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Travel writers: Scuba Diving at Khao Lak
by Dave Lowe

Location: Khao Lak, Thailand

Late one night down a crumbling alley in old Havana, a Santeria priestess was asking me pointed questions. It was only after a long silence that the woman said in Spanish: ' Stay away from the sea, child. The god of the Ocean wants to claim your soul.'

Even with that cryptic advice, I had no intention of giving up scuba diving; my nickname as a child had been 'fish'. I smiled and thanked her, but just then the power went out in one of Cuba's legendary blackouts, and I was forced to grope my way to the door and out back into the sweltering heat.

Three years later, after a few too many narrow escapes from the ocean, I remembered what that woman had said to me, so I gave the sea a miss. But slowly, I ached to get back to diving, and headed to Khao Lak to start my PADI Dive Master course.

While I expected Jacques Cousteau University, what I ended up after 34 days was a frightening mixture of high school déjà vu; exhausting Swiss Army Camp training, and the Priory rehab centre…

Day 1

The Andaman Sea Dive Centre (the name has been changed to protect the innocent) sits on the middle of Khao Lak, and I met the other Dive Master Trainees (DMT's) there was an elegant, dreadlocked French girl, Nefertiti; Hansel, a Kevin Federline clone from Germany; Ghandi, an avid Irish yoga instructor; and Gemma, a ASDC groupie who was desperate to work there.

Then it was time to meet the instructors: there was Yoda, a short bald pointy-eared Newcastenean; the Hobbit, a dwarfish Swiss; Ghazala, an Egyptian; Bumphead, a former British accountant; and Gilligan, a bearded Frenchman.

All of these were managed by a 6 foot 3 African woman, whose swearing earned her the nickname Mouth Africa, or MA for short.

Then it was time to take a tour of the dive centre, with Britta, the former German nurse.

'Ve haf a system here vere everyzing must be put in zee right place, ja? Zee colours, size, and shape must fit the box, don't put zee wrong shape or colour in zee wrong box, you vill f**k up zee system, ja? Alles clar?'

Everyone nodded their heads sagely.

Two hours later, heads spinning from all the Swiss rules, regs and dos and don’ts, we were sat down to be told the bad news.

'All of you vill be working vull time in zee shop, no days off, ja? Zis helps you become a professional, diver, ja, and zis is a requirement to finish zee course, hmm?'

No one nodded or smiled. Over the next month all of us would learn Diving zee Swiss WAY. Or else.

Day 13

Up till this point, everyone assumed I had come to ASDC to get a job. But one day over lunch, I told them that I had a real job.

Total silence. Ghazala stares at me; Gretl is shocked; even the other DMT's look at me like my hair has turned violet. Gemma sucks in her breath; she’s sitting at the table with a Diving Heathen; an Infidel; and NON-BELIEVER. Suddenly, I was simply: a fish out of water.

It’s been two weeks, and I still haven’t stuck my head under the sea once. I’m on office duty, but something happens: no one comes into the shop. MA swears, 'WHERE ARE THE CUSTOMERS?' DAVE, GO OUT THERE AND FIND SOME!'

'What, walk up and down the street, wearing a sandwich board and ringing a bell?'

MA looks at me and stops breathing. I expect a Kilimanjaro eruption, but she just glances down at her desk.

'Here, go fill my inkpad,' she says, handing me a metal box. So off I go to the store room to fill MA's ink-pad.

Day 21

My first dive in the ocean... we head to Khao Nayak, 'Monster Mountain', a local reef shallow enough to do scuba reviews. I’m demonstrating skills, and one of the diver’s buoyancy is so bad, he’s at the surface, flapping like a puffer fish.

Day 22

Classes cancelled again. This time, it's the DMT's who couldn't be found. They had crashed their motorbikes at the beach, and had woken up with sand up their noses.

Day 25-28

Finally, I’m on my first of two live-a-boards. For three days, I’m in charge of everything from filling tanks to meal orders, to wake up calls to dive briefings. Ill just be watched by Gilligan the whole time. Who, in short, hated me from the moment he met me.

Steaming overnight to the Similan Islands, at 6.30, I’m banging a pot to wake up the divers, and we all stumble into our gear and jump into the sea; descending down thru water clear as blue air, and drifting over acres of corals, bommies, and drop-offs; after two dives leading, with Gilligan sullenly tagging along behind, as I remembered that woman from Cuba was wrong.

But the next dive, I’m not so sure. I’m supposed to do a 3 level dive, but because there’s nothing to see at 18m, I shallow up to 12 for a longer time. When one of my customers tells me he has 60 bar in his tank I signal Gilligan to do a safety stop. He throws up his hands. I motion to him, 60 bar, over there.

Gilligan has found a turtle, and when he motions to it, the customer is frantic. He’s at 50 bar. So I tap Gillgan on the shoulder, and he throws up his hands. Upon surfacing, Gilligan pulls an MA, and explodes.

'THAT DIVE WAS S**T! YOUR PROFILE WAS S**T! YOU ARE A S**T DIVER!' He smacks his hands on the water, and I see the two customers, stunned.

We swim back to the boat in silence, and for the rest of the trip, we hardly speak.

Day 30-32

On my next live-aboard, to my horror, I’m paired up with Gilligan again. I execute each dive so perfectly that he can’t criticize a thing.

As I do my 15 minute float, part of the swim test, a Titan Triggerfish harasses me and nips at my ankles, but I kick it away. We reach Khao Lak on time, and Gilligan and I are happy to part ways for the last time.

Day 34

It’s my last day on the course. I’ve filled my last tank. Washed my last BCD jacket. I found my dive map in my cubby-hole with a large red pen swipe across it, and Bumphead is grinning evilly. 'I’m in charge today, so I am the one to sign you off. Do the map again.'

'What? Gilligan said it was ok.' Bumphead looks at me.

I look at the floor. Gilligan had lied, once again. Two hours later, I hand it in. Bump-head looks at it. He shakes his head. 'Fix it a bit more.'

I do. I give it back, and he reluctantly signs the last line on my forms. Before the ink has even dried, I have fled Khao Lak for my flight to Bangkok.

© Dave Lowe, 2006