PADI

Mabul Island, Malaysian Borneo (map)

In this blog: a rude awakening, learning how to scuba dive, and swimming with turtles.

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I felt someone pulling my leg. 'Steve, wake up' Tof whispered, sat on the floor of the bus whilst I sat asleep on the reclining seat. It was 3.30am and I was now in that period of confusion you get when awaken prematurely. I rubbed my eyes, then looked up and understood why Tof woke me. A couple of metres front of me in the passageway of the bus stood a Malaysian Police officer with an M16 assault rifle strapped across his chest. Was this some weird dream? No, this was really happening. 

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We were on a nightbus heading for Semporna, having got on at the small service town of Renau. There was only one bus, and with diving booked for the next morning we had to take it, the only trouble being that there were no seats left - 'that's fine, you can sleep in the passageway' said the driver, and before I knew it we were on board, the wheels were rolling, and having had no time to think I had no choice but to lump it.

I hate night buses; you miss out on seeing great scenery but most of all, I can never sleep properly on them. Reluctantly I tagged along with our Borneo travel gang who wanted to save time and money by doing it this way instead of the day bus, but once onboard I wished I hadn't. After half an hour of talking and laughing about what was happening, the reality hit me - I had eight hours ahead of trying to sleep on the slippery lino floor of a bus which was constantly twisting and turning on the windy Borneo roads, with no bedding and just a small air pillow. Whilst the bus itself was really high quality, the floor was as you might expect a terrible spot to snooze and after three hours I'd not slept a wink. At a service station the driver very nicely cleaned the toilet, only to walk back along said passageway with his sopping wet shoes leaving marks everywhere. Our beds! We dried the floor ourselves, but I was extremely grateful when soon after, a couple of passengers got off at their stops and I could take finally lay back on a recliner and eventually doze off. Until the point as mentioned earlier when like the other passengers, I was rudely awakened. 

We were at a security checkpost and as far as I know it was just a routine search since we weren't too far from the Philippeans. The Police officer worked his way back the bus asking for everyone's ID, and firmly without being rude looked at my passport and blurted 'what's your name?', 'why are you here?' 'where are you going?' before promptly moving on. When he posed these questions to Rene, he joyfully ended with 'welcome to Malaysia'! It wasn't scary, but was certainly unexpected. As if this didn't wake us up enough, the bus driver insisted on continuing to play rock and dance music through the bus speakers all night long. Oh, the ignorance! Why, oh why, oh why.

Mabul island

Gone diving

We arrived at Semporna at 5am, and sat half dozing in a 24 hour cafe nearby for a couple of hours before heading to the office of Billabong Scuba - for we were going diving. After an introductory dive in Jordan last November, I was really taken by diving - the sight of the beautiful coral, the exotic fish, the sensation of floating stresslessly deep underwater. However, unlike the other guys I was travelling with, I didn't have the necessary PADI licence to be able to dive in anything other than playschool conditions, so I decided the time was now and signed up for a 3-day PADI Open Water course, thankfully getting on a course there and then thanks to a cancellation. At 8am, we were on a speedboat heading forty-five minutes out to the small island of Mabul, our home for three days.

It turned out to be a pretty small island; you could walk right around it in twenty minutes, and it was fringed by shallow sandy waters which later dropped off suddenly into the ocean. It was a slightly strange place in that almost all the buildings including our hotel stood on stilts in the shallow waters, which stood side-by-side to the homes of very poor locals who etched out a living fishing in rickety little boats. I felt uncomfortable walking around the village, not cause of safety, but just in the knowledge that whilst I was swanning about in comfort able to spend my day at leisure, these poor folks lived next door in such basic living conditions. It's a situation westerners often face in developing countries, but you just have to deal with it - it's not your fault and it's not theirs, we just live in two different worlds.

The first day of the course was theory based, and along with a great young Malaysian couple who spoke English as their first language (as some do), we watched the cheesy course DVD, then spent a few hours reading the course material. Diving is safe if done correctly, but can be dangerous if not so we learnt about how to plan a dive, who to go with, the required equipment, the composition of air and a thousand other things. Having not used my brain that much in the past ten months, it was a little frazzled by all the information come the diving quiz at end of the day.

Getting ready to dive

Dive 1

The second day we could finally get out in the water, but not after we'd been taught how to set up our own equipment, a fairly complicated and intimidating affair initially, but very straightforward once you know how. The three of use were taken on the dive boat by our instructor, Wong, who was of course always right (sorry), to a fairly shallow spot the other side of the island where we sat on the edge of the boat, and were told to simply fall back into the sea. In the water were taught how to use the mouthpiece (regulator), how to descend and ascend by adding or removing air from the jackets, how to remove water from your face masks whilst underwater (simple really), and how to get the right boyency. A basic but fun first dive.

Dive 2

After lunch we went out again, this time learning how to use someone else's mouthpiece (regulator) if you run out of air and how to safely ascend to the surface afterwards, amongst other exercises. We went for a short fun dive after this, and were fortunate enough to see two large turtles resting on the sea bed, one of whom gracefully swum off once we woke him up, which was a pretty special experience.

Before dark we independently went out snorkelling just offshore, where I saw the weird-looking trumpet fish amongst others, and again saw and swum above a large turtle for a while. Whilst I'd been on my course, my travel buddies of Max, Tof and Rene had been on a trip out to the nearby island Sipadan, which is regarded as one of the top five best dive spots in the world, and that night the showed me the videos, inducing one of how they came within metres of fifteen hammerhead sharks; some experience.

It was time again that night for more reading and revising, followed by a final exam. My brain was out of memory and 10pm was not the time to be doing exams, so I gently protested and managed to persuade them to let me defer to to the next day. Phew.

The final countdown

The last day at Mabul we set our for the third dive, which entailed some more advanced training such as removing and refitting all your dive gear underwater, and swimming without your mask amongst other things. It was all fairly straightforward, and most of it prepared you for emergency situations rather than just basic diving. 

'I'm OK'

On the fourth dive it was finally time for a bit of fun - training was over, and we were taken out to a spot where the shallow sandy plateaux suddenly dropped deeply into the sea leaving an steep wall of coral. We were free at last, able to do and see what we wanted and it felt great. The coral was reasonably varied, but the fish a little limited in variety but I didn't care, it was just great to have the knowledge and freedom to dive as you like, and we maxxed out at 15m below sea level. Back at HQ I finished off the multiple choice exam which thankfully I passed, and before I knew it that was it, we had to leave.

It had been a very different few days of this trip. A bit taxing on the grey matter but still relaxing in between, and we met some interesting folks from Holland, Malaysia and Australia who were good to chat with. The diving had been enjoyable despite the fact it was training, and the snorkelling a nice diversion especially being able to see the turtles. I look forward to being able to dive again soon away from the shackles of education, and with a ferry crossing into Indonesia coming in the next few days, it might not be too far away.

Stilt chalets on Mabul island

With our instructor, Wong - left

Former exploratory oil platform just off the island, 

now converted as a dive resort - novel idea

Mabul island as you approach

Heading out for the final dive

Starfish

Petra to Delhi

Petra, Jordan to Delhi, India via Sharajah, United Arab Emirates

I'm in India, and am sat here writing this in the doctors accommodation of a mental hospital in Delhi! I'll explain later. From from what I've seen so far though, the whole population should be in the hospital - it is truly the craziest place I've ever been.

The journey here began in Petra, Jordan on Wednesday. I had to get to the airport for midday, which in theory meant a very early bus, a taxi, then another bus, until to my relief the hostel owner told me one of their staff was taking some people directly to the airport, and offered me a good price. I shared the jorney with a Canadian-German couple who lived in Dubai and were cabin crew for Emirates, and they shared their stories - big salaries, an opulent lifestyle, but a hot, wasteful and very fake city they basically said. We got to Amman airport - freshly built this year by a British architect - in plenty of time thanks to a pretty nippy driver, and I sat outside in the cold morning sun and relaxed for a bit.

Amman airport

It was time to say goodbye to Jordan, after two weeks there. It's a small country, and in many ways there isn't that much there, but what is there is superb. I know it's a cliche, but the people are so welcoming and friendly - people would often come up to you and chat, and I've never heard such use of the word 'welcome'. You're welcome here, you're welcome to that, welcome to Jordan, welcome welcome welcome... And people were kind - in Amman, a guy walking past us with his family was eating a bag of biscuits, and offered us some as we passed. And it felt so safe. Unlike the surrounding countries of Syria, Iraq and Egypt; Jordan has been at peace for a long time, and despite effectively being a dictatorship; survived the Arab Spring a couple of years back because on the whole it's pretty well run. And a bit of a hidden gem in the region really.

A few random notes on Jordan I made and haven't mentioned before:

-The Muslim call to prayer is broadcast five times a day from all mosques on loudspeakers and can be heard across the area. People often down tools at the moment and pray.

-The Arabic language is written from right to left, is completely incomprehensible to non-speakers, and is spoken in all Arabian and Most North African countries.

-Women are nearly always covered up; generally just with a headscarf but sometimes almost everything.

-Speed bumps are everywhere in random places like on dual carriageways.

-There's a massive contrast between rich and poor, but the poor rarely appear to be in absolute poverty.

-The only natural resource Jordan extracts is phosphorous, so most of their money is made from general services and tourism.

-Hotel bookings at the last place I stayed were down by nearly fourty percent I was told, because foreigners are scared by the troubles in Syria. Yet in reality those troubles have in no way affected Jordan except some refugees spilling over the border.

To get to India, I had to go via Sharjah and wait there for six hours - a city in the Emirates, around twenty miles from Dubai. The flight interestingly started with a Muslim prayer for a safe journey being shown on the in-flight video screen! Once landed in Sharjah, the flight attendant told me I couldn't leave the airport but it sounded like an opinion more than a fact, so I checked with one immigration official, then another, and found it was fine as long as I got my ticket re-issued, which I later did with no hassle. Me being me, I wasn't going to just sit in an almost windowless air-conditioned airport lounge, when there was a rich and mysterious country outside so I got my passport stamped and went for a wander. The first thing that hit me was the heat - despite being autumn, the mid-afternoon sun was still nearly 35 degrees. I didn't really have enough time to go into the city so made do with a stroll outside, and with the airport isolated by main roads, the best I could do was walk around the grounds, so the experience was a bit limited but worth doing anyway. A young guy who worked there, in full traditional Arab dress spoke to me for a minute, then I sat down on an area of grass to read, watching the stream of posh cars coming and going.

Sharjah airport

I boarded the next flight, and crowd was different this time - very few Arabs, but a whole lot of Indians. judging by the size of their luggage, most of whom had been working in Dubai - Indians do a lot of the jobs the Arabs won't apparently. Waiting to take off, I started getting nervous, and I don't get nervous often. It wasn't the thought of flight itself, but India. It's a huge diverse country and I'd heard so many horror stories from friends who have visited, from the media and from books. Would I love it or hate it? Is it all poverty or a mixture? Would it be safe? Would I get ill straight away?! I'd soon find all these things out.

We touched down in Delhi at 2am - not the greatest time to arrive in such a place but I didn't have much choice. But I was finally here, in the country that had intreagued me for many years. After getting my bag, I went to the cash machine and took out 500 rupees, thinking it was £50. In fact it was just £5! One Indian rupee works out as one British penny. It wasn't a problem though - it's so unbelievably cheap here, it lasted me the rest of the day. I then found a few seats in the arrivals lounge, laid across them and had a sleep for two or three hours.

The smog of Dehli that never disappears 

At 6.30am it was time to leave the security of the airport, into the real world of Delhi. I took the very smart and modern airport train into the centre of town, then walked down the steps into the Metro station where I experienced India properly for the first time. People jumping the ticket queue, people pushing my rucksack to get to the turnstiles, airport-style security checks just to get on the subway, and Police armed with machine guns running the show. I boarded the packed train which soon left the tunnel into the open air, and for the first time I saw what I thought was the slums and my jaw dropped. It was so densely packed and poorly built, but in fact I later learnt that this wasn't the slums but just Old Delhi - the original and quite overcrowded original part of the city. What would the slums be like in that case?!

Rather than stay in a grotty hostel, which most cheaper places are in Delhi, thought I'd get an insiders view on India and stay with a local, and so a few days before managed to arrange another stay through the Coushsurfing website. My host was a guy called Nisith Kumar, generally known as Nishu - and on the train journey he sent me a text saying 'I have to leave for my exam, I'll see you in five hours'. This was not good. I'd be stranded In a poor area until then with nowhere to go and nothing to do, but it was my own fault for underestimating how long it would take to get across the city and being late. I got to the Metro stop near his place and then received another text saying as I was near, he'd actually have just enough time to pick me up. Phew.

I left the confines of public transport, and for the first time walked into the total chaos of Old Delhi. In the next half hour, I saw rickshaws being ridden the wrong way up dual carriageway, everyone beeping and dodging round each other, a man with a stick beating the hell out of passing pedal rickshaws and letting down their tyres, two monkeys casually riding on the back of a guys moped and old ladies begging. Nishu then arrived on his motorbike, which I wasn't expecting, and ushered me onto the back, which given his lack of time nor any other options I did. With no helmets (standard here) we set off weaving and dodging around all the other vehicles, and suddenly I felt my cap blow off in the wind. I was too terrified at that point to do anything but hold on tight but told him about it at the end of the street. He turned and went back but someone had obviously I nabbed it straight away. Hope it's gone to a good home! I told him afterwards there was no way I was riding pillion without a helmet again though, so don't worry!

The chaos that awaited me. Note the guy with the stick in bottom right!

We continued on for another mile and got to his flat - my home for a few days in as mentioned earlier; the doctors accommodation of a mental hospital! I knew beforehand that he was a medical professional, but not that he was a psychiatrist and living in such a location, so it was a bit of a surprise but in reality not a problem in any way. Nishu had to get to his exam so shot off, and so I tried, unsuccessfully to get a couple more hours sleep - I'd decided it was to be a day of acclimatisation. Which was certainly to be needed for the next stage of the trip.