#6 FIRST TIME MAGGIE, HOSTEL AND SCUBA

November 21, 2022. I've spent almost exactly a month in Townsville, Queensland now. From there, just a 20-minute ferry ride away, is Magnetic Island: a beautiful place with wide beaches, rocky coasts and forests, a handful of neighbourhoods and a long road that connects everything from north to south, mostly along the shore and over the small mountains between the inhabited areas. The west coast can only be reached by 4-wheel-drive cars or a long hike, but luckily, the sunset can also be admired from other spots on the island, locally known as "Maggie."

I plan my stay quite pragmatically: I book the hostel recommended to me and sign up for the Open Water Diver course. I allocate a total of one week for my venture on the well over 50 square kilometres big island, which is more than twice as many days as most people I meet or whose reviews I read online. But since I have plenty of time anyway and I already expect the 3 days I will spend in the dive school and in the water to be super exhausting, I allow myself a little more time to explore everything on land as well.

On the first day, I walk unbelievably much: With my backpack, which is far too heavy and large, I arrive at the harbor and decide in a burst of motivation to walk all the way to my hostel. Why? Well, in theory it sounds like a good idea: the weather is nice, I get to stroll along the beach, I'm active and I save money... But after 20 minutes and only half the distance covered, I have to recover from the tirelessly blazing sun in the shade. I sit on the beach under a little tree, my backpack as a chair and sip the last drops from my reusable bottle that I bought especially for Australia... but the view of the sea and the Robinson Crusoe vibe make up for it.

The hostel is my first experience with this type of accommodation while traveling. My bunk bed is situated with 3 others in a tiny A-frame hut that doesn't even offer coat hooks, let alone closets or drawers. I decide on the lower bed at the back right; the strongest arguments being sockets within reach, a small protrusion in the wooden hut structure that I repurpose as a nightstand, and the farthest distance from the door. The remaining beds are gradually occupied, but everyone only stays for a few nights. It seems as everyone is just passing through on their trip along the East Coast and has precise plans of where they're going next. One of the beds hosts an outgoing Brit who invites me directly to a small gathering with a few people from the hostel. With the desire to experience the full hostel experience, I go along, but don't even stay for an hour. I keep hearing too many new names - of people who don't interest me much and some repeating names of cities that apparently are worth visiting... I decline drinks and a long party night, stating that I have to get up early in the morning.

Instead, I decide to explore my surroundings a bit in the early evening and climb into the bushes from my balcony. My cottage is the very last in the row, and my balcony borders on a patch of dry grass, which after a few dozen meters gives way to some boulders. I climb down, sit on the rocks, and gaze at the sea and the mainland on the other side. I'm happy and excited and go to sleep fairly early by backpacker standards.

The next day begins again with a "little" hike: I don't trust bus connections in unfamiliar places and definitely don't want to be late on my first day at the dive center. So, I plan 60 minutes for the supposed 40-minute route according to Google Maps. A wise move, because I had no idea about the elevation I would have to conquer on my walk. Anyway, I enjoy the view during a few breaks, which is beautiful at every moment of the morning journey; the trees against the bright blue sky and the waves crashing with either great force or calmly against the coast depending on the orientation of the bay. I'm glad to be walking and able to take everything slowly.

Arriving at the dive school, I immediately feel comfortable. Everything seems very chill and relaxed. After the paperwork and a cup of chai, we get started: a 1.55-meter-tall Frenchwoman explains the diving equipment to my two classmates and me. The many new pieces of information and terms are a bit overwhelming, and a certain respect for the whole thing starts to set in... I've always been an Aquarius through and through; swimming or snorkeling in the ocean or pool has been one of the things I've been most carefree and enjoyed the most since childhood. Taking the underwater experience to the next level is a massive step, and all the technical knowledge required for it initially worries me. I recall the stories of a hostel acquaintance last night: he talked about diving in Thailand without a diving license. Yesterday, I already thought he was crazy, partly because I was firmly convinced that it surely wasn't legal, and partly because of how he could (literally) dive headfirst into such an endeavour without really knowing what he was getting into... For me, it was clear that I wanted to understand everything precisely, for my peace of mind and for my very own experience underwater. Because as I now know, uncertified divers in the so-called "Try Scuba" dives are basically grabbed by the neck like a puppy and dragged over the reef by the instructor without really being active themselves. I prefer a bit of theory and a little overwhelm at the beginning with the prospect of independence. So, I try to absorb and internalize everything as well as possible, asking many questions to make sure I've understood everything. Then comes a water fitness test in the pool of the dive school: first, we have to swim for 15 minutes, then tread water for 10 minutes. All quite easy, but then it gets serious: under guidance, we assemble our equipment and enter the pool with our instructor. The Australian teaches us everything from necessary skills to helpful tricks, emergency procedures, and hand signals with a lot of patience and humour. We learn a lot, and it's incredibly fun. What our teacher doesn't learn are our names. For him, we are just Argentina, Finland and Germany. Actually a smart move on his part, because, as I now know, remembering names is sometimes simply too much to ask for... We spend several hours in the pool, which measures about 3 meters at the deep end. Even several meters below the surface, I immediately feel really good. Everything comes easily to me and makes sense. Seeing and implementing all the theory in practice makes it easier for me to understand and gets me excited for the first real dive in the sea!

The first day comes to an end, and I'm completely convinced that I've chosen the right place: the whole team is super nice, the two owners of the dive school are two Australians straight out of the book. The rest, Dive Masters and Instructors or people training to become one, is a colorful mix of young people from all over the world, and it seems that they all have only 2 things in common: the passion for the ocean and the wonderful, open attitude that creates a warm atmosphere among everyone. As I say goodbye and prepare to walk back home, a ride is offered to me. I decline for the moment, but I gratefully accept the offer for the next morning. On the one hand, it saves me the long walk in the sun, which seems too hot for the early hour, but also because it's the dive master with the loveliest smile who asks me.

Feeling super content, I make my way home. Before going to my room, I stop by the pool and sit with my legs hanging in the water at the edge of the pool. Two girls from Germany start talking to me; they, like many others, are traveling in pairs through the country. Two guys are playing with a ball in the pool, and I involuntarily get some splashes a few times. After recovering for a moment and as the evening slowly approaches, I, like many of the hostel guests, order my dinner in the bar and restaurant area of the large premises. The options are limited for veggies, but since I'm not yet well-versed in the backpacker game, I completely overlooked that there are also a communal kitchen and a few supermarkets.

It takes forever for my order to reach my table, which keeps me part of the group consisting of me, my British roommate, and other people in their mid-twenties. I have the same small talk again and again, with the same questions, which can almost be described as a backpacker interview: name, age, country of origin, past travels, current plan, next destination. Somehow interesting but also somehow so boring and meaningless. Without substance, without depth, without a real connection.

I'm glad when my pizza finally arrives, but by this time, I've already been convinced to join the group's evening plans: the Bar Wars are taking place; a series of party games with prizes in liquid form to be won. Contrary to my expectations, it's actually quite fun; we laugh a lot and take turns competing in various games against other groups. After a few hours, I say goodbye after the first round of a drinking game that my team starts with a deck of cards and the bottle of wine we won after the official part of the evening program. This hostel drinking culture just isn't for me, and I prefer to be fit tomorrow instead of hungover. At least my very first dives in the sea are coming up...