“If you’re going to learn to dive, you’ll have a lot more fun if your first experience is in clear, warm water. The best place is Bonaire,” my friend announced. He sounded quite sure. He’s a hard-core diver.

“Never heard of it.”

“It’s one of the Dutch Antilles islands, near Venezuela. Three little islands – you’ve probably heard of the more touristy ones, Aruba and Curacao. Bonaire is the quietest – the whole thing is a marine park.  To protect the reefs, boats can’t even drop anchor there. It’s a diver’s paradise. Clear, warm water, tons of fish, beautiful coral. Plus, it’s probably the best shore-diving in the world – just pull the car over, put on your gear, and step into the water anywhere you feel like.”

Sounded great. I was ready, so I put the word out, and got my flight. My sister Jen, her husband Jeff and my cousin Bob all decided to come along and learn, too, and another old friend, Rob, came along for the snorkeling, and to be our navigator.

We found a place to stay, steps from the water. One of the highlights was diving right outside, at night. Playing in the phosphorescent water was like stirring the stars around with your hands.

We loaded up on beer, and Cuban cigars. My beautiful sister was a natural, I thought.

It takes a few hours of study to pass the certification exams. Bob found a comfortable place to cram.

We practiced our underwater communication and safety skills.

From the very first dive, we were hooked. So beautiful.

Diving is an expensive hobby – flights, hotels, equipment, boat rides – but it is as close to experiencing another planet as most of us will ever get. Good snorkeling will give you 80% of the pleasure for a fraction of the cost, but if you’ve got the coin, that last 20% is amazing.

Bonaire has one sleepy town, reasonably charming. Decent restaurants – we ate some delicious goat stew. The locals speak English, Dutch and Spanish.

The island is the classic “desert island” – low, flat, hot, dry and windy. We explored it between dives. The diving is on the western (leeward) side – there was good wind-surfing on the other, windward side.

The locals could be bold if you smelled ripe. Apparently, I did.

So we learned to stay clean and odor-free. I stopped shaving, though.

The flamingos were another attraction. They liked the salt-mining ponds.

I completely blew my first deep dive. I lost my buddy diver, then I lost my buoyancy control, rapidly ascending from 90 foot depth to 15 feet, putting myself at fairly serious risk of getting “the bends,” which can be deadly. I’m pretty sure I caused myself some degree of permanent brain damage that day, but… it felt kind of good. Turns out, the stupider I get, the happier I am. Like a Republican.