Mergui: What a Dive! (Part 2)
The Clarion Ledger (1998)

Text by Marda Burton

We awake the next morning in a bay of unsurpassed beauty; early risers crow about spotting monkeys on the beach. A routine is quickly established. Breakfast, then a rush to clear water and whatever perfect beach our captain has chosen. A light lunch and a move to another island, then more snorkeling.

Aside from one reef that shows evidence of dynamite fishing, the undersea life is abundant and untouched. My skin turns prune-like. Among many thrills are finding a royal-blue starfish and following an elusive cuttlefish making his way along a steep wall of granite rocks among purple sea anemones and huge table corals.

We have one certified scuba diver on board, so the captain takes her in the dinghy out to explore deep walls and undersea caves he’s scoped out ahead of time. She returns with stories of black-tipped reef sharks, lush soft corals, lobster, giant rays, clownfish and pairs of 5-foot-long silver fish she can’t identify.

After we wear ourselves out, we lounge on deck with cool drinks and watch Brahminy kites and sea eagles ride the thermals and fish skip across the water like stones. We wait for the nightly sunset show, when the islands appear to float in molten gold; then, as stars touch down, the boat’s young chef, serves his delicious version of Thai home cooking. Finally, we’re rocked to sleep by gentle waves. The next day, we do it all over again.

We sail from gorgeous to exquisite to sublime, comparing ourselves to Robinson Crusoe and Columbus. We even begin to name the islands, each of which is a marvel. Some of them lurch out of the water at crazy angles, like pieces of sculpture or gigantic sea dragons. Sheer walls of rock rise straight up from the sea, often capped with dense greenery, like a crew cut over a craggy face. One tiny island looks like a manicured golf hole at Pebble Beach.

As large as Singapore, Lampi is now a National Park. It’s covered with dense forest and rises to a 1,500 foot-peak. Surveys early in the century reported a great deal of wildlife on these islands, including monkeys, civets, hawksbill turtles, wild pigs, deer, crocodile, rhinoceros, buffalo, elephant and even leopards and tigers. We take the dinghy up a river estuary, hoping to spot something. It’s low tide, so twisted mazelike mangrove roots line our route.

Our single glimpse of other people – besides four fishermen going ashore for fresh water – is on the day we visit the only permanent sea gypsy village in the islands. It’s perched on stilts along a wide sheltered beach backed by casuarinas and mangroves. With their women dressed to the hilt in mainland style, the villagers are expecting us. Weekly visits by South East Asia dive groups are a welcome diversion with much smiling and bowing and posing for photos – not a trace of pirate behavior.

All too soon, our idyll is over. Back in Kawthaung, we manage a hectic hour ashore checking out the market and temple while the curious and friendly locals check us out. When we depart Myanmar in the same longboat with the same two Indian lads, my camera is still snapping away as if it has a mind of its own. We’re almost out of the harbor when it aims itself at what turns out to be the customs house. Too late, I remember that taking of photographs of government installations ins a no-no. Uh-oh, my subversive camera is in big trouble. Everyone has been so friendly that it’s a shock to see somebody having a temper fit.

But not to worry, our captain finally convinces him to confiscate my film instead of my person. Fortunately, I’ve had time to surreptitiously hide my good stuff and substitute an unused roll of film, which I surrender to the official who promptly aces it into the bay with a big splash.

Everybody is happy.