#7 LONG NIGHTS, LONG DIVES

Dive course day 2. This time I don't have to get up that early, since I can catch a ride with the cute Dive Master who works at my diving school. Feeling a bit tired, a bit excited, and a bit nervous, I get into the large car. The interest in my driver only grows with our first real one-on-one conversation. But after just a few minutes, we've already arrived at our first stop: We pick up the French girl from yesterday, and with her comes a burst of sunshine into the backseat. She radiates incredibly positive and warm energy, so the rest of the short car ride over the island with the two of them and some nice music is a wonderful start in the day.

At the dive center, we gear up and get ready for the sea right away. Barefoot and in wetsuits, we walk to the beach just around the corner, where the utility vehicle (a small Australian pickup truck) is waiting with all our tanks, fins, masks, and weights. Under a tree on the grassy area of the beach, we receive our dive briefing. All information about the dive plan, who does what, when, and how, is discussed. With about 20 kilograms on our backs and our dive fins in hand, the two other students, myself, and our instructor make our way into the water. Magnetic Island is perfect for shore diving, which means we walk into the water up to our hips and then, with the buoyancy compensator device (BCD) on our backs, we can float at the surface while putting on our fins, mask, and regulator, and then we're already ready to descend:

(It's a bit difficult for me to remember exactly the sensations of the first few dives now, over 100 dives later. It's a bit like trying to remember the first drunk you had with alcohol or the first kiss. Especially when it's not the only experience of its kind. However, I still remember very clearly that... )

 I'm immediately in love with this completely new feeling of weightlessness. Slowly, I sink toward the bottom while following the most important rule of SCUBA diving: Never hold your breath. The sound of my own steady breathing rhythm is the only thing I'll hear for the next 45 minutes from the moment my head disappears under the surface. This is also a very new, unfamiliar situation. At least I'm somewhat familiar with the dive fins, as snorkeling equipment has been a staple of summer vacations since childhood. We swim eastward for a short time until we kneel in a circle at a depth of about 4 meters. My focus is entirely on my instructor, who communicates with us with overly obvious, slow, and thankfully previously explained hand signals for each exercise. Each of us floods and clears our diving mask - one of the skills I'll need most frequently in the future. After a few rounds, we also take off the mask completely and put it back on, followed by blowing out the saltwater that’s now inside. My eyes tear up, but the adrenaline pushes the discomfort into the background. The exercises regarding the regulator are probably the most life-saving, but here too, there are no major issues. And then the first dive in the ocean is already over.

After a debriefing, we're sent on our lunch break, which I spend with a fellow student and the two dive masters from the carpool this morning. The veggie burger is super delicious, the conversations entertaining and interesting. I can't help but feel that my crush might be more interested in the girl from Argentina than in me. I don’t like that my Spanish isn't good enough yet to engage in conversation properly, and I assume that the shared border between their home countries might weaken my chances.

After changing our tanks, we go straight back into the water. We work on more skills and get more accustomed to the new world we're diving into. On the way back from our little witch circle (because hey, we're breathing underwater here, wtf?!), where we're kneeling again to go through the academic part, I spot what looks like a stick on the ocean floor, but it looks different from the pieces of palm leaves lying around. I gesture toward the unknown object about 2 meters away from me, and just as I've extended my arm and turned to my teacher with a questioning look, the misidentified stick moves and swims away as a now recognizable ray. At first, I'm startled by the unexpected movement, but then I'm immediately thrilled about this first extraordinary encounter with the inhabitants of the underwater world. Firstly, because I've never seen a ray before, and also because I spotted it in the sand despite its camouflage and without prior knowledge of their immediate existence. From that moment on, I'm even more attentive to my surroundings and can't wait to find more animals.

In the evening at the hostel, I'm having dinner with a few acquaintances when I spontaneously decide to go to the Toad Races with some of them. A bizarre situation unfolds as we arrive in the backyard of a large resort: A bunch of people stand around a marked circle, in the middle a hexagonal box made of plexiglass with different compartments, each housing a toad. After some time for bidding and betting with amounts that, in my opinion, are crazy high considering that we're talking about toads collected from the street and considered a nuisance due to their high population. The commitment and palpable passion of the locals amuse me, and when the race starts, there's a real tension in the air: the container is lifted, and now six toads sit in the middle of the circle, cheered on to be the first to hop over the outer boundary. Some of the toads don't even move, others jump excitedly away, accompanied by cheering from the spectators. I watch the while thing for a few rounds, fascinated by the unusual form of entertainment and therefore sceptical. They're small, warty toads, but still living beings who are brought into an unnatural and probably super stressful situation for our amusement. It doesn't seem like they're being harmed, but I'm still not a fan. Plus, I'm not sure what happens to the toads after the races, because after talking to locals who claim to "aim for them when they see one on the street," I doubt they're just released again. I try to find peace in ignorance, especially since I'm not familiar with the extent of the nuisance, so I can't decide morally or rationally whether to approve or be horrified.

Back at the hostel, the World Cup is being broadcast on the screen. Travelers from all nations drink and cheer together. I'm not really interested in the game, but more in finding the Dutch guy from yesterday. A few hours ago, we exchanged slippers; an act that followed incredible nonsense talk with him and his friend. We mostly talked shit, joked, and made fun of each other. It was a refreshing change from all the other, always appearing the same small talk encounters I've had in the hostel over the past few days. It felt more like hanging out with homies than "backpacker networking," which I really appreciated. At some point, the conversation led to our shoes, and we exchanged them because he didn't believe in the comfort level of my incredibly comfortable soles. From that moment on, I had essentially lost my Cloudfoam slippers (big big recommendation at this point). Because a few minutes later, when I made the now-or-never decision to leave the hostel for the Toad Races, my slippers were on a test run to the bar. The bus was coming in a minute, so there was no time for swapping back...

So, this mission had to be completed. When I finally find the Dutch guy, we both rejoice in our own shoes. He's relieved because he's leaving tomorrow and was afraid he'd have to take the ferry in the morning without his own slippers. For this reason, he wants to say goodbye and go to bed right after, but somehow we end up at a table and have a few drinks with his friend and a girl from the hostel while the ridiculous conversations continue exactly where they left off. After an hour, my face hurts from grinning and laughing. Even though everyone is tired and has enough good reasons to go to bed early - the "last night" vibe kicks in and we stay until closing time. When the last drink is finished and the venue is completely empty, we also decide to leave. But not like reasonable people to go to bed, but to the beach. We lie in the sand under the starry sky, and the conversations slowly become deeper. I feel a great sense of gratitude for this moment and appreciate everything about it: the mild temperature, the sound of the sea as background music, the clear sky that presents a few constellations. But above all, the openness and warmth emanating from my companions. I hear about experiences that shaped lives, lost friends and homesickness. On the other hand, I feel incredible empathy for the thoughts I share, and we exchange many words of appreciation. Tired and a little sad that the friendship between us only emerged on the last night of the two guys, we all say goodbye and go to bed at three in the morning. I strongly hope that sleep deprivation won't affect my final exam, which I have to take tomorrow at the dive center.

After all, at least I'll be picked up by car again...