Going Under- Nha Trang, Vietnam: June 21-30, 2007

Nha Trang, Vietnam, and our dive sites.


Many of you have heard the saying that we know more about the surface of the moon than we do about our own oceans, despite the fact that they cover most of our planet. As geographers, a profession dedicated to understanding our planet, we're particularly concerned about this knowledge gap. Many theories concerning the origin of life point to the oceans. Much of the world's protein comes from the oceans. Trade, exploration, sharing of civilizations- all oceanic. Huge parts of our climate are controlled by ocean currents, ocean reflectivity, and ocean temperatures. Our life on land, from physical geography to political, is all related to the oceans. They permeate our mythology and our livelihoods, yet evade our conciousness. Many of us can barely imagine what lies beneath their ever-changing surface.

The oceans near Nha Trang. Beneath their surface, a completely foreign yet critically important world thrives.

On our first day in Nha Trang we headed straight for the dive centers. Our second and last stop was Rainbow Divers, an outfit with one of the best reputations in southeast Asia. Walking into the atypically plush dive center, we were immediately met by one of the dive instructors, a Spaniard named Miquel. It only took a few moments of discussion for him to sell us on the idea of going on a discover dive- a brief, stress-free, and cheap introduction to the underwater world. Ben, in possession of an entire dive gear ensemble and with a couple dives under his belt, was already sold on the idea of doing a certification course. Faye, having spent about a third of her life in the water, was also leaning that way but feared committing without making sure. As we signed the waivers, Miquel (clearly more confident than Faye) assured us "You'll be back the next day to get certified. Maybe I'll be your instructor, eh?"

The next morning, we groggily rolled out of bed at 5:30 and trudged from our back alley hotel (ant-infested and prone to hourly blackouts- and overpriced)to the friendly confines of the dive center. After a quick breakfast, we caught a bus to the harbor where our boat waited in a line of identical dive vessels. We putted out to sea past the rusting hulls of container ships on their last legs, overcrowded ferries, and small fishing dinghies.

The Pha Lai, our top candidate for local wreck diving. Our captain had a better idea.

As we exited the harbor and began our 45 minute cruise to the first dive site, we passed underneath one of the most obnoxious and ghastly representatives of Vietnam's recent tourism boom. A series of giant beams rose from the sea like concrete waterspouts. Riding the cable that connected these towering eyesores were an endless procession of gondola cars gliding to an equally unattractive island resort, complete with a Hollywood-like sign announcing its presence. Despite the fact that "VINPEARL" was serviced by a more than adequate armada of ferries, some enterprising but misguided developer decided the trendy locale needed an alternative method of access. "Do you see anybody in any of them?" we asked each other of the gondolas that marched like flying ants above our heads. "Nope," we agreed in unison. "Does anybody ever use them?" "Nope," came the reply from a few of the opiniated characters on the boat. It's a bad habit that's become endemic in Vietnam-over-anxious developers turning natural attractions into amusement park-like obtrusions that repulse most tourists of western origin.

The aerial cable-car to Vinpearl Resort. Not only is it hideous, it's also mostly empty.

Turning our eyes from the ugliness above to the dive crew who'd gathered at the bow of the boat, we anxiously listened to the day's briefing. Soon, we were whisked away to the sundeck to don our wetsuits and learn about the rest of the gear we'd be using that day. Within minutes, we were back downstairs strapping into our weight belts and BCDs (Bouyancy Control Devices) and preparing to dive in with our Vietnamese guides. Faye went first, taking a giant step off the back of the boat and plunging into the glittering turquoise water. Her eyes flew open as she floated back up to the surface, taking in the perfectly round bubbles rising with her. The first few moments, as her guide Shu got her to duck her head in the water and breathe, were almost panic inducing. After spending her whole life learning how to keep her head above water or at least avoid inhaling while under, it went against every instinct to simply inhale and exhale.

Deep breath... we're going under for the first time.

Before she knew it, her breathing had steadied and Shu was slowly deflating her BCD, taking her deeper. Then she forgot to be scared, forgot to be uncomfortable, and forgot that she was a stranger in this place. The reef met us as we descended, its soft coral waving gently with barely perceptible currents. Brilliant angel fish, their irridescent scales gleaming, slipped by silently. Bold anemone fish darted forward to defend their nests. Bizzare sea cucumbers the size of baseball bats sprawled on the white sand bottom. We moved weightlessly through a world that Faye had never quite believed existed- the photos in her books or National Geographic magazines had failed short of convincing her such completely foreign beauty could exist mere meters from the surface world. Within minutes, she knew that one dive could never be enough.

Anemone Fish at Moray Beach. Photo by Miquel Sola.

From the boat, Ben watched a young Viet Kieu (Vietnamese American) girl struggle with her regulator and panic every time her head sunk under. Faye, however, was nowhere to be seen, and he knew this meant good things- we'd be going diving again tomorrow. When Faye finally emerged from the depths, eyes the size of silver dollars, he got a verbal confirmation of this prediction and took the plunge for himself. To him, the concept of breathing underwater wasn't quite as foreign, but the sights on the reef certainly were. 35 minutes of dodging jellyfish and sparring with clownfish was all it took to spark the addiction- to hell with our dwindling bank accounts, we were getting certified.

Ben took the plunge next, already knowing that we'd be back the next day for the certification course.

Content with the fact that we'd be spending the next several days similarly submerged, we decided to save $40 and skip the second dive of the day. We spent the afternoon lounging on the sundeck plotting all of the other dives we could do throughout SE Asia once we got certified and trading barbs with the decidedly un-politically correct dive crew. Miquel found us munching on slices of pineapple and chided us- "You coming back tomorrow? Ahhhhhh- see, I told you!"

We spent the second dive of the day snorkeling and enjoying views of Madonna Rock from the sundeck.

Of course, our plans almost got sunk- litterally- as fast as we made them. Coming back into the harbor, we discussed the lack of shipwrecks in Vietnam. "They salvage everything here," one of the dive instructors complained. We offered to do a little pirating in exchange for free dives, thinking we might be able to scuttle the new, Titanic-like leviathon owned by another local dive outfit. Turns out, our young Vietnamese captain had a better idea- save the hassle of scuttling someone elses rig and just sink our own. While attempting to park the wooden-hulled vessel, the poor (and now unemployed) guy mistakenly missed the crucial step of putting the boat into reverse. So when he hit the accelerator, thinking that this would slow our approach to the dock, the boat instead lurched forward and into the cement dock with a thunderous crash. The front of the boat crumpled and the rumor of an imminent sinking spread quickly. Customers were hustled off the stricken vessel while divers rushed to remove their expensive equipment. As we rubbernecked our way back to the van, we wondered if perhaps we should have been knocking on wood during the shipwreck discussion.

The docks at Nha Trang Harbor-the scene of our almost-sinking. The boat was saved, and so were our plans for the next week.

Thankfully, the integrity of the boat- and thus our plans- held true. We signed up for the PADI National Geographic Open Water certification course and began our confined water dives the next day. As luck would have it, Miquel was indeed our instructor. Energetic, talkative, intelligent, well-informed, and generally one of the coolest people we've met on the trip, Miquel was the perfect guy to spend the week with.

Miquel's the panicked diver on the right. Jack's the poor rescue diving trainee on the left who's got to save him. Miquel was an awesome dive instructor and soon became an even better friend. Jack probably disagrees with us at this stage.

To become PADI certified, the prospective diver needs to first complete five modules of course work and spend some time in the swimming pool practicing the skills they'll need to dive in open water. So, for the next two days, we'd wake up early and head to the dive center, eat breakfast, do some work in the classroom, and then meet up with Miquel at the swimming pool. The dive center instantly became our home away from home, and any time we weren't in the water, we were there enjoying good food, good conversation, free WiFi, and non-stop CNN International on the TV (love them or hate them, we can't live without current events). But none of this compared to being in the ocean, and we were thrilled when we completed our confined water work and headed back out to the reef.

Good food, colorful characters, free WiFi, and non-stop news made Rainbow Divers a fun place to hang out, but after two days of class and confined water, we were happy to get back to this.

Day three of the five day course, to our endless delight, had us doing exactly that. We hustled aboard the damaged but still serviceable dive boat (some typical feat of Vietnamese ingenuity saved it from a watery grave) and chugged out to Debbie's Beach, one of about a dozen favored dive spots near Nha Trang. We clumsily assembled our dive gear while bobbing up and down in a relentless three-foot swell and then, one by one, made the giant leap into the ocean. A pat of the head indicated an "OK" to the boat, the air hissed out of our inflated BCDs, and down we went...

Ben takes the giant step off the boat and into the waters near Nha Trang.

We began our dive in a sandy area. Giant blue starfish sprawled out on the sea floor, the black weaponry of long-spined sea urchins clustered in groups, and a new family of false clown fish darted out from lone anemones to challenge the intruders. Schools of shimmering fusiliers swept past as we rehearsed our skills. Soon, Miquel decided we were ready to visit the reef. We rose and fell gently (or not so gently, sometimes shooting up towards the surface as Miquel grabbed us, or drifting inevitably towards the bottom) with each deep breath. The reef appeared, magnified by the blue water, and we desperately tried to maintain neutral bouyancy so as to not go crashing into its fragile (and abrasive) surface. Coral, actually colonies of tiny aquatic organisms, is easily damaged by clumsy divers like us. Reefs are also very susceptible to climate change. They typically only form in shallow water in warmer climes. The range of temperatures in which they thrive is actually quite small, and fluctuations in water temperature can have severe impacts for the health of the reef and its surrounding ecosystem.

Coral Garden- Debbie's Beach. Photo by Miquel Sola.

According to the National Geographic Diver Almanac, conveniently included with our dive books, reefs contain "about one third of all known fish species and are the nursery grounds for about 25 percent of all marine species." It's not too hard to connect the dots in this picture- damaged reefs mean less marine life, which means not only the destruction of ecosystems and loss of resources, but also, most tangibly for human societies, less fish to catch and eat. Since fishing provides countless people with not just employment but critical protein they might otherwise lack, it's easy to see how damage to reefs can quickly become an economic and political issue.

Coral Garden- Mama Hahn. Photo by Miquel Sola.

On our second dive, Miquel led us to a giant crater where pieces of dead, white coral littered the sand and nothing colorful seemed to exist. This spot, so dramatically different from the reef that thrived around it, is the site of a dynamite fishing incident. Dynamite fishing has proven a major problem in Vietnam (and much of the rest of the developing world). It's a simple process- drop some dynamite in the water, wait for it to go off, and watch the dead fish float to the surface. Not so simple, however, are the effects- dynamite fishermen aren't just removing a few specific fish from the intricate web of their ecosystem, they're removing the ecosystem. Large numbers of fish, plants, corals, and other life forms are killed immediately; others die of starvation or are forced to compete in another area that may not be able to support them. Dynamite fishing in any one area can effectively destroy the fishery in one go, which then leaves local fishermen without a resource, resulting in either economic diversification, migration, or starvation. Implications can be widespread, especially since reefs act as a major nursery for migratory species. The dynamite fishing near Nha Trang could mean a very bad year for fishermen hundreds of miles away. Fotunately, the reefs around Nha Trang are now part of a marine park and theoretically protected from such devastating practices, while locals are still allowed to fish with poles and lines. Unfortunately, many of the world's most fragile reef ecosystems remain unprotected and vulnerable.

Coral Garden- Mama Hahn. Photo by Miquel Sola.

Our first two open water dives completed, we headed back to Rainbow Divers and giddily rehashed the day's events. We had seen a giant moray eel whose girth was that of Ben's upper leg and had ascended through a shimmering blanket of translucent, pulsating jellyfish. Our addiction was reaffirmed, and we couldn't wait to get back in the water for the final two dives of our basic open water certification course. Another early morning found us on the boat and headed towards Madonna Rock again, where we would perform a few more of the required skills and spend another twenty minutes exploring. We followed Miquel over ridges of reef and down into deeper bowls, gradually reaching a depth of 17 meters (almost 56 feet). The visibility was still phenomenal, and the bright colors of the coral belied our depth. As we explored, often pausing to hover over a craftily camoflauged lizardfish or to laugh at the completely alien nudibranches, we became more and more comfortable controlling our motion in the water (although Faye was still prone to rolling on one side unwittingly). That was one of the best parts about this particular course: we would go down, get our work done, and still have lots of time to go on a leisurely swim. Miquel knew how to feed the addiction, that's for sure. And that's one of the many reasons why we love him. He taught us well and made sure we were doing things right- and then he showed us a hell of a good time.

Angler Fish- Madonna Rock. Photo by Miquel Sola.

Nudibranch- Mama Hahn. Photo by Miquel Sola.

Giant Clam- Debbie's Beach. Photo by Miquel Sola.

After a few minutes sunning back on deck, we moved a whole 50 meters to the next dive site. Mama Hahn is a gently sloping beach/reef. We started deep, and wound our way up into shallower areas where the waters were brightly illuminated and teeming with life. Miquel is a pro at finding elusive creatures and brought us face to face with our first pipefish- imagine a seahorse uncurled, and expertly camoflauged. We were overwhelmed at the amount of life we saw, but know full well we missed a huge amount. Our untrained eyes stood no chance against the expansive adaptations inhabitants of the reef have made. The range of camoflauges, hiding spaces, and disguises are mind boggling, and drove home just how complex and amazing this ecosystem is. This dive was also our chance to shame ourselves horribly, as we were tested on underwater navigation. As geographers, you'd think we could use a compass to swim back and forth along a straight line. It's harder than it looks. Really.

Lizard Fish- Mama Hahn. Photo by Miquel Sola.

Frog Fish- Debbie's Beach. Photo by Miquel Sola.

Despite our sketchy performance in the navigation course, we emerged from this fourth dive as officially certified PADI open water divers. Our tickets to endless underwater adventures throughout the world had been punched. We were ecstatic. But, we still had one more day of coursework to complete. When we signed up, we were given the option of doing the regular certification course or taking on an extra day of class and two extra dives to get the National Geographic certification. As could be expected, the decision was an easy one- we signed on for the Nat Geo course without hesitation. Our fifth and sixth dives consisted of us practicing our bouyancy (a critical skill for the ecologically conscientious diver), doing a little more work on our navigation (much needed after the previous day's disaster), and taking an entire dive to simply observe the spectacles that surrounded us (absolutely thrilling from start to finish). The coolest part of the whole episode involved us stopping to observe a cleaning station.

Lion Fish- Mama Hahn. Photo by Miquel Sola.

Anemone Fish- Moray Beach. Photo by Miquel Sola.

Cleaning stations are one of the best examples of the intricacies of reef life. Bright blue and yellow fish as long as our fingers and named, appropriately enough, cleaner wrasse, waiting the shelter of fan coral. If a small fish stops by, one cleaner wrasse will circle it leisurely and remove any dead skin or parasites. If a larger fish shows up, two or more cleaner wrasse will share the job. If multiple fish show up at the same time, the wrasse will divide and conquer. At one station we observed not only the symbiotic relationship between the wrasse and their clients, but also the cooperation among wrasse themselves. A simple enough set of concepts, but one that applies to the entire ecosystem. The balance and interdependence we witnessed in ten minutes at the station exemplified the most important ideas of the reef (and, not at all coincidentally, of geography itself).

Anemone Fish at Mama Hahn. Photo by Miquel Sola.

Angler Fish- Madonna Rock. Photo by Miquel Sola.

As the regulators came out of our mouths upon our ascent, smiles of satisfaction creased our faces. Diving instantly became one of our favorite activities, and we spent the entire afternoon at the dive center looking at the other courses we could take and the other locations we could visit. About an hour into our research, we realized we still had one more day left in Nha Trang. "Do you want to go diving tomorrow too?" Faye asked Ben, already knowing the answer. So, we gave up the opportunity to sleep in and headed for the boat early the next morning, excited to be going for two stress-free fun dives. "Ah- you are just divers now, so I have to set up your gear for you!" said Miquel with mock incredulousness as he hooked our regs to our tanks. It was Miquel's last day on the job, and we felt fortunate to see him off. We started out on Moray Beach, a crystal clear, sandy bottomed stretch of ocean teeming with elongated trumpetfish, beautiful butterflyfish, and irridescent moon wrasses. This was probably the most satisfying of our dives. Our rapidly growing comfort in the water let us concentrate on our surroundings. Miquel made the most of it for all of us, spotting leaf fish, lumpy-looking red frog fish, small yet fearsome scorpionfish, a tiny, bright yellow boxfish, and a polka dotted eel slithering along the sea floor. Our final dive, back at Debbie's Beach (how about that for symmetry?), Miquel teased an ornate ghost pipefish from its hiding place in the coral. We returned his "okay" signal with huge grins and began our spiraling ascent, slowly circling a pillar of coral until our tanks ran low. We surfaced in a column of bubbles from our regulators and rested at the surface, unable to believe that we were done with this watery world- at least for the next few weeks.

Ornate Ghost Pipe Fish- Mama Hahn. Photo by Miquel Sola.

Wonderful experiences are a dime a dozen on a trip like this. We see so many amazing things on a day-to-day basis that the spectacular has almost become the norm. The events that truly standout are the ones that combine exciting experiences with great people. Evgeni and the crew made sure that our time on Olkhon was more than memorable. Claire and Andy made the Gobi adventure (at least the part they bothered to stick around for) more meaningful, and we continue to swap mutton jokes with Claire- and count her as a close friend. Our time in Nha Trang will stick with us always not only because of the new world we've been exposed to, but also because of the man who gave us our passport to it. Miquel was a fantastic instructor, but he very quickly became an even better friend. His intelligence, humor, and willingness to adopt us earned him a place in our hearts forever, and we can't wait to swing by Barcelona for some Mediterranean dining and diving. As our time in Asia nears its end (see the coming post), we become more and more appreciative of the friends we've made and the people who've opened their hearts to us. We're taking home three different tea sets, countless statuettes and icons, a few trinkets to show to the kids, and about 10,000 photos. None of it compares to the new friendships we'll be taking with us.

New friends and more reasons to travel...it's been a good trip.

Cheers to all of you- and we can't wait to visit or to have a vist paid to us!

Ben and Faye

Miquel's Website, complete with diving photos from around the world (and lots more from Vietnam!)

Our Nha Trang Photo Album