The Last Dive

It was the last dive of the day, which for me, meant it was my last dive of the trip. But when my tank was near empty, I signaled to Allen that I was going up. He checked my computer and my gauge and gave me the okay to do so. I swam slowly to the surface, taking in the beauty of the underwater world and enjoying the weightlessness for a last time. I looked up to check for fishing boats before breaking the surface.

As my head cleared the water and hit fresh air, I was immediately thrust back down. After a few seconds, I popped up before being pushed under water again.

I inflated my jacket and looked around. A squall had blown in while we were underwater and was dumping rain. The fog was so bad, I couldn’t see either side of the bay. The colorful fishing boats that had surrounded us as we had descended were now hidden in the mist. I couldn’t see our boat for that matter. I spun around a few times but all I saw was grey fog and pelting rain.

I looked under the water but the group had moved on and was no where to be seen. My tank was nearly empty, I’d never have enough air to get back down to them safely anyway.

As the swelling waves bounced me up and down, I kept my regulator in my mouth. I thought of all the safety devices we sold at the shop. “Safety sausages” were these giant neon orange inflatable tubes that could be puffed full of air with a quick breath. They rose 6 feet out of the water so boats could see you over the waves. We sold “dive alerts” that attached to the inflator hose and used the air from your tank to make a siren noise so boats could hear you. We even sold short wave radios that in a total emergency could send a distress call.

I’ve suggested these items to customers hundreds of times for situations exactly like this one. But today, I had none of them. I was alone at the surface with no visibility in the middle of a storm.

Someone will find me I thought. Someone will come.

 

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It started like any other dive day. I woke up about an hour after everyone and ate breakfast while they got changed. I have significantly less gear than everyone so I could get ready in about 4 minutes. Aside from my rash guard and board shorts, I just had to slip on my wetsuit and grab my pointer and flashlight (which we’ve nicknamed stick and fire). The pointer helps me in current, by anchoring me to the bottom, and also allows me to get closer to things without slamming into them. The flashlight mostly gives me something to do with my other hand so I don’t flail.

For our first dive of the day, we headed out across the bay. We were still on the hunt for cephalopods. Descending down was like scaling another moonscape. The sandy bottom was untouched and wide open for exploring. We found more little crabs and shrimps. I stumbled on something Brian told me was called a mantis. I couldn’t make out it’s whole body, but the eyes and arms looking at me from the hole were quite intimidating.

We saw two more purple rhinopias. It took a little while, but we did eventually find a little octopus. It was about the size of a fist. Ali played with him a little to get him to fan out his tentacles for those who wanted to take photos.

I hovered a few feet away so that I wouldn’t bump anyone while they took pictures. Brian snapped a few shots and then came over to me. He held out his camera and signaled for me to take it. I did.

All of a suddenly my buoyancy was all out of wack.

I’m sinking! I’m sinking!! I’m sinking!! I thought. Wait! Now I’m rising! I’m rising! I’m rising! Oh and I’m sinking again! Nope rising! Nope sinking! Wait rising!

After a few minutes, he came back and took the camera back. About that time, I started running low on air. I made my way up to 15 feet and did a safety stop before returning to the boat.

We went back to the resort for banana fritters before heading out for the last dive of the trip.

“It was a little chilly this morning but it’s nice now,” Mark pointed out.

“Bright enough, you need the sunnies,” Brian said pulling out his sunglasses.

Our last dive was on a rubble field where we could see eels, shrimp, crabs, and other little rock dwellers. The elusive critter we had yet to see was the psychedelic frog fish.

The dive site was just off a little fishing village. As we backflipped in, brightly colored fishing boats bobbed all around us at the surface. My last backflip of the trip was not a pretty one and I was glad the group had already descended to miss it.

Dropping down, the rubble field looked like the loose rocky summit of a mountain. The drop off was steep and the rock was loose and covered in algae. If you got too close or bumped it, you could easily cause an underwater rockslide into the drop off below.

Almost as soon as we descended we found an orange frog fish. The current was stronger than any of us expected. We were all stabbing our pointers into gaps in the rubble to keep steady. Heather called me over to a mooring block where we could hook in. There was all kinds of life to look at around the block.

The group got separated in the current. Roseann, both Heathers, Stu, and I were with Allen. Billy and Brian followed Ali. I more or less gave up fighting the current and just enjoyed the feeling of effortlessly flying along. Occasionally we’d dig in to see something cool, like a little white crab living on a sea star or tons of really long, eel-like sea horses.

There were tons of moorish idols near my safety stop at 15 feet. I didn’t want the dive to end. It was the last dive of the day, which for me, meant it was my last dive of the trip. But when my tank was near empty, I signaled to Allen that I was going up. He checked my computer and my gauge and gave me the okay to do so. I swam slowly to the surface, taking in the beauty of the underwater world and enjoying the weightlessness for a last time. I looked up to check for fishing boats before breaking the surface.

That was when I discovered the storm had moved in. The mighty current we’d been fighting down below had nothing on the violent swells at the surface.

I was alone at the surface with no visibility in the middle of a storm.

I inflated my jacket and looked around. As the swelling waves bounced me up and down, I kept my regulator in my mouth. I thought of all the safety devices we sold at the shop and immediately regretted not carrying any of them myself.

Someone will find me I thought. Someone will come.

I quickly had an idea. I may not have a safety sausage or a dive alert, but I have this flashlight that’s been keeping my hand busy. I clicked it on to the highest setting and started waving it into the storm. I had a feeling I knew which way we came from but as I bounced in the swells I became less certain.

I’m in a bay, I thought, odds are eventually the waves will push me into land. And I was down there an hour. They’ll be popping up in a few minutes.

Although who knew how far away and in what direction that might be.

I kept waving my flashlight and breathing the air left in my tank. The rain wasn’t letting up, but the fog was rolling through quickly. Slowly, I started to make out one side of the bay. A few minutes more and I could see the shadows of boats bobbing on the anchor line. I shined my flashlight in that direction. One shadow seemed to move, but I couldn’t tell if it was moving or if I was.

It’s basically like playing in a wave pool, I thought (along with a few choice expletives.)

Sure enough, the boat was moving. I signaled that I was okay but kept shining the light so they could see me. As it got closer, I could make out the resort logo on the side.

When they got to me, the boat was slamming up and down with each wave. I held onto the rope and took off my fins. I handed them up along with my weight belt. On most dives, I’ve handed up all my gear but the BC was keeping my head above the waves; I didn’t want to take it off in case I lost grip on it and it (or I) floated away. So I grabbed the ladder and carefully climbed aboard with the gear on my back.

Sitting aboard the boat was like something out of “The Perfect Storm.” It bucked and tossed 90 degrees as it rolled over every wave. The group came up in two different areas and we made two stops to get them. It was far more chaotic than the end of most dives. As they got close to the boat, they started throwing things (like weight pockets and fins) onboard. They handed up computers and cameras before climbing on.

During the first pick up, we got too close to a fishing boat and the waves slammed us into it. We had to have everyone in the water back away so the captain could reverse the boat out from the collision. On the second pickup, the waves were so bad, the captain was actually thrown from the boat into the water.

But all’s well that ends well, and after a choppy ride back and a harrowing attempt to tie up at the dock, we made it back safely. It was heck of a last dive (until my next dive trip.)

Pushing New Limits

I woke up this morning feeling a bit queasy. I’m not exactly sure why. It could be the larger meals I’m eating here at the resort, or the sweet desserts I haven’t had in a while. Either way, I debated rather or not to go on the first dive.

Roseann and her husband Stu have a saying when they are talking about rather or not to go out. One will remind the other, “we didn’t come this far not to go diving.” That’s been my mantra on a number of occasions, so I decided to go diving.

The goal on our first dive was to find a Pygmy seahorse. These little critters are about half the size of a grain of rice. Ali knew of a couple that could usually be found living on a giant purple sea fan about 80 feet down.

“You really need to watch your no deco time on this dive,” Brian told me on the boat ride out. The no deco time on the computer tells you how long you can stay at a certain depth without risking health issues. The deeper you go, the shorter you can stay down because the pressurized nitrogen builds up in your tissues faster.

We backflipped in and started dropping. I was surprised at how much easier descending was. If anything, I felt a little overweighted. I was also surprised at how easily my ears cleared with the pressure. Before I knew it, we were already at 60 feet and I hadn’t even noticed the pressure change.

Initially we swam passed a reef. Eventually though, we were down to a sandy bottom. The visibility was incredible for being so deep, and you could see the purple sea fan from several yards away.

One at at time, Ali took each of us over to see the Pygmy seahorse. It was absolutely incredible how small it was. It looked like a little twitchy finger nail clipping (but about half that size.) I realized that this week I’ve seen some of the rarest lifeforms in the world.

As I was waiting for Ali to finish showing everyone, I swam back and forth digging in the sand. I kept an eye on my computer to watch the no deco time.

Suddenly, I saw Brian swimming out in the open water. He was waving me over. I held up 10 fingers to indicate that I had 10 minutes left on the no deco time, but he kept waving me over. I swam out to him, and turned my wrist so he could see it.

See, I thought, I’m watching it, and I have some time left.

He pointed to the number above the no deco time. It was my depth and I was at 97 feet.

I laughed into my regulator. Brian took my arm and we both exhaled. As we did, we started to sink. The number counted down from 97…98…99…100.

As we hit triple digits, Brian gave me a high five and we swam back to join the group.

We worked our way up the sand back to the reef. My most exciting find was a white pygmy cuttlefish. I was still the first one back on the boat but so excited for my new deepest dive.

For dive number two we were exploring an amazing and beautiful reef. The colors were unreal and there were fish everywhere.

Again, Brian waved me over. He pointed at an anemone with two little clownfish poking out of it. He began drawing in the sand.

N.E.M.O.

He later told me that lots of striped fish live in anemones, and since the Pixar rise to fame, a lot of them get mistaken for clownfish. But these two here were actually clownfish. I told Brian, they were a lot smaller than I expected them to be.

On this dive, I was a bit stubborn. Despite Allen (the divemaster) and Brian telling me I could go up as my tank pressure got lower and lower, I insisted I could stay down. Roseann signaled to me that she wanted to go up when I went up, but I told her I needed I few more minutes.

I was going to make it an hour.

I waited through my safety stop and then swam around (at about 7 feet of water) exploring the reef a bit more. When my computer hit 60 minutes, I signaled to Brian that I was going up, and I found Roseann to join me.

As we broke the surface just a few feet from the boat, we were just in time for the midday call to prayer. Since it was Friday (the Islamic holy day) this prayer went on for over 20 minutes.

Back at the resort, we showered, ate lunch, and got ready for one last dive that afternoon.

Dropping down on this third reef was like exploring the surface of the moon. There was nothing but flat white sandy bottom as far as the eye could see. Our goal on this dive was to find cephalopods. I felt like part of an expedition exploring uncharted territory.

As the flat surface started to slant down to the bottom of the bay, the current picked up a little. I felt more in control than the first day, but still was nervous about hitting people or stirring up the bottom.

The most amazing part of the dive was the field of garden eels. Stretching out from their holes like rows of corn, they went on for as far as the eye could see!

As the dive went on we worked our way back up to the shallower water and found the reef. I was doing pretty well on my air consumption and decided to set a goal: I was going to make it 75 minutes.

As the rest of the group explored the reef for nudibranchs, I found a piece of coral with tons of fish on it and started swimming slow, graceful-ish circles around it. I took in each and every critter as I swam and breathed as slowly as I could. The depth here was only about 7 feet. Worse case scenario, I could stand up.

I watched as members of the group started popping up. I kept making my circles while trying to sip the air and exhale as long as possible.

In the end…I did it. That tank was about empty, but I made it to 75 minutes!

I broke the surface and heard applause from Brian on the boat.

“How long was that one?” He asked.

“Seventy-five,” I said.

“Woohoo,” Roseann celebrated. The others from the boat were equally excited for me.

I swam over to the boat and grabbed the line to wait my turn to hand up my gear. As my fingers wrapped around the cord and I let my body relax in the water, I let out a huge sigh.

“I’m exhausted,” I announced. Everyone laughed.

After I took a hot shower and got changed, I joined everyone at the bar to share stories and look at pictures from the day. Nus had a slideshow to show everyone of some of the critters we didn’t see that lived here in Ambon.

I’ll admit, I was groggy. My body felt heavy as I sat and watched. But his photos were beautiful! The life in this bay is just unreal. The bay is also deeper than anyone expected, bottoming out at almost 1500 feet at the deepest parts.

After the slideshow, we had a party! There was a buffet of various vegetables and grilled meats. I had a little fish soup, salad, mixed greens, baked soy beans, corn fritters, roasted potatoes, and grilled fish.

The shop has a tradition of ordering cake to celebrate milestone dives. Traditionally they celebrate when someone gets 100 dives, 500 dives, and 1000 dives.

Claudia, who has traveled with Brian and Jill, hit 800 dives this trip.

“Claudia,” I said, “you hit 800 dives today and I hit 30, there definitely should have been cake.”

“Right?!” Claudia agreed.

Jill was walking by at that time. “The rules are clear,” she said. “800 doesn’t get cake…but 30 does” as she put a big piece of rainbow colored cake in front of me.

As we all enjoyed dessert (surprised by how good the rainbow cake was) the staff performed a few traditional songs and dances for us. Ambon is known in Indonesia as the “city of music” and it was fun to see the joy on everyone’s face as they celebrated with us.

We sat up for a few hours, laughing, sharing stories, and enjoying Indonesian wine. When we finally did go to bed, I took one last shower and then passed out.

I didn’t even make it to 9:00

Do You Feel Mucky, Punk?

It was an incredible day of diving. I honestly don’t really know where to begin. We did four dives (which is more than I’ve ever done in a single day) and went down to 80 feet (which is deeper than I’ve ever gone) and I stayed down 55 minutes (which is longer than I’ve ever stayed down.)

Our first dive was incredible! We descended onto a nice coral reef and dropped down to 75 feet. Here we found a purple rhinopias (and this time I was able to appreciate the rarity and beauty of the well camouflaged creature.) We worked our way back up to the coral seeing dozens of moorish idol fish. The highlight however was the flamboyant cuttlefish. It was brown and unassuming, until approached. As your hand got within inches, it’s color flared, turning to a swirl of white, purple, and yellow. I was lucky enough to see a second large one during my safety stop, lasting just 42 minutes on this dive.

Between dives, we went back to the resort and were treated to these home made banana pudding treats. Wrapped in banana leafs, the little pocket contained grilled banana and some sort of porridge or custard. It tasted amazing!

On the next dive, we saw even more cuttlefish. I’ve always known they were Jill’s favorite critter, and I can see why. As I watched two hover around their little coral home, I watched it raise two of its tentacles and show it’s mouth piece below. Brian said it could be an aggressive move, but more likely it’s a camouflage technique.

This turned out to be my longest dive at 50 minutes. During lunch, Mark suggested I might try a bigger tank. I spoke to Nan (one of the dive masters on Jill’s boat) and they got me upgraded. Now I might have a chance to stay down as long as everyone else.

“I like this idea,” I told Brian. “If I can’t win, might as well change the rules of the game.”

Despite me floundering around as the newbie, everyone on our boat has been very friendly and supportive. Roseann (who is also an avid blog reader) has taken excellent care of me. She suggested that having a pointer to put in the sand and steady myself might help me from bobbing up and down and going through so much air. Brian loaned me one to try on the next dive.

As we went out for the third dive, Brian made a few announcements. “I see everyone now has a camera, so let’s try to all share the critters when we find them.”

“Not me,” I said. “I just have a stick.” And showed off my new pointer. Everyone laughed.

In the end, the pointer proved too complicated for me. As I back rolled off the boat, I was so focused on not stabbing myself with the pointer, that I forgot to hold onto my mask. I caught it as it came off my face, but not without Brian taking note and announcing to the group, “he couldn’t handle the stick.”

The third dive, was intense. There was current going both directions. I felt like I was tumbling back and forth. I definitely slammed into the bottom twice. I was proud of myself though for not panicking. I felt clumsy fiddling around, but I still saw some fun critters. The only real negative was that in fighting the current, I still killed my air and didn’t last any longer with the big tank than before.

Back on the boat, Brian was very reassuring. “That was some intense diving. This isn’t your basic open water. You did good.”

On the ride back to shore, we saw dolphins peaking up above the water. The bay is such an untouched sanctuary, every now and then some big creatures swim in.

I had one more chance to get the rhythm of breathing today. Tonight was the night dive. We refueled at the resort with crepes stuffed with caramelized coconut and brown sugar. Brian gave me a light to use on the dive and showed me how to use it.

“Great!” I told him. “Now I have to keep track of a flashlight and a pointer.”

“If you have to choose,” he joked “drop the pointer before you drop the $500 flashlight.”

We took a quick boat ride out to the dive site. We were backflipping into the water in no time. The plan was a maximum of 50 minutes and a maximum depth of 50 feet. We exceeded both of those.

There was a little bit of current, which still threw me off. It was also obviously dark, which threw me off too.

But it was incredible!

I mostly followed Allen (the divemaster) as we hunted through the rubble field. There were eels everywhere of every shape and color. Some were hiding in holes, others swam free along the bottom. We saw dozens of cuttlefish of every size and color. I’m not sure if there were two orange frog fish or if I saw the same one twice (either way, it had the most expressive face.) I was also mesmerized by all the shrimp digging in the rocks, the various jelly fish fluttering by, and all of the sea urchins sticking out. Before I knew it, we had dropped down to 81 feet.

During the dive, it finally clicked for me. I don’t know if it was the darkness that made me slow down and focus on what was in my flashlight’s beam—also could have been the fact that holding a flashlight in on hand and my pointer stick in the other finally gave me something to do with my hands—but I felt myself click into a rhythm. I found a pace, I slowed my breathing, and I loved every second of it.

And I had more seconds to count on this dive than ever before! I stayed down a full 55 minutes with air to spare. Brian was even on the boat before me.

Back on the boat, I learned about what I saw.

“Do you remember the shrimp on the starfish?” Brian asked me.

I did.

“That’s called a harlequin shrimp,” he explained. “It was my holy grail for years.”

“That was my first,” someone added. Most people on the boat agreed that was either their first or second. It was Brian’s third.

“I’ve seen a couple,” Brian said, “but to see one on your 27th dive is unheard of.”

Everyone laughed at the absurdity of me doing this with such inexperience.

“To be fair,” I added, “I’ve never seen a turtle.” The group, combined, had seen a couple hundred turtles, but only a handful of harlequin shrimp.

The ugly part of night diving quickly became apparent. The boat ride back was cold. We missed the sunset. We were all really hungry. But perhaps worst of all, while we were diving, the bar ran out of ice for cocktails.

After a hot shower, I joined the group for dinner. We had grilled chicken in a nice curry sauce. It was fun conversation as the boats compared creatures and I continued to learn how rare everything I was seeing is.

I shared a few more teaching stories from Saigon and Prague. Gradually the group trickled out. I texted with Matt for a bit and started my daily blog post while I finished my glass of wine.

Jill warned me I’d be tired. She was right. As I type this, I can barely keep my eyes open. But, while I can’t necessarily appreciate everything I’ve seen, I can appreciate what a once in a lifetime adventure this is. When I said goodbye to Brian and Jill 9 weeks ago, I had never even considered muck diving in Indonesia. I feel truly blessed to have this opportunity.

And I look forward to whatever adventures tomorrow brings!

7 years Later

I woke up today admittedly more nervous than I expected to be. It’s been to joke at the dive shop for years about how inexperienced I am at diving, but the reality hit me this morning—I’ve only been in open water 20 times. Like exactly 20 times. And all 20 of those times were almost 7 years ago. I’ve dove in the pool at work 2 or 3 times a year since I’ve worked there, but it’s been 7 years since I did it for real.

I felt some jitters.

But the nerves melted quickly when the rest of the group showed up. I told Matt as I was leaving that “I feel like I’m going home for a week.” That’s exactly what it felt like seeing Brian and Jill. Over breakfast, Brian gave me some advice to calm the nerves. While everyone else unpacked from their overnight flight from Jakarta, our dive master, Ali, took me out diving.

In my rental wetsuit, BC, and regulator, we waded out from the beach and dipped below the surface. My first reaction was oh jeez! It all murky like the reservoir! The tide was slamming into the beach and stirring up the sand. But just 5 or 6 feet below the surface, some small coral became visible.

We swam out several yards towards the drop off. There were giant sea fans whipping in the current below me. The rental boots are about 2 sizes too big, so my feet feel really buoyant. But a school of fish darting by quickly distracted me.

We swam over the drop off and followed the little bit of coral out into the bay. My ears were pinching like crazy. I never have trouble with my ears in the pool, I thought. When I checked the computer on my wrist I saw I was at 61 feet. That was deeper than I’ve ever been, so I didn’t feel as bad about my ears.

We dove for about 30 minutes, returning to the shore at the end. I joined the group and we headed out on the boat to the next site.

Diving in Ambon is a little different than what you picture. There is some coral and there are some fish, but the main attraction is “muck diving,” which is hunting for critters that live in the sand. Spotting some of these creatures is way more rare than seeing sharks or dolphins. This is the intricate and near microscopic life we are on the lookout for.

The trick to muck diving is not hitting the sandy bottom as you go down. If you do, it destroys the habitat and plumes up the sand to ruin the visibility for everyone.

We headed out at 11:00 for our first dive. It was a quick 12 minute boat ride across the bay. I was diving with Brian and the 6 other people on our boat (the other half went with Jill on the other boat.) As we arrived, the crew started helping everyone put on their gear. Once people were strapped into their tanks, they sat on the edge and rolled back off the boat.

“You ready?” Brian asked.

“Ummm,” I said. “I’ve never done that before.”

“What do you mean?” He asked.

“Well this morning, I walked into the ocean. Prior to that, I walked into the reservoir. I’ve never backflipped off a boat.”

He explained how I’d hold my mask to my face and my regulator in my mouth and just fall backwards. When I did it, everyone said it looked good. It didn’t feel good. Water shot up my nose.

I popped up and paired up with Brian to start going down. As everyone started to sink, I kept tugging on the dump valve to let air out of my BC. Nothing happened. I jerked and jerked but could still feel that my hand was above the surface.

You’re psyching yourself out Zach, I reminded myself. Slow deep breaths.

As my breathing slowed, my body sank.

We saw awesome little critters everywhere. From tiny cow fish blowing bubbles in the sand, to an octopus stalking its prey, it was a world of little things. I think my favorite from the first dive was the scorpion fish crawling along the bottom.

The color was unreal too. While there wasn’t a lot of vibrant coral, there were purple plants everywhere. Occasionally a little phosphorescent fish would glisten by.

The only downside to being a newish diver is that I guzzled my air. My tank was empty within 32 minutes. Brian sent me back to the boat with the dive master. The crew lifted my gear into the boat and then gave me a hot, lemon grass towel to warm up with. The rest of the group popped up around the hour mark.

But checking the stats on my computer, that dive was to 65 feet, making it the newest deepest dive I’ve ever done!

We went back to the resort for lunch and enjoyed a tasty meal of some type of onion soup, fried rice, beef, noodles, all with gelato for dessert. As we ate, Brian and Jill asked me about life in Vietnam, and I met some of the other divers in the group.

The group took a quick nap while we waited for the next dive to start. Jill and I sat out by the beach catching up. Around 3:30 we were back on the boat. This boat ride was even shorter. In about 3 minutes we were there.

My flip off the boat was a lot smoother this time. For the last dive of the day, we went deep, dropping to a depth of 75 feet. My ears crackled the whole way down. Around 50 feet, I wasn’t positive they’d go any further, but after a few deep breaths I was right there with the rest of the group.

The critters here were incredible. We saw a giant seahorse, more Pygmy cuttlefish, more cowfish, and some hidden little white nudibranchs. My favorite though was a bright blue ribbon eel. It was playfully teased out of its hole by the sound of jingling metal and was easily 3 feet long.

I was proud of myself for making my tank last 42 minutes on this dive—a full 10 minute improvement from the morning dive. Brian again sent me up with the divemaster, and I waited for the others to pop up shortly after.

But my biggest accomplishment: I didn’t slam into the bottom and plume up the muck for everyone.

Apparently, the highlight of the dive was seeing the rhinopias. To be honest, when Brian pointed it out to me, I thought it was an underwater tumbleweed. Apparently, this is just a tribute to its excellent camouflage. This critter is so rare, this was only the 3rd that Brian has seen in over 20 years of diving.

Back at the resort, we all changed into street clothes and hung out in the lounge. Mark (who was one of the instructors the weekend I got certified at the shop) treated me to a gin and tonic.

“Matt’s been drinking these the last few times we’ve gone out,” I said. “I think he’s on to something.”

I spent the evening catching up with Jill some more.

“Muck diving isn’t easy,” she told me. “This is the advanced stuff.”

“You did good today,” Brian told me.

Over dinner, the whole group shared stories of the day. For the meal, I enjoyed fishball soup, chicken and ginger, with an apple crisp for dessert. Gradually jet lag slowly set in for the group (their flight here left Jakarta at 11:59pm last night) and they peeled off one at a time to go to bed.

I stayed up to blog and look back on the day. Diving always brings up the metaphor for me of “going deeper.” Rather it’s in a job, a relationship, or a new culture, I think we are driven as people to want to go deeper. For me, travel is something that lets me do that.

Diving just happens to be a cool hobby that fits in pretty well!

Two Days of Travel

I didn’t appreciate how small Europe is. Two hours on a plane in Europe and you’ve practically crossed the whole continent. I also didn’t appreciate how big Asia is. The same two hours on a plane in Asia and you’re either over the same country or over ocean between countries.

In short, it’s taken me two days to get to my final destination: Ambon, Indonesia.

I left my Saigon apartment yesterday at 3:30am. Matt and my coworkers had all shared horror stories with me of clearing customs leaving Vietnam. Matt said it was more or less a mosh pit when he flew out to Singapore in February. One colleague told me the line for customs was out the door when she went home to Australia. All of that coupled with the fact I had to check in in person, I decided to get to the airport when checkin opened (3 hours before the flight) to give myself the maximum amount of time.

I woke our building’s security guard (who was sleeping on the lobby couch) to let me out. I called the Grab Bike, and despite the app not loading right, a driver showed up for me quite quickly. He dropped me at the domestic terminal and I walked over to the international departures. I got there exactly 3 hours before my flight. I checked the board and saw that checkin for my flight was at the A counter. When I got there…there was no checkin.

I walked around to other counters to see if the sign was wrong (on both our flights back from Phu Quoc and Da Lat there were sign issues at the airports.) I couldn’t find the airline anywhere. So I resorted to a classic expat maneuver…I found the first white person I saw and asked if she was as confused as I was.

The girl I approached was German and was on the same flight. She said that she asked someone and the people doing checkin hadn’t arrived yet. I took a seat, FaceTimed a friend, and waited for them to show up. They did within about 30 minutes, and I was the 3rd or 4th person to check in.

The moment of truth approached as I went to customs. I was determined to be assertive. If the line was a mosh pit, I’d make my way to the front. If it was a long line, I’d keep my eye on the clock and ask politely to advance as needed.

Where I got there…there was no line. There wasn’t a single person there except me. I walked up, handed over my passport, waited about 12 seconds, and was on my way.

I also went through security in about 45 seconds. I was at the gate more than 2 hours before my flight boarded.

So I FaceTimed more friends and called my family. When it was time to board, there was no announcement. The door just opened and everyone rushed the gate. I was in seat 6A and as soon as I sat down, I was asleep. I barely woke up when we accelerated to take off. For the entire 2 hours to Singapore, I was dead to the world. Nothing even stirred me until we landed.

I’d planned a 3 hour layover because the airline suggested it as a minimum. We’d taken off about 30 minutes late, but landed 10 minutes early. When I disembarked from the jetway, I discovered my connecting flight was in the gate directly across from where I’d arrived. I was again at the gate more than 2 hours before I boarded.

So I FaceTimed more friends and got lunch in the food court. I ordered a chicken katsu sandwich with seaweed fries. I was expecting some sort of breaded chicken sandwich. Instead, the chicken was shredded and served with kimchi slaw on top. It didn’t look super appealing, but it tasted amazing!!

The strangest thing I discovered about Singapore in my layover was their time zone. Singapore is actually west of Vietnam, but they are an hour ahead. This pretty much keeps with the anomally of Asian time zones. China is all in one timezone (Beijing time) even though it spans 4 time zones like the US. Even the islands of Indonesia cross 3 time zones, being no where near as wide as China. Additionally, some Asian countries observe Day Light Savings time while others don’t. Like everything else, time also works differently in Asia.

I again slept the whole flight to Jakarta. When we landed, I discovered the flight attendant had given me a landing card while I was asleep. I filled it out as I walked and cleared customs in about 4 minutes.

Jakarta is different than what I expected. With a majority Muslim population, it’s an intriguing blend of Asian and Arab culture. Just leaving the airport, it was clearly more diverse than Saigon.

The hostel I booked to overnight in Jakarta had recommended taking the bus to the train station and then getting a taxi from the train station to the hostel. I found the bus schedule and discovered it was a three hour ride (which included two transfers). That seemed like a lot more headache than I was prepared for. A bunch of taxi drivers were calling out to me, but if it was a three hour bus ride, (even without transfers) I could only imagine what a taxi would cost.

I googled public transit in Jakarta and discovered they had Grab. It was only a two hour grab bike ride, and cost about $6. So I ordered a motorbike.

Like Saigon (and i guess a lot of Uber friendly cities) there was only one specific place a grab bike could pick up at the airport. I walked there and waited. When the driver arrived, he gave me the helmet, and we set off.

A few things I noticed right away. For one, the green grab helmet was way sturdier than the grab helmets in Saigon. This was a proper motorbike helmet that covered my entire head, including my forehead, and had a face shield. Second thing was that traffic was driving on the left side of the road.

The ride was exhilarating. The cloud cover was low and misty as we tumbled along dirt roads on our way to the city center. We cruised through open agricultural fields, followed man-made irrigation streams, passed little road side vendors, saw an incredible Muslim grave yard, all with the breeze rushing past. We were actually going fast enough that my stomach dropped a few times. It took a lot of self control not to put my arms out like airplane wings as we soared along.

At least the first hour was exhilarating. It wound up taking about an hour and 40 minutes total to reach the hostel. My butt, thighs, and abs were sore by the time I got off the bike. But when I got checked in, the room was nice, cool, and quiet. I dropped my stuff and headed off to get dinner.

I was looking for a restaurant that had good reviews on TripAdvisor, but when I stumbled on a little street food area by a hotel, it caught my attention. I sat down and a waiter came over to translate the menu for me. My options were either chicken or tofu with rice. I opted for the chicken, and he suggested the baked soy beans with it. I ordered that as well. He also suggested a drink called Es Teler.

All of it was amazing!! The chicken breast was small but really tender and seasoned nicely. The soybeans were baked in a little soufflé like pastry that looked like a brownie but tasted nice and savory. The surprising item was the drink. It was made with avocado, coconut, jack fruit, and milk. It wasn’t blended but just mixed together. The flavor was super rich without being too sweet.

All of it was awesome, and the total meal only cost $3.96.

I was debating between going to a gelato shop the hostel recommended or going to the old town. When it started to rain, I decided that was a sign that I should have an early night to rest up for another full day of travel.

I sat at the hostel bar and enjoyed a beer while I blogged about the day. When I finally did go to bed, it was the best nights sleep I’ve had in a long time. I woke up feeling totally refreshed for another day of sitting on airplanes.

Since it was another 2 hour ride back to the airport, I didn’t have a lot of time in Jakarta. From the research I’ve done, it seems like Jakarta is a great home base to explore the main island—monkeys, waterfalls, etc—but there aren’t a lot of sites to see in the city itself.

That said, the Istiqlal Mosque in Jakarta is the 3rd largest mosque in the world. I decided that was worth checking out before I left.

I took a grab bike to the mosque. It was a beautiful building, decorated with geometric shapes. I wasn’t sure how far into the mosque I could go (especially with my backpack on) but I figured I’d keep walking until someone told me to stop.

Someone did after about 4 minutes. The only way to see the mosque as a non-Muslim was with a tour. Luckily, there was a tour just starting. They had me store my backpack and my shoes in a closet and join the group of Dutch tourists.

I learned a lot on the tour. The name Indonesia came from “Indo nesos” meaning “islands near India.” I knew the country had a long period of colonization, but I didn’t realize it was by the Dutch. The islands were exploited for their coffee (nearly every roast popular in the US is from Indonesia), nutmeg, and other spices. When the country gained independence in 1945, construction on the mosque began along with several other national treasures.

The inside was simple, lit mostly with natural lighting. There was a sign pointing towards Mecca in almost every corridor, and the times listed by the entrance for the 5 daily prayers. In the main prayer room, Arabic symbols for Mohammed and Allah were displayed on the front wall. The massive dome over head was breathtaking, with such intrinsic detail, it didn’t even look real.

Unique to Indonesian Islam is the use of a drum for the call to prayer. There are two styles, a “tong” and a “doom.” They are named after the distinctly different sounds they make.

I think the coolest part of the building was the courtyard. Used to celebrate Ramadan, the brickwork is color coded to make prayer rugs for each person gathered for the festivities. The minaret was not as tall as the dome, but had a pointed top to it. One wall was short enough to see the steeple from the National cathedral, deliberately designed to show unity between Muslims and Christians in Indonesia.

I called my grab bike from the Mosque and headed to the airport. Traffic was lighter and the ride out was over all more enjoyable than the ride in. I still tense when we shoot a gap between two 18 wheelers, but I assume my driver has as much invested in making it alive as I do.

At the airport, I made blunder after blunder. First, I went through the women’s line for security. It didn’t dawn on me what I was doing, I just chose the shorter line. The issue is, being a Muslim country, a woman can’t pat down a man and a man can’t pat down a woman. No one made much fuss about it, but some of the women working were not happy with me.

When I got to the gate, I learned that the airport was not set up for mobile boarding. So I had to go back out of security and get a boarding pass at check in. When I did, I went through security on the correct side this time.

That was when I realized there was no food on this side of security. I was quite hungry so I went back out, and came back in a third time.

On the plane, I slept for the first hour, waking for the inflight meal of chicken curry. I then watched a hilarious new Netflix show that Jill recommended.

When I landed, I was met by Michael, a representative from the resort. He was shocked by how little baggage I had. This theme continued as I arrived and each employee asked where my luggage was. I wanted to say “with the exception of my suit and laptop, all of my worldly possessions are in this backpack.”

I got checked in by Nus, a long time friend of Brian and Jill’s. He showed me to my bungalow and took me to the dining area for dinner. I blogged a little as I ate, being slowly joined by other divers and couples staying at the resort.

As we swapped stories two things became abundantly clear. One, no matter where in the world you come from, it takes 2 days to get to Indonesia. Two, I was the only one who got here without any major hiccups.

“Seems like you’re the lucky one here,” one older gentleman told me.

I’ve now spent a combined total of 24 months of my life living outside the US. Being nomadic is kind of becoming my comfort zone. Something Brian taught me when I started working at the dive shop was “you make your own luck.” In backpacking around the world, I’ve seen that to be true time and time again.

And now I feel very lucky to share this Indonesia experience with dear friends! They’ll be here in the morning and then we’ll be off on a new adventure!

My SCUBA Story

I first tried SCUBA diving as a PE class in high school. I wouldn’t say I hated it, but I wasn’t sold either. I’m not sure what bothered me most. It was a semester that I had a lot of sinus infections which made it hard to equalize my ears. The pool at my high school was barely heated and I was always cold. The pool room was also really dark and freaked me out when we were underwater.

Either way, I found the whole thing very claustrophobic and never finished the certification.

Not quite a year later, my Boy Scout troop started organizing a scuba trip to Florida. A lot of my friends were going on the trip and I was quickly persuaded to try it again. My PE teacher worked at one of the dive shops in the area so I got in touch with them about a group discount for the 30 of us that were going to go.

Ironically, they never got back to me. One World Dive & Travel did. I only knew them as the competition my teacher had talked about, but the group needed to get started on the certification so we decided to move forward with One World.

The first time I walked in, I was quickly put to ease. The sales lady, Kim, sat with me and my mom and persuaded me that I’d enjoy SCUBA this time, especially once I got to the ocean. The first day of class, I was impressed when the owner, Brian, came in to greet all of us before our class. And Kim was right…it was different and I did love it.

A year later, when we got back from our trip, a few of us from the troop went back to One World and did our Advanced certifications. During the process, Kim invited us to come to a special presentation at the shop about professions in SCUBA diving. The event was more so marketed to people who wanted to be instructors, but I was looking for a college job, so I went.

During the event, I asked Jill (another owner) if they ever hired part time help. She said they did in the summer. So a few months later (around October) I came back and asked if they were hiring yet for the next summer. It was obviously a little early, so they told me to check back in January. I did, and they invited me for an interview.

I met with Brian later that week and he explained that it would be minimum wage work, cleaning the pool and packing rental gear a few times a month. He told me if I was still interested in April to call him and the job would be mine.

So I did.

The first day I showed up, Brian and Jill had just gotten back from a group trip. They had some things to attend to so Brian had me read some articles on retail. As I sat reading, the phone was ringing. Brian soon came over and taught me how to answer a few basic questions and use the hold button for any questions I didn’t know. I spent the rest of the morning reading and answering the phone.

That afternoon, he taught me how to size masks. For the rest of the day, I answered the phone and sold masks, the whole time wondering when am I going to clean the pool?

I was scheduled to work 12 days that summer, and in that time, I did clean the pool and pack rental gear. But I also learned to sell fins, snorkels, and wetsuits, as well as answer some rudimentary questions on cameras, computers, BCDs, and regulators. Those 12 days quickly turned into 2 or 3 days a week, and eventually weekends when I was back in school. I wound up working there weekends and summers through college. The third owner (Michelle) even tutored me in accounting.

I took a few “leave of absence” breaks in college. I left to study abroad and work in China, and both times they had me back when I returned. When I graduated, I never became full time, but I worked 4-5 days a week until I moved to Europe.

Every workplace sitcom or drama professes that the coworkers are “like a family.” I was lucky enough to have that be true. Brian, Jill, Michelle, and Kim are like family to me (along with MP, Carolyn, and the other staff I’ve been privileged to work with over the 6 years since they hired me.)

The ironic part of the story is that my dive trip to Florida when I was in Boy Scouts is the only dive trip I’ve ever been on. I’ve dove 11 times in the ocean and 9 times in the reservoir back home. None of those dives have been since they hired me.

When I left for Southeast Asia, I was determined to do some diving. Brian and Jill lead group trips in this part of the world a few times a year and we started joking that maybe our paths would cross. As the jokes got more serious, it turned out the timing was right for me to meet up with them in Indonesia this week.

I remember that first summer I worked at the shop, Brian told me that if he could only dive one place in the world it would be Indonesia. I’m looking forward to exploring this hot spot with my SCUBA diving family.

An Off Day

This was an odd week for me. I think a few things happened. We traveled for two weeks, and eventually I had to come back to reality. I started a second job this week (which I really enjoy) but its always sad when vacation ends. In addition, it’s the first bout of homesickness I’ve had.

And sometimes, when your brain is stressed out and somewhere else, you wind up literally going somewhere else.

After feeling down for a couple days, I decided to spend most of Thursday in a coffee shop getting caught up on grading essays and ahead in lesson planning. Matt’s new work schedule has him working late two days a week, so I made plans that night with my friend Adam (who I also know from Prague). Adam is a huge bar trivia buff and, on Thursdays, I’ve joined him a few times at the Heart of Darkness Brewery for a late night pub quiz.

I got home from the coffee shop and changed to head out for the night. Uber has sold their Southeast Asian division to a company called Grab. The process for ordering a motorbike taxi is mostly the same. It’s all done in an app, but their app is so glitchy. It doesn’t take all credit cards. Sometimes it loads, sometimes it gives an error message that the app is offline (which leaves you stranded.) I’ve also been charged for rides I never took (although they’ve reimbursed it every time.)

Perhaps the most annoying feature is that Grab really emphasizes communication between the driver and the passenger. Usually, as soon as you are matched to a driver, he will call, speak at great length in Vietnamese, and not acknowledge at all that you are asking him if he speaks English. There is also a texting feature, which automatically translates messages between drivers and passengers. I prefer this so I can send the name of a business I am standing in front of and they can find me faster. Otherwise, they drive super slow trying to make out the hidden addresses on the sides of buildings.

As they get close, you get a notification on your phone that “your driver has arrived.” When they pull up, they usually show you the driver interface of the app on their phone. It displays your name and your destination to confirm your identity before you get on.

So on Thursday night, when I called a Grab, I was prepared to wait the usual 10 minutes until the app activated. Surprisingly, I was connected to a driver right away. Even more surprisingly, he texted me to say he was on his way. He sent several more texts, using pretty casual language. He said things like “Traffic sucks” and “a few more mins.” It made me think he was probably texting me instead of using the translation feature.

That’s what surprised me when the driver came around the corner. He was older. It’s not that older people never speak English, but most people older than I am are less likely to do so. They certainly speak formal English, if they do, and not a lot of slang.

But the driver saw me staring at my phone by the curb (the universal sign that you’re waiting for a ride share) and came over. He opened a few screens on his phone and showed it to me. It was google maps directions to my destination. He’d already started navigating so I couldn’t really see where the pin was, just the final address. I had no idea what the address for Heart of Darkness Brewing is, but I’d put “Heart of Darkness” into the Grab app when I ordered the ride, and the app automatically populated the address.

I nodded, put on my helmet, and got on the back of the bike.

We turned around and went cruising down the street. Traffic did suck for being so late, and we bobbed around a few buses. As we went around one bus, my phone rang. It was a Vietnamese number.

Strange, I thought. The only phone calls I ever get are from Grab. I decided it was probably a sales call and ignored it.

About 90 seconds later, it rang again. It was the same number. I debated if it was rude to answer a phone call on the back of someone’s bike. I feel like it’d be hard to hear anything with the breeze rushing by.

Another minute or two passed, and the phone rang again. It was the same number. My brain went to logical conclusion.

Something must have happened to Matt! Someone is trying to get ahold of me to tell me!

But that didn’t really make sense. If Matt was trying to get ahold of me he’d message me on WhatsApp. If Matt was in trouble and someone was trying to tell me, they’d never think to do so. Come on, my name is alphabetically last in almost everyone’s phone–not a logical emergency contact.

I thought about it for too long and missed the call. I was just getting ready to call it back when I got a notification on my screen.

“Your Grab ride has been canceled by the driver. Please try again.”

That doesn’t make any sense! I thought. My driver is right here. Why would he cancel?

Then it hit me all at once. The only phone calls I ever get are from Grab.

I’d never seen my name on this driver’s screen. I didn’t know the address to confirm where I was going. And we’ve been on this bike way longer than it should have taken to get to Heart of Darkness.

I’m on the wrong bike!

I was trying to figure out how to communicate this when my driver’s phone rang. You can imagine the look on his face and the sound of his brakes. I’m not positive, but I’m assuming it was his customer calling to see where he was.

He pulled over and let me off. I tried showing him the address where I wanted to go on my phone, but he conveyed that he was going back to where he got me to get the right person. I offered him cash for bringing me this far, but he refused.

It’s funny how our heads get out of it sometimes. Things we’ve done a hundred times can slip our minds completely when we are stressed. And this week, my mind was stressed.

I realized that yesterday was my 50^th day in Vietnam.

In 50 days:

• We’ve had three apartments
• I found a job
• I’ve been meeting people and networking
• I’ve had two rounds of parent teacher conferences
• I spent a week in the islands and a week in the mountains
• I’ve been trying crazy new foods, one of which sent me to the hospital with an allergic reaction
• Not to mention, 8 days ago, Matt was hit by a taxi

We packed a lot into 50 days. In Vietnam, the Czech Republic, the US, or wherever we are in life, I think it’s important to stop and appreciate all that we juggle. No matter how fun or mundane life can be, sometimes it gets the better of us. And that’s okay. The important thing is to appreciate the fun days, and know that, in the middle of the mundane homesick days, there will be more fun again soon.

But the real life lesson here is, never get on the back of motorbike until you see your name on the driver’s screen!

The Motorbike Accident

According to the CDC, Vietnam has the highest rate of traffic accidents in the world. If you stay here more than a few days, it’s truly not a matter of if, but a matter of when you will be in an accident. In Saigon alone, projections are there are somewhere around 30 injuries and deaths from traffic accidents per day.

I stood momentarily in disbelief. It was our second day riding motorbikes and Matt had been hit by the taxi weaving in traffic.

The taxi had pulled over and the passengers were getting out. There was a little street food restaurant by the intersection, and a few people rushed over to help.

By the time I got my own bike turned around, Matt had pushed the bike off his leg and stood up. With the help of the people around him, he started dragging the bike out of traffic. Traffic had resumed at full speed. It was flowing fast enough that I couldn’t get my own bike across the four lanes that were zooming by.

I saw Matt talking to the women who’d gotten out of the taxi. He shook his hands and his head and they got back in the car. I was getting frustrated not being able to cross the street.

Screw this! I thought and turned right instead. If there was one thing I’d practiced all day yesterday in the alley, it was a U turn. If I couldn’t get across, I’d turn around and get there.

It’s amazing how adrenaline helps you focus. Not sure entirely what I was doing or how I was doing it, I found an area close to the bus depot and swung the bike around, accelerating back towards Matt.

When I got there, he was sitting at the food stand in a plastic chair. The people who’d helped him pulled up a chair for me. His bike was parked on the curb by the street. Matt looked at me as I sat down, a cigarette in one hand.

“They gave it to me to calm me down,” he said. “Felt like I couldn’t say no.”

I was surprised by his calm demeanor. “So what happened?” I asked.

“The taxi hit me,” he said.

“Are you serious?”

“Yup,” he said. “I was turning left and he hit the back of the bike. It got knocked sideways and out from under me.”

“Are you okay?” I asked. Looking at him, I could tell he wasn’t. His left elbow was dripping blood and he had a trickle running down his left leg from a large patch of road rash on his knee.

“Nothing really hurts,” he said. “Just stings.”

“Mind if I play doctor?” I asked.

“Go ahead.”

I didn’t have much on me but a few band-aids. I went back to my bike and got my two liter bottle of water from the storage under the seat. When I came back, I untied his left shoe and took it off. His leg was trembling, as were his hands when he leaned forward to pull off his sock. I poured the clean drinking water over his knee. It wasn’t particularly deep, but it had a good pool of blood forming. Next we worked on his elbow. It wasn’t as bad, but had a dozen or so dime-sized patches of road rash on it. I had to hold his arm still to pour the water on it.

As I did, he grimaced and said “ahhh.”

“Does it hurt?” I asked.

“Not that,” he said. He stood up. There was a blood stain on the side of his pants. He pulled down the elastic on his boxers to reveal a nasty patch just under his hip bone.

“That one has a lot of gravel in it Matt.”

“Does it?” He asked, unable to get an unobstructed view. “It tore my boxers.” Indeed it had.

“We need more water,” I said. “I think we should park your bike over there, you can ride home with me, and I have antiseptic stuff in my bag we can clean you up with.”

“I can ride,” he said. “I’ll just go slow.”

Dude, you can’t stand up without shaking, I thought to myself, but I didn’t say it.

“Matt, you’re shaking. It’s adrenaline. I can bring someone back with me to get your bike later. Let’s worry about getting this stuff bandaged first.”

“How far is it to back?”

“Probably 2 or 3 miles,” I guessed.

“I’ll just walk,” he said.

“Okay, we can walk.”

“We?”

“You’re arm and leg are bleeding, and you’re in shock. I’m not leaving you alone.”

He pulled out his phone and opened google. “Okay, we can ride,” he conceded. “It’s like a 45 minute walk and I want to get this over with.”

The people from the food stand helped us store his bike away from the road under a tree. Matt walked across the intersection to the median, and I pushed my bike out into traffic to meet him. (It’s amazing how traffic yields to you when you are walking a motorbike.)

He hopped on the back and we accelerated into traffic.

“I want you to squeeze my shoulders,” I said. “If you’re going to pass out I want to know about it.” He held on tight.

It took us about 10 minutes to get home. When we did, Matt went upstairs to the room. I grabbed the napkins off the table, the soap from the bathroom, and my alcohol solution and Neosporin from my bag.

“I taught first aid at summer camp for 5 years,” I told him. “I know what I’m doing.”

“I trust you,” he said.

Matt took off his shirt and shorts, and we got him cleaned up. We washed everything with another bottle of water, and wiped down with the antibacterial hand soap.

“What hurts the most?” I asked, as I dabbed his knee with a soapy napkin.

“My pride,” he said.

“That’s ridiculous,” I said. “How many people can say they were hit by a taxi in Southeast Asia and walked away from it? It’s going to be a great story.”

“It’s probably my fault though,” he said. “For all we know, I cut him off with my left turn and totally caused this.”

“But we don’t know that,” I said. “Taxis are crazy and there is a good chance he was zigzagging on the wrong side of the road and hit you.”

The wound on his hip was trickier. The water bottle and wet cloth wasn’t cleaning the grit out.

“Let’s try the hose in the shower.”

The bathroom was a small tiled room, where the whole room served as the shower. I sat on the toilet, and tried to use the water pressure from the spout to flush the debris out of the skin. It took a few seconds, and a lot of pressure, but it worked.

I tried making small talk to calm him down. “So was that your first cigarette?”

He chuckled. “Yup.”

“And How was it?”

“I didn’t inhale.”

“Right,” I said with an exaggerated tone. “That’s what everyone says.”

By the time we were done, the blood and gravel were gone and it looked more like a web of pink scratches than a war wound.

I stepped out of the bathroom to let him undress and shower properly. After he put on fresh, untorn underwear, we dabbed alcohol solution on the wounds. He flinched violently at the pain.

“None of the bandaids I have are big enough,” I said. “We’ll have to grab some when we are out. Do you want to lie down for a bit?”

“I’m actually pretty hungry,” he said. After he got dressed, we googled a restaurant and walked up the hill to eat.

“I told everyone back in Saigon that I’d get in a motorbike accident for sure if I tried it,” he said with a laugh. “What can I say? I know myself.”

“It’s important to know your limitations,” I joked.

“I wanted a clean track record. It’s such a shitty story to get hit on your first day.”

“Technically, it was our second day. And no one has to know,” I told him. “I won’t even blog about it.”

“You better blog about it,” he said. “It’s the most dramatic thing that’s happened to us.”

Crossing the street clearly made him uncomfortable. “I’ve totally lost all my confidence,” he said as horn-honking motorbikes zoomed around us.

“You wouldn’t be human if you hadn’t,” I reminded him. “It’ll come back.”

Lunch was really good, but we weren’t as hungry as we thought.

“I like riding a lot,” Matt said as we ate. “When I’m going fast I feel stable. It’s just left hand turns that suck.”

“That intersection sucked,” I added. “That’s the same intersection I came to stop to turn at yesterday.”

“I don’t think I can do Saigon traffic,” Matt said.

“Me neither,” I said.

“I don’t know,” he said. “You’re pretty good.”

“We found the one coordinated thing I’m able to do.” We laughed.

His arm was starting to clot, but still dripping a little. “We should cover those,” I told him. He agreed, adding that the polluted air alone has to be bad for it.

We found a pharmacy and bought gauze and tape. The pharmacist also gave us iodine which we figured couldn’t hurt when we don’t have access to clean tap water. After we bandaged it up, he took a nap and I went with Hannah’s brother to get Matt’s bike.

We didn’t take the most direct route to get to the bike or to get it home. I followed the brother and he took us right through rush hour traffic in the center of town. It was chaotic, but it also built a lot of confidence. Hannah told me that he was very complimentary of my driving.

I’m still not sure I want to mess with the disaster that is Saigon traffic.

Hannah made dinner for us tonight, and the crowd at the hostel has grown to 8 people. When Matt came downstairs, all bandaged up, everyone made quite a fuss for him.

“So you got hit by car? How’d that happen?” someone asked.

Matt blushed.

“There was a group of orphans crossing the street,” I interjected. “This taxi was out of control and Matt just turned his bike and zoomed right in to absorb the blow and save the children.”

Everyone laughed.

“Basically,” Matt agreed. “They’re going to name a school after me.”

We had a great night. Matt and I joined Simon, Hannah, and the Canadian couple for karaoke. Our duets of “How Far I’ll Go,” “How to Save a Life,” and “Closer” were all definite crowd pleasers. Simon and I rocked Billy Joel’s “Piano Man” and Matt crushed “Sweet Caroline.”

The two of us went for old fashions when everyone else went to bed.

“To another day of not dying,” we toasted.

I took a drink.

“Thanks,” Matt said. “For helping me today.”

“Anytime,” I said. “I’m just glad you’re okay.”

“Do you remember when you had hives in Bosnia and made me rub cortisone on your back for a week?” He asked.

Now I blushed. “I do,” I said, curious about the connection.

“I think we’re even,” he joked.

Back at the hostel, we added a layer of gauze to the bandages to keep the blood from leaking in the night. Matt went to bed and I also consulted my doctor uncle on the best way to keep in a wound clean in a country without drinkable water.

You never think about how fast everything can change. In a life filled with memorable experiences everyday, it’s hard to remember that it is fleeting. For me, it’s a reminder to tell the people you love that you love them, to take risks and expand your horizons, and live each and everyday as the adventure you want your life to be!

Cruising

The iconic and romantic Southeast Asian adventure is motorbiking trough the hills with the wind in your hair, as you glimpse and stumble upon hidden pagodas and mountainside temples. So that’s what we set out to do today.

We charted a course to the Datalan Waterfall. Near by was the meditation center. The route was pretty straightforward: about halfway around the lake, then up into the hills with a straight shot to the waterfall. We set off, Matt following me and me trying to memorize the map. We had to pull over a few times to check the GPS, but I felt significantly more comfortable on the bike today.

Snaking through the mountains was everything I’d hoped it would be. It was terrifying every time a bus passed, but I just hugged the shoulder. When there was no traffic, we enjoyed the open road; cruising without a care in the world.

We’ve been to a lot of waterfalls in our travels. Probably the coolest thing about this one was the 3km alpine slide to get to the bottom. It was a fun filled adrenaline rush plummeting down the canyon.

The mediation center was filled with atmosphere. We weren’t dressed conservatively enough to enter the buildings, but the massive gardens, with views of the lake were an idyllic spot to slow down and think about nothing. We walked through the bamboo, giant orchids, and brilliant lavender flowers.

“Not a bad view in this place,” I remarked.

“Today is exactly what I pictured when I moved to Vietnam,” Matt agreed. “Just staring a bunch of random places on the map and biking around to see them.”

We found our red bikes hidden in the shade, and got ready to head back to town.

“This helmet would not protect my head if I was in an accident,” I said as I buckled.

“Absolutely not,” Matt said. “You’re forehead is completely exposed.” He put his own on and fake yawned. His jaw stretched the chin strap and left it sagging a good half inch from where it had started. “I think if you were actually hit, it would just fly off.”

“You want to lead this time or you want me to?”

“You can,” Matt said. “I don’t want to have my phone in my pocket, in case I get in an accident.”

I was keeping mine in my side satchel. He was locking his inside the storage in the seat. We coasted out of the parking lot and headed back for the hostel to get lunch.

Cruising the mountain road was pure magic. The air was thin and fresh and the vista views looked like a painting. It felt free and I felt alive.

Every 2 or 3 minutes I’d check over my shoulder to make sure Matt was still behind me. I call it my “over protective big brother reflex” but I think when you’re traveling you have to have each other’s back. I certainly know Matt has mine.

When people ask us how we know each other, we repeatedly tell them we don’t know why we’re friends. If we’d met under any other circumstances—high school, college, even as coworkers—we never would have been friends. But over beers with a group of teachers in Prague last summer, I mentioned I was planning a hike along the German border. Matt chimed in that he was planning the same hike. We decided to do it together.

When we met that morning at the train station, I forgot my passport. Since we were crossing over into Germany, it was a 50/50 if I’d need it. I ubered home to get it and rushed back, just in time for us to miss our train. We walked to a cafe, and had an awkward breakfast. Matt was one of my trainees. We’d toasted beers at a few parties, but never had anything but a professional conversation. I wasn’t sure what role to play—mentor and coach Zach, or new friend Zach.

We caught the next train and slept all the way to Germany. The hike took about 4 or 5 hours (including about 45 minutes of being lost) but as we walked and talked, we became fast friends. I got back to Prague feeling like I knew Matt better than anyone else I’d met on this adventure. And I’d certainly shared more of my personal life with him than I had with any of my other graduates.

Matt left shortly after that to apply for his Czech visa in Croatia (a long, complicates process to explain.) He was a bit outside his window to do so, so we were all shocked when he made it back into Schengen Europe. For the next couple weeks, we explored Prague together. From little wine bars where we discovered we like rose, to hopping fences (with a beer in hand) to go swimming in reservoirs, we lived it up for about two weeks. Then Matt left for Israel. I was leaving for a 2 month trip that would end with me flying back to the States and starting a new chapter somewhere new. So we said our goodbyes, optimistically joking that we’d cross paths again someday at some hostel somewhere in the world.

A few weeks later, and about 5 days into my trip, Matt texted me that his visa had been denied and he couldn’t go back to Prague for 3 months (at the time it would have been November.) He asked if he could join my 2 month trip until he figured out what to do next.

So we met in Zagreb. Again, it felt a little strange. We’d hung out casually 5 or 6 times now, but we were both solo travelers. I’d been to 26 countries at that point (Matt’s been to way more) and more than 2/3 of them I’d been to alone. I have my own style, pace, interests, etc. when I travel. There are people (who are great people) that I wouldn’t travel with because our rhythms are too different. Matt and I could hike together but could we spend 24 hours a day together on top of being two staunchly independent nomads.

While Matt and I have almost nothing in common—different hobbies, food tastes, tv shows, movies, etc.—we travel incredibly well together. We have the same neuroses, energy level, interests, etc. The 5 weeks we were together in former Yugoslavia were the best trip I’ve ever taken. We got lost on a goat farm, fell off a pyramid, paid “necessary fees” to corrupt cops, and discovered we like cab sav infinitely more than rose.

Our plan was not originally to go to Vietnam together. When I went back to the states, Southeast Asia was no where in my mind. I was looking at South America but having little luck finding jobs. I also wasn’t saving much money in the US and realized I needed to go to Asia to find a higher paying teaching job. Matt came over here in November, but he wasn’t even the one who sold me on Vietnam. His teaching partner Phil was. When I decided to come here, the timing corresponded with Matt’s month to month lease ending. Phil had also left at this point and Matt said he wouldn’t mind the company of a room mate.

In the 40 days we’ve been roommates, the awesome adventures have continued. We’ve become regulars at a whiskey bar, explored awesome cafes and restaurants, taken boat rides to strange suburbs, gone on awkward Tinder dates (which will not be blogged about), jet skied, parasailed, and now learned how to ride motorbikes.

Last night, after Matt saw me play pool, we again joked about the absurdity of becoming friends.

“I’ve never had a friend as uncoordinated as you are,” Matt joked.

“I made a couple shots,” I objected.

“You did,” he conceded. “You don’t suck. You make it a good defensive game.”

“You played a lot of pool with your other friends did you?”

“We just played games in general. Things you could win at,” he paused as we took the last sips of our drinks. “But we didn’t do the cool stuff or have the deep conversations while hiking.”

“I do enjoy those things,” I agreed.

“Me too,” Matt knodded. “You’ve pretty much become my best friend.”

I smiled. “Thanks Matt. You too. Not sure how we became such close friends so fast, but I’m glad we did.”

As we got closer to town, the traffic got heavier. Back on the main road around the lake, it was a zoo of taxis, trucks, and buses, leaning on their horns. I was approaching that stupid intersection where the truck cut me off yesterday. I put my blinker on and started to wiggle over in the lane. There were so many horns behind me, it was hard to tell if any where signaling me or not.

I checked over my shoulder to make sure Matt was okay. He was starting to wiggle out in the lane. There was a white and blue taxi bobbing and weaving through traffic. He seemed to be the source of a lot of the honking.

As I got closer to the intersection, I slowed and looked for a break in the traffic. There wasn’t one coming for a long time. The taxi behind me was still blaring its horn. Bikes and cars all around were bobbing and weaving on both the right and wrong side of the road.

I saw a small gap in oncoming traffic. It wasn’t big enough but I cranked the handle bars and accelerated. I knew I cut it close, and as I cruised through the intersection, horns honked. I cleared the planter box and was onto the main road when I heard the squeal of breaks and the crushing sound of metal on metal behind me. It was followed by what sounded like crunching plastic and metallic thud. I coasted to the curb.

$hit! Did I just cause an accident? I thought.

I looked back and there was commotion in the crossroads. A white and blue taxi had been the car that squealed to a stop. A red bike lay on the ground. The mirror had come off and was laying in the open. The driver’s helmet had popped off and rolled away, like Matt and I always joked they would.

Then another thought came to mind. Where was Matt?

It didn’t take long to piece it together: Matt was the bike driver laying in the road.

Driver’s Ed

We decided to have a lazier day today. The logically lazy thing to do was learn to ride a motorbike.

I sat on the bike. The girl who made breakfast in the morning (Andrea) explained how it all worked.

“Turn key on off,” she said. “Hold the left brake and push start button. Then turn right handle slowly, and go.”

She explained it several more times and had me practice starting it and turning it off. Then she explained the turn signal and the horn.

Eventually it was time to give it a go. With a slow twist of the right handle bar, it began to accelerate. It took more gas than I expected to make it go. It was a lot heavier than I expected too and really hard to keep balanced at first.

For the first go, I only went about 50 yards down the alleyway before coasting to a stop. Matt followed close behind and soon Andrea was running after us. She showed us how to turn around, and gingerly, with our feet on the ground, we did.

For the next hour and a half, we went back and forth up and down the alley. When Hannah came home from the market, she joined us, running behind our bikes and shouting advice like a concerned parent.

Being automatic bikes, they were relatively simple to control. The gas was controlled by twisting the right handle bar. Hannah showed us to grip it by making an okay sign with your right hand and putting the circle formed by the thumb and finger around the gas. The fingers rested on the front break (which you want to apply slowly so you don’t spin out the back end.) On the left handle was the rear break, turn signal, and horn.

At one point we coasted to a stop and there was a younger Vietnamese guy talking to Hannah.

“He is my brother,” Hannah explained. “He can teach you.”

The brother spoke very little English. He hopped on the back of Matt’s bike and would tap his shoulders to indicate which hand to use.

When he came back to show me, he had me ride on the back first. As we tumbled down the alley (going about 30kph) he’d say “here” and point to blind turns and then at the horn button. He’d then hit the horn twice as we passed the blind spot. We made two runs up the alley with him navigating, then we switched and he road on my back.

Every time I hit the horn, he’d say “good.” When I came to making the U-turn at the end of the alley, it was not good. I slowed down too fast and he body slammed into my back. The second turn at the other end of the alley was smoother.

“Your turns are looking pretty graceful,” Matt said when we passed.

“They don’t feel graceful,” I said. The first 90* wasn’t bad, but the second 90* always required a foot to make the full pivot.

Around 1:00 we stopped for lunch. Learning to drive again is surprisingly fatiguing. Matt and I walked up the street for a coffee while Hannah cooked. When we came back, we were treated to another multi-course meal of soup, pork, fried noodles, and fish balls. It was my first time trying fish balls. It was kind of the consistency of chicken liver but with a real salty taste. I liked it more than I thought I would.

After lunch, I was ready for the open road. Matt had done some research before we came and marked out that he wanted to see the flower garden and one of the temples in the city center. Andrea gave us ponchos in case the thunder from the gray, overcast sky turned into something more real. She also offered to lead us to the flower garden. She took the lead, I followed behind, and Matt brought up the rear. When we got to the end of the alley, Matt and I both coasted to a stop. Traffic was infinitely less congested here than in Saigon, but it was still intimidating. I slowly rolled out into the street and fell in behind Andrea. Matt gave it a little too much gas and shot out into the road. With wide eyes, he made a big arch and was suddenly in the lead.

Traffic wasn’t too bad. We hugged the right and the people going faster than us just went around. The roundabout was scarier. More or less a free for all, I just pointed the bike the direction I wanted to go, and I went. In reality, it looks like uncontrolled chaos, but there is a predictable rhythm to it.

When we made it to the flower garden, Andrea showed us how to lock up the bikes. Then she left to head home.

“Matt! We’re like real backpackers now in Southeast Asia! Riding motorbikes and everything.”

I don’t think Matt was as convinced.

The gardens were beautiful. With massive flowers, intriguing vines on trees, and a Cinderella motif to all of the decorations it was one of the most tranquil places I’ve seen in any Vietnamese city. Matt’s been playing with the settings on his camera and the garden and overcast skies were the perfect place to get some fun and evocative photos.

I was pretty much hooked on the motorbike and decided I wanted to keep riding. The lap around the lake was about 10 Miles, so we decided to give it a go. Admittedly, there was one intersection where I did screech to a stop for a truck and had to put my feet down, but on the bright side there was only one intersection where I screeched to a stop for a truck and had to put my feet down.

We went back to the hostel and decided to walk to the temple. I’ll have to make another post sometime about Tom the Monk who gave us a short tour.

We got back to the hostel about an hour before dinner. Matt napped a little while I blogged. Our dinner party tonight was just made up of Simon, Hannah, Matt, and I with a Canadian couple that had just checked in.

We went for barbecue. Hannah ordered for us again and we were treated to garlic fried rice, jungle greens, sautéed mushrooms, pork ribs, and pork belly. The meat was brought out raw and then grilled over a fire in the middle of the table.

After dinner, the Canadians went back to the hostel. We went with our host to Simon’s favorite cocktail bar. We enjoyed old fashions while playing pool. Hannah and Simon left around 11:00. Matt and I enjoyed one last drink before walking back. Seeing the empty streets of Da Lat, it was clear midnight would be a better time to learn to ride a motorbike than noon.

I’m not yet sure if I’d ride a bike in Saigon, but I am looking into it. There is something fun about experiencing the roads like the locals do. Tomorrow, we’ll have an even bigger biking adventure.