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TUNA AND TOURISTS drive the economy of the Republic of Maldives. And I don’t want to end up qualifying as both.
During the 36-hour, mostly airborne odyssey from San Diego to this idyllic archipelago in the Indian Ocean, one theme keeps pounding in my brain: Chicken of the Sea. I’m on a dual quest: to win certification as an open-water scuba diver and write a story about my adventures. And I’m having a slight case of nerves. The deep doesn’t worry me. It’s not like Jaws is waiting for me. It’s more a matter of stage fright. I’d more than held my own during the classroom and swimming- pool segments of my scuba classes at San Diego Divers Supply. But now I’m literally halfway around the world at one of the world’s premier diving resorts, surrounded by experienced divers. I’m the rookie, about to make my first open-water dive. What if I blow it?
When confronted by such insecurity, I soon discover, it’s best to face it at the Four Seasons at Kuda Huraa. Everything about this island resort is designed to put guests at ease. Everyone offers an encouraging smile, from desk clerk Abo to lounge singer Rusika to the gardener raking banana leaves outside my beach bungalow. The staff smiles, I figure, are company policy, but they still help. After two days and nights in flight without a bed, I’m looking forward to settling into the luxury bungalow. I pop the seal on the honor bar, pop the top of a can of Tiger beer and prepare to plop on the king-size, down-covered bed. That’s when I spy the letter from my hosts. The dive boat, it informs me, leaves at 11 the next morning for four days and nights at sea among the atolls. It’s now midnight. Too soon, it’s morning. And I have my first glimpse of the catamaran I’ll be calling home. Dive boat? One hundred thirty feet, stem to stern, this three-level, 11-cabin yacht is nothing less than a seagoing Four Seasons resort. It’s designed to accommodate 22. On this trip, there are just seven of us——and a crew of 28. I like the odds.
I also like the king-size bed in my cabin. This is the beginning of an auxiliary challenge. Aboard the Explorer, I will attempt to break the world sea record for naps in four days. Nap today, dive tomorrow.
A dive master of infinite skill and patience, Etienne Quah, will test me during the first two of the four successful dives I need to win certification from the Professional Association of Diving Instructors. The final two dives will be along the reefs back at the resort. But first, there is the matter of paperwork. And the first paperwork involves the medical waiver. I reach the question that asks, “Do you now, or have you ever suffered from back pain?”
Seized by a fit of misguided honesty, I answer “yes.” As Etienne scans the form, his brow wrinkles. “I’m going to have to check with the doctor,” he says. Etienne does a ship-to-shore with the resort doctor, who ultimately determines that since I’ve suffered no serious debilitation in years, it will be okay for me to dive. But Etienne will have to carry my bulky and weighty air tanks to and from our dives. Score!
As it turns out, my four open-water dives go swimmingly. But how will I describe what it’s like to free-float, 50 feet below the surface, sharing a world with 800 species of the most extraordinarily graceful and colorful creatures in existence? Have you seen Disney’s Finding Nemo? Was that in Technicolor? It wasn’t colorful enough. Can you imagine coming eye-to-eye with a giant eel and wondering who will blink first? For some reason, he does. Would you feel comfortable swimming alongside a school of sand sharks? For some reason, I do.
ON OUR THIRD DAY AT SEA, we have an out-of-water experience. We visit Dahfi. Population 2,300. One of 1,190 islands of the archipelago, Dahfi is a traditional Maldives fishing village. It is here we learn just how vital the tuna is to the country’s economy. Each day in the Maldives, fishermen harvest 60 tons of tuna.
Sixty tons. Without nets! As we step onto the dock at Dahfi, it hits us: the fragrance of two days’ catch of tuna, curing in the 90-degree sun and 90 percent humidity. As we wander the narrow village streets, it’s clear the natives of Dahfi live in what most Americans would consider dire poverty. It’s also clear they’re supremely happy. We’re about as far removed as you can get from the Four Seasons, but the smiles here are every bit as welcoming as the ones back at the resort.
At first, it seems, we are their day’s entertainment. But soon we’re upstaged by an impromptu street show starring six young men who sing and play drums. During the 20-minute performance, they’re led by a bone-thin dancer doing what sounds like a cross between native rap and a Middle Eastern chant. After the performance, a block or so down the street I spot what may be the clue to their inspiration, graffitied on a concrete block wall outside a local club: “The Eminem Show.”
At sunset on the final night at sea, we’re ferried to an uninhabited island ——not much more than a sandbar, really —— where an advance party has carved a perfectly formed dining table into the sand. Barbecued tuna is just the starter. It’s followed by grilled crab cakes, lobster tails and rib-eye steaks, asparagus and baked potatoes. (This does not come with the course at San Diego Divers Supply.)
After four days cruising the islands and diving the coral reefs, I’m halfway to my goal. My final two dives are offshore from the resort with a new dive master, Martin Lavoie. And despite my initial stage fright, I find myself with a framed copy of my certification as an openwater scuba diver.
My reward is a “spa experience.” Every island resort worth its saltwater has a spa, these days. And every spa has a gimmick. The spa at Four Seasons Resort Maldives has its own island.
The experience starts with the brief sail on a traditional Maldivian dhoni to the five freestanding spa pavilions. Here, my masseuse Daphne——all 4-feet-11, 90 pounds of her——provides me with a smorgasbord of treatments, highlighted by a sea-salt exfoliation and a marine- algae wrap (which feels oddly like being marinaded in chicken fat). The finale is a full-body, deeptissue massage. And as I peer through the massage table’s donutshaped headrest, I have a final reminder of what this diving odyssey was all about. A glass pane set in the floor is a viewing port into the ocean water below, where a profusion of colorful fish friends from the nearby reef swim past in a last goodbye.
If You Go
This is not an economy vacation.
And it’s 12 times zones from San Diego. But worth it. Malaysian Airlines offers flights to the Maldives from Los Angeles, via Kuala Lumpur. Flights start at $1,100 for economy class and $4,325 for business class. For complete information on travel schedules, phone 603-7846-3000, or go to malaysiaairlines.com. With some 24 hours of flight time, business class is recommended.
On the return flight, as a hedge against jet lag, I took an overnight in the heart of Kuala Lumpur at the Ritz-Carlton, which offers a luxurious decompression chamber for a traveling scuba diver, at surprisingly reasonable rates. For rates and reservations: www.ritzcarlton.com or 603-2142-8000.
Rates for a beach bungalow with outdoor shower at The Four Seasons Resort Maldives start at $425 and go to $550 a night depending on season. Excursions on the Explorercatamaran range from three nights to seven nights and start at $1,530 per person, double occupancy (low season), for a stateroom with full meals and diving package. Reservations: www. fourseasons.com or 011-960- 444-888.
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