Tiny Travel Tales: the people I meet scuba diving
Channel Islands National Park – California, USA
Diving with Strangers
Solo travel is one kind of adventure. But slipping underwater with a stranger you’ve just met? That’s a whole different kind of leap.
In California, liability fears mean no dive guides. You meet your buddy right before you descend. Mine and I shook hands barely an hour before our first dive.
A Floating Village
What surprised me most was how quickly a dive boat becomes a village. Whether it’s for a few hours, a multi-day trip, or a weeks-long liveaboard, you find yourself inside a tiny, temporary community.
There’s a saying: everyone wants to be in a village, but nobody knows how to be a villager. These days, the internet teaches us how to “connect”—through personality tests, algorithms, and tidy boxes we try to fit people into. But connection has never been hard for me. My intuition is the loudest whisper when I travel.
Trained to Connect
For me, connection comes naturally—maybe too naturally. Years in hospitality, bartending, academia, and good old-fashioned people-pleasing trained me to bond with anyone, anywhere. Sometimes for tips, sometimes for grades, sometimes just for safety.
This trip was no different.
The Cast of Characters
Every boat has its characters. On this trip, mine looked like this:
A recent college grad and her boyfriend, who brought a graduation sash for underwater photos. She shared her mask defogger with me—two drops of kindness.
Three college girls squeezing in dives before returning to school or summer trips with family.
Four California women on a multi-day trip, diving in drysuits like it was their religion. They laughed off the idea of a “surface interval” longer than a week.
A cluster of instructors—three or four men and one woman—dry-suited and finally free of teaching responsibilities.
The boat crew: three divers and one chef.
An Asian couple: he lived to dive, she (like me) lived to eat. She made me laugh when, mid-lunch, she started planning dinner. YAS—planners and foodies unite.
And, of course, the inevitable older man cataloging his dive conquests. He kept angling for advice because he was “heading to Raja Ampat soon.” Social capital, maybe.
Each one left an impression.
The Heartbeat of the Boat
The crew are always my favorite. I’m endlessly fascinated by people who choose to serve the place they live in. They’re the unsung cheerleaders of their home.
I can’t help but wonder: how do they feel about us—visitors, tourists, strangers passing through? Do they welcome it? Or is it simply survival, especially in places where tourism is the only horizon? Is their connection to place born of love, or of necessity?
So I ask them:
How long have you been doing this?
What’s your favorite dive?
What stories do you tell again and again?
Who’s the worst guest you’ve had?
Showing Up as a Visitor/Tourist/Foreigner
I do my best to be the kind of visitor they’d want to see again:
Pick up trash & after yourself.
Be mindful of space on the boat.
Leave the place better than I found it.
Carry home a lesson that stretches my perspective and expands my empathy.
Leaving a gratuity tip is expected. But leaving behind a good impression—something that chips away at stereotypes—is even better.
Because travel at its best isn’t just about where you go,
but how you show up.
