Author of SS Thistlegorm John Kean has a new ebook out, about his transformation from London office-worker to Red Sea diving instructor, and his observations of life in Sharm el Sheikh. It’s so compelling that we had trouble selecting an extract – so here are five
DEAD COW
It was in Ras Cahty that I once saw a hilarious underwater sight. Because of the angle of the beach, Ras Cahty faces the open Red Sea, and occasionally driftwood will wash ashore overnight.
One particular morning, a huge dead cow had been washed up and was lying bloated and sunburnt right on the water’s edge. We couldn’t do anything about it, so we hoped that our new Open Water students didn’t notice the poor thing. We figured that the cow must have fallen off a boat somewhere way out to sea.
Anyway, after 20 minutes of the first training dive I stopped in the sand, had my students form a straight line, and then began some skill demonstrations. During that time, the Coastguard had arrived in a small tugboat, tied a rope around the cow’s long horns and dragged it across the reef into the sea, where it was now flying through the water.
My students became distracted, and I couldn’t see what was going on behind my head. They attempted various underwater hand signals to indicate “swimming cow heading out to sea”.
I eventually looked around, and saw the now-upright cow flying over my head and around the dive site at 15 knots. “That’s a funny way to catch a fish,” said one of my perplexed students later. “Were they after something big?”
‘TAXI?’
The world’s easiest driving tests were those in Egypt, in which the ability to drive 6m forward and the same in reverse has been deemed sufficient. In 1979 it was reported that accurate reversing between two rubber traffic cones had been added. High “cone attrition” soon led to the substitution of white lines.
I took the last taxi from the Ocean Club hotel and began my journey home. The driver hared off down the road.
“Slow down, please,” I requested, as we approached the rear of a water truck. “If I want a drink I’ll get out and buy a bottle of Perrier!”
“Slow down, slow down,” he mimicked, laughing. “You dive instructors are all the same. Just leave the driving to me. I won’t tell you how to scuba dive, so you don’t tell me how to drive my taxi.”
The driver had recognised me from the dive centre. He was called Joseph and had driven me several times already. “Well, you can’t tell me how to dive, because you’re not a diver, are you?”
“And have you ever driven a taxi?” he answered.
“No, but it can’t be that hard, surely.” He chuckled to himself and carried on. “OK, then, turn up tomorrow outside the Ocean Club and I’ll take you for an intro dive out on the boats.”
He agreed, but I was sure he wouldn’t be there. Next day, I took another taxi to work, which dropped me outside the Ocean Club at 8 o’clock. Joseph was standing there waiting for me. He had a small sports bag slung across his shoulder and came bounding up with a big grin on his face. “I’m ready. Let’s go diving then!”
Joseph had never been on a dive-boat before, and the extent of his aquatic experience had
been swimming and snorkelling as a child.
After a thorough briefing about safety and useful techniques for breathing and moving around under water, it was time to see what this cheeky taxi-driver was made of.
So far, he didn’t seem the slightest bit unnerved about going under water for the first time. In fact, he was thoroughly looking forward to it.
We took a giant stride from the back of the boat and landed in clear blue water. Joseph gave me an OK signal to confirm that everything was fine.
Suddenly, the heavy equipment weighed nothing. We were under water and weightless. Joseph was elated. I held onto his BC and led him away for a swim at just a few metres deep. Now the tables were turned. Joseph was in my world, where I had total control. Ha!
And like all good Sharm taxi-drivers, he was off like a bat out of hell. “Slow down!”
I motioned with a couple of hand signals but, as ever, he wasn’t interested. Perhaps his many years of trying to get from one location to another in the shortest time possible were becoming a hard habit to break. Any notion of my gaining the upper hand over Joseph’s abrupt transition from taxi-driver to scuba-diver were right out the window.
I have to say that he was a complete natural. We even “hovered” for a few minutes, a skill normally perfected after several dives during a beginner’s course.
Visibility was more than 30m. We saw more than 50 species of fish during our dive. After 40 minutes, we arrived back at the ascent line. Joseph gave the up signal. Mmm, now was my chance.
“How much?” I replied, signalling under water. I passed him my slate and he pencilled “10 pounds” on it. “How about 20?” I replied.
“Rawasett is 3km away, I only want to go 5m.” I clearly had to get up much earlier in the morning to get one over on Joseph.
Back on the boat, it was smiles all round. “Are you sure you haven’t done this before?”
I asked Joseph, half-expecting him to say that it was a wind-up and that he was in fact an instructor in disguise.
“Never! That was the first time and it was fantastic.” Adam, the resident photographer, showed Joseph the images he had just taken under water, and mentioned that we’d reached a depth of 5m. “Is that all? Can’t we go to 30?” replied Joseph.
Back at the Ocean Club, where Joseph had parked his taxi, it seemed only right to ask him for a quick burst down the road with him sitting in the back. He shook his head, but reluctantly agreed.
Sitting in the car, I was faced with fewer than the usual controls I have on my Jeep. “The gears are on the steering column,” said Joseph.
There was a loud crunching sound as I found the first gear and, slowly releasing my foot from the clutch, I was amazed to see the car going backwards!
“Stick to diving,” said Joseph, now joined by half a dozen of his taxi-driver colleagues,
all having a laugh at my expense.
THISTLEGORM CAPERS
Other than taxi-drivers, the second most talked-about subject in the Sharm el Sheikh diving community is probably trips to the Thistlegorm.
Once, I was hanging on the mooring line over Thistlegorm doing a safety stop at 6m. I could hear a “humming” sound coming from somewhere, so I turned around and saw the most hilarious sight ever; another dive guide, who was obviously German, flying over the wreck on an aqua-scooter, and he was wearing a German soldier’s
WW2 helmet. I was laughing so much I had to go up before I gave myself an embolism. In a bid to return the gesture, I purchased the equivalent British helmet from an army surplus store on my next trip to the UK. It was dark green, and had netting all over it, just like the ones in Dad’s Army. Just for good measure, I stuck a great big Union Jack on the front, and then took a group diving on the wreck.
Unfortunately, my genuine attempt at emulating the humour of our European neighbours completely backfired.
After the dive, a gentleman from my group walked over to me and said: “Das is ein disgrace. I am from Germany and zis is not funny at all.”
I was quite surprised, because I hadn’t noticed any German guests on my passenger-list that morning. I scanned down the names, and realised my error. I had thought he was Danish.
It didn’t end there. Weeks later, a friend sent me a cutting from an English newspaper that featured a letter to the editor about the “desecration of British war graves”.
One sentence read: “We were diving on the famous Red Sea wreck of the ss Thistlegorm and saw a dive guide wearing a British soldier’s helmet, which he had clearly stolen from the ship. Can’t these brave souls be left to rest in peace?”
The helmet is now a flowerpot hanging from a tree in my front garden.
STUDENT PADI EXAM
Victoria is first with her answer sheet. She has one wrong. It’s the question about why we use buddies when we dive. The choices are: a) For practicality. b) Safety under water. c) Fun. d) All of the above.
The correct answer is d), but she can’t understand why “fun” was included. It’s as if she thinks it’s a red herring, but after a while she agrees that diving with another person might be socially preferable to diving alone.
It’s true that a few of these questions can get a bit silly. I often dream up some myself, and consider dropping a couple in just for amusement. Here are a few of my manufactured favourites: “You are listening to an important dive briefing from your instructor, and you notice that her wetsuit zip has broken and her tits are hanging out. What should you do? a) Say nothing and try not to let it affect your concentration? b) Try to gain her attention and then make subtle hand-signals to indicate the problem? c) Write a letter of complaint to the PADI Quality Assurance Department? d) Take a digital photograph and put it on Facebook?
“You are swimming along a reef in your group of divers, and halfway through the dive you notice that the international criminal, Carlos the Jackal, has joined the group. What should you do? a) Report the incident to your dive guide by writing it on an underwater slate? b) Say nothing and hope it’s just mistaken identity? c) Make a citizen’s arrest and have the relevant authorities meet him on the jetty? d) Write to the tour operator upon returning to the UK?
“You are taking pictures with eight divers during a pleasant drift dive in Ras Mohammed, and halfway through you turn and notice that the number of your group has swelled to 153. What should you do? a) Find the one with the highest remaining air-supply and team up? b) Split the group into 10 sections and spread out? c) Make a slow ascent and signal to the boat? d) Return to the dive centre and ask for a refund?
“On a PADI deep dive course you find yourself kneeling on the sand during the skill circuit and, unable to control your bowel movements, you heavily soil the inside of your wetsuit. What course of action should you take? a) Remove the suit under the supervision of your instructor and empty out the mess? b) Make a slow ascent and have the boat-crew hose you and the suit down with fresh water? c) Keep the suit on and pretend nothing has happened? d) None of the above.
Of course, relieving yourself is a concern to a diver, but PADI leaves that subject to the instructor. If divers cannot quite make it to the toilet in time, then they might indeed be seen rinsing their wetsuit from the back deck after the dive.
Some new students will attempt an underwater hand signal to indicate their predicament. Once, a girl in the swimming pool gave me a very interesting gesture during a skill circuit. She opened her legs, pointed to her crotch and put her hands together as if she was praying to me. Well, I’ve heard of an apple for the teacher!
We surfaced, and she told me that she only wanted to visit the Ladies.
MAY THE FORCE BE WITH YOU
It’s Saturday morning, and we have a record number of beginners turning up willing to throw themselves into the sea for the first time. Right now, they’re next door watching a video all about how not to drown on the first day.
We’re in the Ocean Club hotel restaurant again, next to the Ocean College dive centre where I work, with my instructor colleagues and a pile of student record files, freshly completed by the new intake. We each want the same thing: five intelligent individuals who will listen to everything we tell them and carry out our instructions religiously.
But where’s the fun in that? Our little breakfast meeting is to haggle over who gets whom, and is akin to a jury selection session – it rarely works as planned, no matter how smart you think you’ve been.
Today, there’s an odd number, meaning that one of us is going to get six students whereas everyone else gets five. It goes something like this:
“How about we get four bits of paper and draw the groups out of a hat?”
“Wait a minute, one of them looked like he couldn’t run for a bus, never mind go 200m on the swim test.”
“OK, there’s also a schoolteacher who looks as nervous as hell. I saw her pen shaking while she was filling out the form this morning.”
“Well, I don’t want her in my group, I had two drop out last week before we even left the classroom.”
“No, they were in there by mistake. They only showed up because they thought it was
the tour-rep’s welcome meeting.”
“What about that other guy who was wearing a cowboy hat? He looked a bit of a space-cadet.”
“How can you be sure?”
“One of the guests heard him talking about reincarnation, and on his registration form he’s put himself down as next of kin!”
“OK then, I’ll take the group of six, so long as I don’t get him.” “That leaves the three army officers, the engineer and the airline pilot, clearly the golden group.” “All right then, which hand is it in?”
One of the very few clues as to how well people might turn out as divers is by profession, and even this is no accurate indicator. The armed forces do what they’re told because they’ve been trained that way. Schoolteachers rarely do what they’re told because they’re too busy telling everyone else what to do, and the police are OK because they take lots of notes.
I’ve also taught the clergy. They just get on with it and trust that the Almighty will be watching over them – and probably me too.
Anyone sporty and reasonably intelligent should make light work of diving, but nonetheless scuba diving is wide open to nearly anyone with a good attitude. The course cannot be too easy for safety reasons and it cannot be too difficult or few will bother with it at all.
Despite being a great source of entertainment, some people are unpredictable, and hence potentially dangerous to themselves and possibly others in the water.
“Good morning, everyone, and welcome to the PADI Open Water course. My name’s John and I’m your instructor.”
The students respond in turn with their names, and say why they have taken up diving. I like this part a lot, as it reminds me of why I took it up myself. The answers range from “I dunno, I just saw it on Teletext” to “something I’ve wanted to do all my life”.
The latter is true of most of our new divers. Some of them don’t even know why, but like many of us they feel drawn towards the mysterious, undersea world. Some have seen it on TV as kids – the Jacques Cousteau series, Marine Boy, Flipper, James Bond, The Abyss and so on. Others may know of someone who dives, or perhaps they have snorkelled and just want a closer look at what’s below.
For each and every one of them, their life as they know it is about to change dramatically, forever. They are soon to enter a world where they do not belong. They will breathe under water and fly without wings. They will hover, motionless, suspended by an unknown force.
They will “fall” from above without injury and perform complex, acrobatic stunts without effort. They will cover great distances, and swim with strange species never seen before.
This phenomenon is so far removed from any other previously experienced, land-based activity that some new divers undergo a complete life-change. I have even heard of diving physicians recommending that depressed patients take up diving as relaxation therapy.
NOW READ THE BOOK…
Ever thought about jacking it all in, moving abroad and starting a new life in Sharm el Sheikh? Sharm has been one of the world’s best-kept secrets, says John Kean. “It hits the news only in times of mishap but behind the scenes of this hugely popular and vibrant city are hundreds of expats living the dream of a life in the sun.”
John’s new book Lost Wife, Saw Barracuda – True Stories from a Sharm El Sheikh Scuba Diving Instructor is the only fly-on-the-wall look at the ups and downs of swapping the rat-race for an alternative lifestyle in Sharm.
The Kindle edition is available from www.amazon.co.uk. It costs £6.89.
