided not to dive. I’m so happy I didn’t stay on the boat. I would’ve missed the mola!”
In the weeks that follow, I dive many of eastern Bali’s legendary sites. I learn that one can miss an awful lot from staying behind on the boat, including mantas, tunas, turtles - the works. At the same time, I understand her fear.
“You hear stories about the diving around Nusa Penida,” says one apprehensive diver named Ray. “It kinda makes you nervous.” Just about every diver who contemplates getting wet in Penida has heard a story or two. This is perhaps due to the fact that just about everyone who dives here comes away with a story to tell. For instance, one sunny August day at the dive site called S.D., my guide and I were hit hard with a downdraft of very warm water. The force of it was so strong that my divemaster would later remark, with a quiver of relished adrenaline in his voice, that it almost tore the mask from his face. Instinctively, we both looked for a non-stinging bit of substrate to hold on to, white-knuckled, while the onrush tried its best to pull us downwards. After a few moments, the current relaxed enough that we continued on and enjoyed the rest of the dive. The down-current was scary, but neither of us wanted to stay on the boat for the next dive.
On another day, I chat with Mark Micklefield, a former dive shop owner with tremendous experience underwater in Bali. I show him my guidebook, which suggests that the diving around Nusa Penida is not for beginners. “That’s rubbish,” says Mark. “It’s all about what you’re used to and what you’re experienced in. If you never dive currents, you may always fear them, and if you fear them you might miss Penida’s corals - probably the best in Bali.” It’s a strong point. After just two weeks of diving here, my skills in currents have vastly improved.
In early October 2005, I cross the strait to dive the Padang Bai area off mainland Bali. Here, dive sites are awash in the same nutrient-laden torrents that force-feed Penida, attracting similarly impressive wildlife. At Tepekong I see another mola-mola, twice on the same dive. At Mimpang I see white-tips, permanent residents of the reef there. And near Blue Lagoon, literally five minutes from my hotel, I see cuttlefish, nudibranchs, turtles, more white-tips, and even the famous pygmy seahorse. Yearning for total saturation, I follow a three-dive-day with an early morning pair of submersions at Tepekong again. I seek excitement but find a harsh dose of reality.
Coming up for air after our first dive, I rant and rave about how much I love this area. Others are less animated. Why so glum? “Didn’t you hear about what happened last night?” asks my dive buddy. “Hear what?” “Some bombs went off in south Bali.” The blood drains from my face. The corner of my eye twitches strangely. I had not heard. I had spent the entire previous evening with my wife and daughter, in our hotel room, with the TV off.
It is the shattering of a myth when daydreams are interrupted by reality, by the loss of life. Saddened, we talk distractedly, then seek solace in the sound of waves lapping against the boat. Sitting there, we wonder, what are we supposed to do? Leave Bali for a lesser known and therefore “safer” island? Or just go home? If we give in to our fear, does that mean the terrorists are winning? Not knowing what else to do, we dive again.
In the days that follow the future for locals working in the tourism industry looks uncertain. It took a full three years, say the locals, for tourism to finally pick up again after the 2002 attacks. Who knows how long it will take this time. Yet it becomes clear that Balinese people in general do not worry obsessively. One week after the bombs, all foreigners in Padang Bai are invited to join in the Hindu festival of Galungan - an annual celebration of the victory of good over evil. The local temple is full of smiling people, children running, swirls of incense smoke, prayer and music. It is a restorative and strengthening celebration that goes all night for three nights.
Looking back, I wonder about the friends we made in Bali, many of whom invited me and my family with great welcome into their homes. Will they be alright? Or will fear reign? For me, there is no question that I will come back to Bali, to dive these sites again, because what I fear most is neither a torrid current nor a demented terrorist. I fear living a life without freedom. And for me, having that freedom demands that I plunge into life and savour it every day. I refuse to stay behind on the boat, afraid of what may or may not come, while the best of life rushes by.
Sampai jumpa, Bali, see you soon.
The above article ran in Asian Diver Magazine as "Dive Into Life" in January 2006, and as "Fear and Diving in East Bali" in the UK and Canada.
Click here to see the article on the Asian Diver website.
If heading to East Bali be sure to check in with our friends...
In the Padang Bai Area:
Geko Dive Bali Padang Bai
Tel:62 (0) 363 41516 Fax:62 (0) 363 41516
E-mail: gekodive@indosat.net.id Website: www.gekodive.com
On Nusa Lembongan and Penida:
World Diving Lembongan PADI 5 Star Dive Centre - R6189
Tel: +62 (0)8123900686
Email: info@world-diving.com Website: www.world-diving.com