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First
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Part 1: Once more into the baggage hall Time was when getting to Manado was a bit of a chore, but not any more. Just turn up at Changi and for a modest fee Silkair will whisk you there in a little over three hours. All sound too easy? Well, if it's a challenge you need, then take a Kiwi with you. Ours was clearly more used to travelling with his butler, for he contrived to leave his baggage going round and round on the carousel rather than trouble himself to heave it to the bus, thereby becoming the first man ever to clear into, out of and back into Manado Customs in less than five minutes. Of course, being mates we did not remind him of that small slip over the ensuing days... but more of that (and of Southern Comfort) later. Did I forget to mention that when instructed to enter the Duty Free and come out clutching something drinkable, he emerged with a bottle of American whiskey scented like a tart's handkerchief? Dark forces were at work. It's a 40-minute ride to the resort of Tasik Ria, base of our hosts for the week Eco Divers, and at this stage we must will ask the orchestra that was beginning to swell up to pipe down a bit... for it was chucking it down. To be fair, the ride to Tasik Ria does not look the most scenic of drives even at the best of times, but it has to be seen to be believed when the rain is coming at you from the top and the Indonesian drivers are coming at you from all other sides. There were lawyers among us (though not as many lawyers as teachers) and we were all frantically studying the fine print of Jase's briefing. There was discussion of sun, sea, sand and diving, but no mention of teeming rain and a cloud base that just made it over the roof of the bus. The small bus - all requests for anecdotes from the big bus have met with a wall of silence, so I am assuming there was an orgy - was filled with the silence of ten folk all looking out the window and wondering what on earth they were doing there, interspersed with the beep of dive computers which had all decided from the murk and humidity levels that their owners were at 40m in some Irish peat bog. And then the rain stopped, and there was the resort. Off the bus, check in, gulp down the welcome fruit punch, grab the bags, off to the room, up the stairs, wade through the ankle-deep water to the bed and begin unpacking. It transpired that the ankle-deep water was not a nice touch intended to welcome divers, but was in fact due to unimpeded flooding in the toilet department. That was soon fixed, by us moving room that is, though we understand the maintenance men laboured with it for a further three days. I speak here of the experiences of your narrator, because the rest of the group did without the indoor pool. Must have been that Kiwi again, for guess who my room mate was? And it's not even time for tales of Southern Comfort yet... Down to the dive centre to check in the gear, swagger a bit and fib to Jim and Cary that the 20 in your dive log should really be 2,000, but you just ran out of ink, and that you used to give Jacques Cousteau lessons. Then off to the bar for a briefing... that's right, the bar. They do things in style, those Eco boys (and girls). In the distance, the impressive shape of Manado Tua was outlined against the sky, and among tales of sharks, turtles, nudibranchs and having your bits cut off if you even thought about touching the reef, we set about getting to know our fellow travellers. Some of the teachers had already been there three days... well, when you have that much holiday every year it must be a real struggle figuring out what to do with it all... right? And so off to dinner and bed. Tasik Ria is a comfortable enough resort, but it is doubtful if any of the group would rave about the food, particularly breakfast ('What breakfast?' we hear you cry). As a dive base it's fine, but if you are planning to go there for the gourmet food, this correspondent would urge you to reconsider. |
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