En Route to Siem Reap, Cambodia

Rusty mud and red rocks fly up behind the grinding wheels of our taxi. A motorbike carrying a family of four speeds noisily past. Outside my window water buffalo graze through hopelessly flooded rice fields. Deficient farmland stretches endlessly into the the horizon, green, brown, and dull. My neck stiffens as my head collides with the back seat when we hit yet another pothole. Suddenly the car horn blares and I turn my attention to the road in front of us just in time to see the driver swerve to avoid an oncoming herd of charging cattle.
This is Cambodia. More specifically, the outlying region between it's northwest border with Thailand and the city of Siem Reap, near temples of Angkor. Though the road through this territory is unpaved and filled with potholes, we're told it's been under construction for several years. Greed and corruption allow it to remain mysteriously unfinished. Each years progress is washed away in September by the coming of the monsoon season. It's only 150km from the border to our destination of Siem Reap, but we've been told our journey will take over four hours. By bus it would have taken more than six.
I'd call this a no man's land, except people have to live here. Many, many people. Farmers mostly, though this land is far from fertile. A grand effort must be required to achieve even mediocre results. Farming is a tough business no matter where you're doing it, but the tools used here appear medieval when compared to what I've seen in the American mid-west. There is no great irrigation system, no sleek, modern sprinklers. No planes dive bombing pesticide, or John Deer tractors to plough the land. Farming here is done the way it's been done for centuries, by human hands, with the aid of animals and simple tools.
Judging from the poverty the people here live in, their back-breaking efforts yield little results. The homes along this road are small thatch huts, stilted high off of the ground to avoid flooding. Those lucky enough to afford electricity have it provided by generators which operate with less and less frequency due to the rising cost of oil. Most families don't own their own cars, and the local bus is an over sized flat-bed truck which can be seen barreling down the road with thirty or more people stuffed onto the back.
For those born into this area there is little hope of ever leaving. Though education is technically free, teacher salaries are so low that students are often required students to pay them a little extra each day to attend. Those who can't afford the small sum are turned away. Sent home to their families to help out in the fields, or be shipped off to the city to work in garment factories. Many beg tourists for money on the side of the road.
I feel ashamed to be here, to be so fascinated by all this. Voyeuristically intruding on these people's misery from the safety and comfort of an air conditioned car. This taxi ride alone will cost more than most of these people earn in a whole month.
As the sun sets darkness swallows up the surrounding countryside. The sides of the road are dimly lit by occasional neon blue tubes of light. These lamps are traps used to attract crickets. The insects attracted will jump against white plastic sheets hung behind the lights and fall into the pools of water below. In the morning they will be collected by families who will fry them up and sell them in town as popular, crispy snacks.
When we finally reach Siem Reap the road goes from rough dirt to smooth concrete nearly instantaneously. Traffic chokes the streets. Gone are the thatch huts along the roadside, replaced by seemingly endless rows of garish, Las Vegas style hotels. Precious resources are flagrantly squandered on excessive lighting and kitschy atmosphere. There is no shame to this display of wealth. Fancy restaurants with clean white linen and polished silverware mock the thin forms of the impoverished children in the streets.
This country, unlike neighboring Thailand, has few restrictions on outside investment. As in many parts of the world, the gap between rich and poor here is growing. The majority of the upscale businesses are owned by foreigners, or the wealthy Cambodian elite. Even the nearby cultural icon of Angkor Wat is owned and managed privately. This is not secret, and there is no attempt to hide it. It's all done in the open, to the shame and detriment of the proud Cambodian people.
Siem Reap has experienced a massive boom since it opened itself to tourism again just over ten years ago. Even in the two and a half years since I was last here it has grown exponentially. Property prices are on the rise, and soon many Cambodians will be unable to afford to live here, much less start their own businesses. Many will inevitably leave, but the majority will probably stay, taking what jobs are available to them. Becoming working class servants to their own cultural heritage.
Our cab reaches the center of town, and we transfer our luggage to a tuk-tuk that will take us to our hotel. Following the advice of the refreshingly candid driver we decide to stay at the Villa Coconut Lodge, a locally owned budget guesthouse. It's incredibly clean and well maintained, with fresh paint and stylish wooden furniture. For only US$10 a night we are able to afford a room with a large ceiling fan, double bed, hot water and cable television.
It's been a long day. Coming to Cambodia is always an exhilarating and exhausting experience, and the long, slow road today made it especially difficult to endure. But it's worth it. The people you meet here are friendly, and not jaded yet by tourism. They are open, and for the most part honest, and eager to share their culture with those who are interested. Cambodia may not be the easiest place to travel, but those willing to make journey will find it one of the most rewarding.

Perhentian Kecil, Malaysia

Kevin was drowning and I had to act quickly. I turned to Will, “Can you have someone call emergency medical services?” He nodded. “And assemble the oxygen kit now just in case we need it!”
I ran over to the rack of swimming fins, and started yanking sets out, throwing them to the floor as I looked for my size. I found the closest thing I could. They would be a little tight, but would have to do- this was not the time to be picky. Snatching a mask and snorkel from the soaking bucket and a buoyancy vest from one of the hangers I ran towards the frothing mass of the South China Sea. I inflated the vest with a few quick breaths, donned my mask and flippers, and kicked quickly towards my floundering friend.
I stopped a few feet short. “Kevin?” I shouted, “I'm going to pass you this BCD, use it as a floatation device and I'll tow you to shore! OK?”
He nodded, his eyes wide, arms flapping wildly. As I passed him the vest, his panic slowed. He became calmer. I towed him towards the shore. He was too tired to clear the tide himself so I slung his arm around my shoulder and helped him hobble feebly up the beach. I laid him down on his side so he could cough up any water he might swallowed. He hacked and sputtered, a welcome indication he was breathing.
Will jogged closer pinching his nose and imitating the wail of an ambulance siren. “Eeeee-awwww! Eeeee-awwww!” He smiled at me and slapped me playfully on the back commending my performance in a thick English accent, “Good job, mate! You all right down there Kev?”
Kevin nodded, and sat up. He breathing heavily, his long, wet hair plastered to his face and beard. “Bloody hell, you took long enough though! I was starting to get tired out there. It's hard work this drowning business.”
We all laughed and I extended a hand to Kevin helping him to his feet. Then we all walked up the beach to grab a coffee.
This was how the last two days had passed, and how the following two would proceed. Just when I least expected there would be some accident. Some faux call for help. Each dive I took was plagued by problems. Will and Kevin doing there best to imitate panic underwater, or being stung by poisonous barbs. Will would get mock cuts, bleeding profusely at ten meters down or fall out of the boat as it sped towards our dive site. Each act executed with mischievous glee.
I had no one to blame for all this but myself. I'd signed for the Rescue Diver Course. I'd asked them to make it hard for me. I was the only student, and with one instructor and one dive-master accompanying me for the course, I was sure to receive plenty of attention. Besides, it was fun. No one was really getting hurt and I was learning to handle realistic situations that could occur over the course of any day at the beach or during any average fun-dive. The kind of stuff any serious diver should really know.
I hadn't planned on taking this course. Amanda and I had thought we'd just hit the Perhentian Islands for a couple of days before heading back up to Thailand. But on our second night we'd struck up a conversation with Will and Melanie, a married couple who both happened to teach diving courses at Turtle Bay Dive Shop the next beach down. We got along immediately and I was impressed by the level of professionalism and sincerity with which they spoke about teaching. I was still disappointed by how my advanced certification course in Koh Tao had felt rushed and second rate. I never wanted to feel that way again about a learning experience. I got the impression that if I took a course here, I'd have a lot less chance of being disappointed. I was right.
The last day was the hardest. Two dives in which anything and everything could happen. A culmination of all the skills I'd learned over the last few days, and a few surprises that thrown in for good measure.
During the first dive I got a small taste of what it would be like to be lead a dive. Will was pretending to be a newly certified Open Water Diver, and Kevin was a know-it-all with advanced certification. They really got into their roles, Kevin chastising me for going performing routine safety checks on our equipment before we descended, and Will constantly inflating or deflating his floatation vest at the wrong time. Will would kick too quickly, and I'd have to remind him to move slowly, and be more relaxed as to not tire himself out. He also swam erratically, knocking Kevin's breathing apparatus out of his mouth, and I would need to help get Kevin's equipment back in order and plead with Will to swim with his arms still. Every time I would try to instruct the “novice,” the know-it-all would storm off impatiently, and I'd struggle to get our group back together.
It was a good lesson that demonstrated how hard it can be to look after others in such conditions and how to try to spot problems, and solve them, before they escalate. Sometimes it was hard not to laugh, watching each them play the fool.
The second dive was no laughing matter though. I knew I was in trouble when Will told me that this afternoon, “We'd just be going for a fun dive.”
This lack of information spoke volumes. Anything, could happen. Or nothing at all. I spent all of lunch mentally preparing myself. Going over every possible scenario in my head. But just like a real situation you can't plan everything you would do ahead of time.
The dive started out innocently. Will leading, Kevin with me close behind. Visibility was terrible. I could barely make out anything more than a couple meters away from me. We swam through a narrow channel of coral, and though I'm sure there were plenty of fish to be seen, I was too preoccupied with keeping an eye on my comrades to notice anything of interest.
Will stopped me twice, asking me to check my compass for a positioning of 270 degrees. I would point, and we would follow. We came across a wall of coral that sloped upwards towards the surface and Will flipped himself upside down, floating with his head angled at a crevice towards the bottom. He pointed at the hole and interlocked the fingers of his two hands, wiggling the fingers back and forth to indicate he'd spotted a lionfish. I swam up to the hole to check it out for myself, clumsily using my breathing to adjust my buoyancy, but couldn't see it. By the time I came back up, Will was nowhere to be seen.
I looked to Kevin doing my best to ask him through signs and gestures whether he'd seen which direction Will swam off in. He shook his head. A missing diver scenario.
I knew the standard procedure. At the beginning of every fun-dive, they tell you the same thing about what to do if you get separated. If you lose the group, look around for one minute. If you haven't found the them by that time, slowly ascend to the surface.
I wanted to do what I knew I'd do in real life: I would find the 270 degree direction that we'd been following during the dive and search briefly in that direction. After all, in most real-life cases Will would just have gone off on his own and when he realized he'd lost us he'd surface so we could all regroup. This being a scenario, I knew it wouldn't be this simple, but it was still the right thing to do.
Kevin disagreed. He traced out a square edged spiral in the air indicating that we should perform a search using an expanding square pattern. Arguing is difficult if not impossible underwater. You can point something out or indicate a simple plan but you can't really explain the thinking behind it.
I knew my idea was more textbook accurate, but I also knew we had no time to waste. I'd go along with Kevin's idea of jumping straight into the search pattern, but I'd start off in the direction I thought Will would have gone off in. Thus I pointed myself in a position of 270 degrees, and propelled myself five kick-cycles forward. Stopped. Turned right. Ten kick-cycles forward. Stopped. Turned right. Fifteen kick-cycles forward, etc.
When one is in a stressful situation, it's often hard to multi-task effectively. I was worried I was losing direction, wasting time. I was searching a broad area, but I still hadn't found Will.
Kevin grabbed my arm. I looked over at him, and he pointed up. I had become so focused on the direction and rate at which we were traveling that I hadn't noticed we were going upwards as we followed the natural slant of the coral shelf. We were in fact ascending at a dangerously quick rate. The expanding square pattern would not work in this terrain.
I did something a little rash at this point: I improvised. I found the 270 degree heading we'd been following originally and took off in that direction hoping that there was some methodology to the planning of this scenario. It wasn't necessarily the right thing to do, but I hoped it would work. We swam past a group of divers practicing their buoyancy, but Will was not among them. I let out a few more desperate, frustrated kicks. Scanning the murky depths I saw a dark shape in the distance floating near the bottom of the water. As we got a closer I realized it was Will.
I swam up behind him and tapped him on the back. No response. I waved my hand in front of his mask. Nothing. He was pretending to be unconscious. I emptied his buoyancy vest and clasped the metal tank strapped to his back between my legs. I looked at Kevin and indicated we were going up. I began slowly inflating my vest but we didn't rise as I expected. It was then that I noticed Will's arm was tangled up in a thin stalk rooted to the ocean floor. I yanked and yanked, eventually ripping the plant up from the sea bed, and we finally began our ascent.
When surfacing from a dive once must do it slowly as to avoid problems brought on by the expansion of air in the lungs due to decreasing pressure. Doing this at a safe speed while straddling a comrade like a horse, and trying to keep ones balance seems to last an eternity. The feeling of relief I got when we finally broke the ocean's surface was great, but short lived.
“We've got to get him in the boat!” Kevin yelled, his voice firm and authoritative.
I snapped out of my momentary trance and flipped Will over on his back inflating his vest. I removed my weight belt and then his so we would be at maximum buoyancy. Removed both our masks and regulators. Then I checked his breathing. Nothing.
I started to administer mock rescue breaths while towing him towards the boat. Kevin had flagged down our captain who brought the dingy closer, so that thankfully I did not have far to bring him. The waves were choppy and kept slopping over Will's face as I dragged him through the water, increasing the difficulty of mouth to mouth and I'm quite sure also decreasing his comfort.
Kevin got his equipment off and climbed aboard while I removed Will's vest and tank. We lifted him into the boat. On board Kevin began CPR while I removed my equipment and climbed aboard.
The boat sped back towards the beach, where we would call emergency services and administer oxygen. It felt like the test would never end. I knew I had done some things wrong, but overall, we'd gotten the job done. During my debriefing later that afternoon Will was critical but supportive.
“Remember,” he told me. “You're going to make mistakes. You're not always going to do everything perfect. Besides, in a real situation there's no one right solution. But you've educated yourself about some of the ways to try to do things better. And now, if a real situation takes place you'll be informed.”
I knew he was right. I was glad I'd taken the course, and felt good about the skills I'd learned over the last four days. I just hoped I would never have a chance to use them.

Sipidan, Malaysia

“From birth, man carries the weight of gravity on his shoulders. He is bolted to the earth. But man has only to sink beneath the surface and he is set free."

- Jacques Cousteau

When I was young my parents bought me a Fisher-Price bathtub play set. Among other things it included a yellow submarine, a brass helmeted deep sea explorer, an octopus and a scuba diver. Both in and out of the bath I spent countless hours with these toys. My imagination taking me fathoms below the ocean's surface where I would search for treasure, encounter fearsome creatures, and discover the remnants of lost civilizations.
It would be nearly three decades later before I finally experienced the limitless pleasure of actual scuba diving. I was hesitant at first because I'm not a very strong swimmer. But with encouragement from friends, I slowly became convinced I could do it.
“To dive, you don't have to be able to swim, just sink,” one potential instructor laughed. She may have been joking, but in a way, she's right.
On the island of Utila in Honduras I overcame my fears and took a PADI Open Water Certification course. By the time the three day class was over I had become hopelessly addicted. Swept away by the romance of seeing an entirely new eco-system at work, observing the strange, colorful fish and coral. The effortless movement and freedom of weightlessness. These experiences drew me into, and under the ocean, over and over again.
Earlier this year Amanda earned her scuba certification on the island of Kho Tao in Thailand. Together we took an advanced class to work on our skills and further the depth and variety of sites we could explore. It was here that a young Swedish student we met suggested we should go to Malaysia and dive in Sipidan.
Sipidan is a tiny volcanic island that lies five degrees north of the equator, and 35km east of Malaysian Borneo. Made famous by the films of French under sea explorer Jacques Cousteau, the rich marine reserves off-shore contain some of the world's most spectacular diving. These waters are teeming with aquatic life. Turtles, shark, octopus, squid. It's not uncommon to see several, if not all of these creatures here within the space of an afternoon.
Rich but fragile, an environment such as this can easily be ruined. Many world class dive sites become poorer every year due to overuse. But in an effort to minimize the impact on the reefs here the Malaysian government allows only one hundred twenty people per day to dive within the park boundaries. If this sounds like a lot, it isn't. In fact, there's a waiting list to get in to Sipidan. Due to these limitations reservations need to be made days, if not weeks in advance depending upon the season. This kind of foreword thinking is necessary to keep the reefs intact, and has the extra added bonus of giving you plenty of space when you explore its depths. The benefits far outweigh the costs, and it's easily worth the effort and planning it takes to get there.

Rain pelted down around us as the small taxi boat sliced quickly through the choppy ocean waves. Twin 250 horsepower engines sputtered loudly behind us. The engines slowed, quieting, and the boat banked gently to the right. I stood up, squinting through the foggy front windows and got my first glimpse of our resort, Seaventures.
This would be our home for the next four days: a converted oil rig parked off the coast of Mabul Island just outside the boundaries of the reserve. The hulking mass of the platform had been painted in humorous swaths of bright yellow, orange, and baby blue. Like a life sized accessory to the play set of my youth, it was a toy I couldn't wait to play with. Stepping off the boat we boarded a freight elevator that ground it's way slowly up the side of the rig, and were received at the top with warm greetings and fresh squeezed orange juice.
Our dive master, Mondo, was a short, broad chested, Philipino immigrant with a thin mustache and a blinding white smile. For the duration of our stay he would be a nearly constant companion. During the days he would lead our undersea expeditions, and in the evenings he would entertain us with stories about his children, or perform acoustic renditions of songs by Scorpions, and Bon Jovi among others.
He took us on our first dive barely an hour after we'd reached the platform. An orientation dive directly underneath the resort so that he could asses our skills. We took the freight elevator all the way down until our calves were partway submerged in bathtub warm water. Then putting our regulators in our mouths we stepped off the elevator and directly began our descent.
I hadn't expected to see much right below the rig. It was after all, an artificial reef. Mostly made up of disposed cages and other industrial iron sculptures. But Mabul, the island only several hundred yards away is renowned for muck-diving. A term used to describe a type of diving centered around seeing small, often hard to spot creatures. As we swam lazily through the still waters that lay beneath our bedroom, many new things were revealed to me. Scorpionfish hid grumpily in the murky depths. Docile, but sometimes deadly- they are some of the most venomous creatures of the sea. They disguise themselves against dark leafy backdrops, perfectly suited to the artificial environment we were in. There were lionfish as well, gracefully swimming with their striped brown and white plumage. We saw clownfish, shrimp, and wide eyed moray eels. Humongous clams. Even a ghost pipefish, it's long, thin pipe cleaner body curling as it drifted away.
Our second dive revealed a large black and white striped sea snake. In my mind, snakes belong on the surface, so it was surreal to watch one slither it's way across the ocean floor, rustling up silt and sand. As it made it's way along below us, Mondo pointed at it, then clenched his hand into a fist repeatedly, an under water sign language indicating danger. Later I would learn that even the smallest of sea snakes contains a poison in it's fangs ten times as deadly as that of a cobra.
The next day we took a boat out to Sipidan to do three dives there. By the end of our first dive off the island, I'd already stopped counting the number of sea turtles I'd seen. Don't take that wrong. Repeated sightings in no way diminish how impressive these creatures are. It's just that you'll see an average of eight or ten during the course of a single dive. Some small, with smoother less distinct shells. Some larger, older and rougher looking. They were everywhere. Sleeping beneath coral outcroppings, or surfacing next to the boat as we prepared our equipment. Floating away, spread eagle with awkward, juvenile batfish scurrying along beneath their protective shade. Turtles are easily the most noble creature I've seen under water. One look at their faces and their tiny black eyes makes it obvious why so many cultures associate this creature with wisdom.
My most memorable sightings took place our third day, during our second dive at Barracuda Point. This site is thought by many to be the top dive site in the world, and though I'm not experienced enough to confirm this I can easily say it's the best site I've ever been to,
The dive began commonly enough, as common as any dive in this paradise ever could. Turtles were plentiful, as were tiggerfish, lionfish, and gaily colored coral. There were large sponges, beautiful leafy fans, and even some impressively large, but harmless reef sharks.
Part way through the dive, the current got stronger, pulling us down the length of the wall. I heard Mondo bang his tank and I turned my head to see him swimming up the shelf, against the current. Amanda and I struggled to follow him, eventually reaching up and over the crest. We were kicking hard just to stay in place, and I couldn't see why we were wasting our energy, but I wasn't about to be the first to drift away.
Then something shiny and silver crept into my view. I exhaled to adjust my buoyancy downward, and held on to a small edge of coral to stabilize myself. Looking over at Amanda I could see her eyes were wide with surprise. A school of large barracuda, stacked six feet tall, was swimming past us. Their beady eyes and awkward, grimacing jaws must have numbered into the hundreds if not the thousands. A great shimmering wall of silver life.
There were so many it took several minutes for them to pass, but my attention never lapsed. They made a small curve past us, then back towards before finally drifting away into the darkness of the open sea.
We let go, pulled along with the current and began little by little to make our way towards the surface. The light filtering through the waves increased and the hue of the coral seemed to swell and saturate. But we hadn't gone up yet and the day had one final surprise for us.
Suspended beneath a shaft of light were two small, purple and orange squid, their beards rustling, caught in the act of mating. The crayon box colors of the reef slipped away beneath me, and I stared mesmerized by the tiny dramas that played themselves out around me. Time slowed down, and I held this moment of fascination as long as I could, but eventually it was time for our inevitable final ascent.
As we surfaced I removed my mask, and smiled. I couldn't remember a time I felt more comfortable, or more alive. I looked over at Amanda.
“This is the one I'm going to remember.” I said.
She smiled and nodded, both of us a little high. I couldn't wait to go back down.