Back at Rantepao

After we woke up we grabbed some food in the lobby of our hotel (Hotel Pison…we recommend it.  Cheap, clean and hot showers!) and right away were joined by a guide looking to see if we wanted to go see a funeral ceremony.  We definitely did but we wanted to first make sure our guide could speak English and that he actually knew what he was talking about.  We spent some time talking with this guy and were pretty much decided we would hire him for the next day.  And then he started rubbing some cooking oil on his face and neck and explained to us this is his magic oil.  He said it cures everything but you have to believe.  If you don’t believe it won’t work.  That pretty much made up our minds not to hire him for the next day, even though he wanted to include a free bottle of his magic oil in his price.  Looking back, the fact that he was wearing a Domino’s Pizza shirt should have tipped us off he might not be the best guide to go with.  Later that afternoon, we went out to get some dinner and met another guide (they all hang around restaurants and prey on tourists).  His name was Rudy and he seemed like a nice guy so we decided to hire him for the following day.

We met him the next morning, and after renting some motor bikes we were off.  The village we were going to was approximately 25km from Rantepao.  Before we arrived we purchased a carton of cigarettes to offer to the family as a gift.  The ceremonies last anywhere between 3-7 days, all depending on the class of the person who has passed away.  Before we went there we asked Rudy if it was okay with the family that we attend, but he assured us, the funeral is much bigger part of people’s lives in Tana Toraja than the wedding, and the more people that attend the funeral, the better it looked on the person who had passed.  Basically, the more the merrier.  We arrived on day 3 of the funeral, and this would be the last day.  The funerals are really elaborate where temporary shelters and even homes are built to accommodate all the people that will be attending the funeral.  The Torajas spend their lives working to pay for the funerals of their loved ones.  When a person dies, they are not buried right away, as the family first needs to hold the proper ceremony for them.  Ceremonies however are so expensive the families first must save up for them.  Usually it takes 3 -4 months after the person dies before the ceremony is held and the person is buried.  Until then, the deceased is kept in a small traditional tangkonan home, where the immediate family is required to visit and talk with them every day until they are buried.  When we arrived, there were a lot of people just hanging around and we were the only tourists.  At first it was a little intimidating and it felt very voyeuristic being able to get a peek into their lives.  But Rudy led us into the heart of the site where pigs were being roasted on an open fire.  Coming in we had seen the blood on the ground from when the pigs were sacrificed.  But they weren’t roasting the pigs to cook them now, just to burn all the hair off of them.  The pigs that had not made it into the fire yet were being cut open to remove their guts.  It was a little gory but at least they were dead.

Rudy explained to us each family has a level of “class”.  There are 3 different classes: lower, middle, higher.  It’s a very complicated system but essentially you belong to the class you are born into and no matter how much money you go on to make, you will always belong to that class.  This is not a system to distinguish the rich from the poor, but a system that has been established many generations ago.  Part of the ceremony is to sacrifice animals to help the soul pass into the afterlife.  The preference is to sacrifice water buffalo however they are very expensive and can cost up to $30,000 for 1!  And to give you an idea of how expensive the ceremonies can get, when a person from the higher class dies, up to 200 water buffalo can be sacrificed.  You do the math.  But when it’s a person from the lower or middle class, there is a limit to how many buffalos they can sacrifice.  Even if they had the money to sacrifice more, they have to stick to their number.  I can’t remember the numbers exactly, but the important thing is the family doesn’t need to meet those numbers, but it wants to.  The more buffalo they sacrifice, the better the chances for the deceased to pass on to the afterlife.    But other animals can also be sacrificed, such as pigs.  The ceremony we were attending had sacrificed all the pigs the day before, all 20 of them.  On the last day, the day we were there, they would be sacrificing the water buffalo.

Just then Rudy called us over to take our places to watch the water buffalo sacrifices.  It was something I didn’t want to watch, and for the most part kept my head turned away.  They brought the first buffalo (a female…not their first pick…they prefer the bulls to the females) and tied her leg to a stake in the ground.  She was quite calm.  And then with a very swift move of his hand, a guy (especially selected for this…it can’t be just anyone) slit the buffalo’s throat.  Everyone cheered lightly, but for me it was a very disturbing sight.  I had just witnessed with my own eyes a helpless animal being slaughtered…sorry, sacrificed.  Thank God I turned around because apparently when he slit her throat a whole bunch of blood sprayed out.  The poor buffalo staggered around and after a minute or so fell to the ground, and everyone cheered happily!  But this was not the end of the buffalo’s suffering.  She was lying fully alert while bleeding out with her blood all over the place.  Her eyes were wildly looking around and she was trying to breathe, which of course she couldn’t because her throat had been cut.  It was a very disturbing sight and I really didn’t want to be there.  I know this is the tradition but it seemed really unnecessary.  Then the other buffalo was brought (a male this time) and the whole process started again.  He was fully aware something was going on (I’m sure he could smell the blood) and he didn’t want to be tied so easily.  Again his throat was cut, people cheered and I wanted to vomit.  Then the 3^rd male buffalo was brought and again the process started again.  This time when he fell, the female buffalo, the first one that was sacrificed raised her head fighting.  It seemed she hadn’t died yet.  Overall it was very disturbing to watch.  I think there must be a faster way to kill these animals because it takes them ages to die this way.

Luckily there would only be 3 buffalo sacrifices and we were ushered into one of the shelters for the body of the deceased to be brought out.  Andrew went to take some pictures but he returned quickly and said he couldn’t take pictures because his hands were shaking.  The buffalo sacrifices had taken their toll on him too and I’m glad, because he was very keen to go and see them.  At least now I knew he had a heart.  Later he told me 3 buffalo sacrifices were enough.  Some people pride themselves on the amount of animals they had seen sacrificed at a ceremony but for me those 3 had been more than enough.

The tradition for this village was the body of the deceased was to be taken to her burial spot after the animals had been sacrificed.  Other villages will sacrifice the animals, cook and eat them and then bury the deceased.  The body was brought out wrapped and covered in various cloths, and the immediate female members began to wail.  It was hard to watch, but more so because this person had been dead for over 4 months.  It felt like the grieving process had been unnecessarily dragged out just to have this elaborate ceremony.  After the priest said a few prayers (the family were protestant) the body was taken to the burial site in the caves 2km’s away.  We could have gone with them but Rudy said there was no need and to stick around.  Then we found some members of the family and offered them our gift of cigarettes and they offered us tea and homemade sweets.  They didn’t speak English but with Rudy acting as translator we sat around on the floor of the shelter and  chatted with them for a while.  After an hour they offered us some food.  They brought out pieces of the sacrificed pork which had been cooked in bamboo over an open fire, some spicy fish and fresh rice.  The food was delicious.  The meat was tender and the fish was spicy but the flavour was really nice.  We sat with the family chatting and eating for a couple of hours and then it was time for us to go.  We were so happy we hadn’t gone on a group tour and that it was just us and the guide.  A group of 20 tourists had come just for the buffalo sacrifice, but because they were in such a large group and had left right afterwards, they completely missed the opportunity to sit and chat with the family.  I can’t remember what we talked about, but I do remember having a great time.  Rudy taught us some words in Torajan (different from Bahasa Indonesian) and the family loved it!  Overall the sitting and eating with the family was the best part of the day.

Rudy then took us to a burial site in the caves of the mountains but since we had seen that the last time we had been there, we went home afterwards and spent the day bumming around Rantepao.  We spent the remaining few days sleeping and relaxing around Rantepao.  One day we went to the market that is held once a week.  There you can buy literally anything.  From clothes to coffee to house cleaning products to fruits & veggies to Buffalos and pigs.  We came across the Buffalo part of the market and it was crazy, there were literally thousands of people trying to sell their buffalos and another thousand walking around.  But these buffalo’s were not kept in any cages.  We had to squeeze between buffalos just to get around.  It was definitely different.  It seemed everyone from Rantepao and the neighboring villages was there.  I guess that is the place where all the local ladies do their weekly shopping.  We had rented a motorbike that day and went to see the city of Makale,  near Rantepao, but there was not much to see so we just came back.  That night we met a Polish guy who was travelling around Indonesia and ended up having dinner with him.  The next day it was time for us to check out but our bus back to Makassar wasn’t until 9pm, so the hotel owner let us stay as long as we wanted.  Actually Andrew and the hotel owner now email back and forth all the time.  They were a really nice family.  We had a late dinner with the Polish guy again and said goodbye to him when it was time for us to catch our bus.  Our bus left late but we arrived at the airport in Makassar at 4am.  Our flight was at 5:30pm and we had a lot of time to kill.  The airport was small but we managed to find some internet, and we also used up the last of our credit on our SIM card to call our families in Canada.  Then it was time to leave.  We were flying back to Kuala Lumpur.

Manado & Back to the Togean Islands

We spent the night in Manado, again hanging out at a very nice hotel using their free wi-fi and calling our families.  Of course we also made time to stop at the local McDonald’s to get our fix for western food.  We woke up at 5am to catch the 6am bus to Gorontalo.  We took a bemo (the blue bus/taxi) to the bus station and before we could even get out of the bemo people were yelling at us and pulling at us.  It turns out they were from all the different bus companies which were going to Gorontalo and they were all trying to get our business.  Initially our cynical minds told us this was because we were westerners, but later we saw they did this with everyone.  We finally settled on a bus company and made ourselves comfortable for the 9 hour bus ride. 

As a side note, I have to say we will never again complain about travelling anywhere in Canada.  The amount of buses/trains/taxies/planes we have had to take, and the amount of time we have spent in each, will never compare to travel in Canada.  We have now reached a point where we don’t even blink at the mention of a 10 hour bus journey.  We now consider this normal. 

We arrived in Gorontalo in the afternoon, and since we had a couple of hours to kill before we needed to get on the ferry, we went to grab some food at KFC.  Now it might seem like we eat at western fast food chains a lot, I have to assure you it’s not as often as you might think.  There are days where we just can’t think about eating another fried rice or fried noodle.  The thought just repels us.  And then we go months without seeing any western food at all.  The interesting thing is, food chains we would never even consider eating at at home, we run to them with big smiles on our faces when we see them.  Mainly because we know we get something other than fried rice there.

We hired an ojek (motor taxi) to take us to the ferry.  It was 2 hours before the ferry would depart but there was already a line up at the ticket counter.  There was even a live band playing in the parking lot.  This was obviously an event here.  We lined up in the queue, but right away we noticed people were just butting in left and right.  After 15 minutes of standing in the same spot (behind only 6 other people) I decided to see if we can just get on the boat.  This is how it worked when we were leaving the Togean Islands.  First you boarded the ferry, picked your seats and then you went to buy your ticket.  Unfortunately no such luck here.  You first had to buy your ticket, and then you could board the ferry.  So back in line.  Again, everyone butting in front.  And not just in front of us, but each other.  It was blatant butting in.  We saw a couple of westerners up at the front.  They were second inline but they had been there since we had arrived.  Too many people had butted in in front of them and the first people in line.  (And no one said anything!  No one tried to protest!)  So Andrew approached the western couple (turned out they were from Germany) and asked them if they could buy the tickets for us.  They agreed and we acted as the bodyguards around them to prevent others from butting in.  After pushing (literally pushing…but gently) people out of the way it was our turn.  We finally bought the tickets (with the German’s help) and boarded the boat, and picked our seats. 

We had bought business class seats but don’t let the name fool you, there were no business people in this section.  I don’t think a business person had ever seen the inside of this cabin.  The business section was really just an air conditioned room where smoking was no allowed with some old broken leather chairs.  Since we had done this trip before but backwards, we knew to get a seat with another empty seat in front of us so we could put our legs up.  We found some seats and put our bags on the ones in front of us.  After 2 hours the boat was ready to leave.  The first thing that happens is an announcement comes on telling us our tickets would be checked.  This mostly applied to the locals since it’s very rare for the tourists not to have a ticket.  This time there was a bit of a scene.  We couldn’t really understand much since it was in Indonesian, but it was pretty obvious some of the locals were upset that we had put our bags on the seats in front of us to use as leg rests, and they had to sit squashed together or on mats on the floor.  Normally I would feel bad about this and would have moved my stuff to make room for them.  This time, I didn’t feel too bad because as far as I was concerned, they were getting the better deal with the mats on the floors because they could at least lie down and go to sleep for the night.  Also, they wanted to use those seats for the exact same reasons we wanted them…as leg rests.  But mainly, I didn’t feel bad because they had bought economy seats and weren’t even supposed to be in the business section.  That was also why the ticket guys didn’t ask us to move our stuff, because those people weren’t even supposed to be there.  Also, right at that moment we saw one of the guys from Lestari Resort in the Togean Islands and he came to sit on the chairs our bags were occupying.  Eli was a local and he sat at chatted with us for the next couple of hours and the whole commotion about our seats went away and we were able to stretch our legs for the night.

We arrived in Wakai at the Togean Islands early in the morning and the first person we saw was Tommy.  He was so happy to see us again!  We made our way to the boat and waited for him to get the other tourists.  When they joined us some of them were complaining that the prices were very expensive and that it was out of their budget.  The truth was, it was expensive.  Lestari charges 150,000 Rupiah per person per night, which is roughly $15 per person per night.  It might not sound that expensive, but if you’re on a budget, you like to spend half of that.  The only upside is the price included food.  But there were no cheaper options.  There was nowhere else to go.  And this was not unique to the Togeans, this was all of Indonesia.  I think the number of tourists that visit from Australia for a short vacation, really affects the prices.  They mostly come for a short vacation and $30 a night with food is a good price.  It’s the backpackers that suffer as we try to spend as little as possible.  Unfortunately the other tourists just kept going on about it and wouldn’t stop.  When we arrived at Lestari Aka was very happy to see us again.  The other tourists were travelling in a group of 4 and they tried to negotiate that the 4 of them could stay in 1 room for a cheaper price, but all they really managed to negotiate was that the 4 of them stayed in 1 room for the same price we were already paying.  So in the end I’m not really sure what the point of that was.  The rest of the night they kept telling us how they were leaving the next day because it was too expensive and to tell you the truth, I couldn’t wait.

Unfortunately they didn’t leave the next day.  We spent the day being lazy and catching up on sleep.  We wanted to go diving again but the trips were only going to where we had already been.  That evening Tommy started teaching me Bahas Indonesian.  And it wasn’t that hard.  We spent the evening drinking arak with him, his friend and Aka.  After dinner I started feeling unwell and went to sleep, even though it was 7am.  But Andrew, the other 4 tourists and Tommy, Aka and Puddin stayed up late into the night drinking and having a bit of a “disco”.  I could hear them but I couldn’t get out of bed to join them.  I’m not sure what it was but I was exhausted.

The next day the other tourists did leave for a “camping trip” Puddin had organized for them, and Andrew and I were the only tourists left at Lestari.  It was actually really weird being the only ones there, but also quite nice.  We again didn’t do anything of significance, except for reading, sleeping, taking walks and eating.  It was quite relaxing.  The following morning we left on the ferry to go to Ampana.

We were heading back to Rantepao (Tana Toraja) but it was at least another 17 hours from Ampana by bus.  We decided to get as far as we could that day and found a car that would take us for the same price as the public bus to Poso.  From there it was another 12 hours but at least we would be 5 hours closer.  On the way we were telling our driver about where we wanted to go, and he got in touch with is friend and found out he was heading our way that night.  We agreed on a very cheap price and that should have tipped us off.  We met up with his friend in Poso and it turned out it was him and 4 other army guys travelling south to Makassar, another 9 hours past Rantepao.  They were going in an SUV and we would have to sit in the back.  This SUV was not how you picture our typical SUV’s.  The leg room in the back was non-existent.  To the point Andrew and I had to sit sideways just to fit.  Initially we thought it would be okay but after a few hours of that it became very very uncomfortable.  The only upside was the driver was driving really fast and we were hoping to arrive in Rantepao early.  We somehow managed to fall asleep with Andrew sprawled across my chest.  When I woke up I couldn’t breathe.   We stopped for something to eat and the driver told us it was only 2 more hours to our destination!  That was great news because it was about 4 hours ahead of schedule.  Except we ran out of gas and the gas stations were closed so we had to wait another 2 hours for them to open and then drive another 2 hours.   So really we were only 2 hours ahead of schedule.   We could barely get out of the car.  Our legs had gone completely numb.  And we weren’t in Rantepao, we were in a town an hour outside of Rantepao.  It turned out they were not passing through Rantepao at all so we had to find another car to take us there.   Which we did.  But he, apparently, couldn’t get inside the city because the bemo drivers would get mad so we had to hire a bemo driver to take us to our hotel.  And finally we were there!  After 6 different modes of transport (small boat, ferry, 3 cars, 1 bemo) and almost 24 hours, we had arrived in Rantepao.  And obviously we were exhausted so the first thing we did was go to sleep.

Bunaken Island

Before we got off the boat Frankie told us about MC Cottages and that he would give us a good price if we stayed there.  We told him we had reservations for tonight but we would come check it out later.  We check in at Daniel’s home stay after we negotiated a fairly good price.  Unfortunately this was the same as the Togeans, per person per night.  Again more than we wanted to spend.  While we were sitting on our veranda we noticed a kitten was stuck on the roof of our cottage and it was crying.  We figured it would eventually jump off but no such luck.  The next morning it was up at 5am running around making a lot of ruckus and I wanted to go up there and throw a stone at it and kill it, but I obliviously didn’t.  Not out of compassion (sleep deprivation will lead you to do many bad things in the name of sleep) but because I had no way to get up there and even if I did, I couldn’t guarantee my aim was good enough to hit it.  But I’m getting ahead of myself.  While we were sitting on our veranda, we saw George, the guy from the Togean Islands.  He came over and we started chatting about how sick he was on the ferry.  It turned out he was very sick and as soon as he arrived in Manado he went to the hospital.  He had malaria.  For the fourth time.  Not for the fourth time during this trip, in his life, but it’s still a big number.  It turned out he got it at the Togean Islands.  But really he had no one to blame but himself as he walked around only in shorts all day and all night, slept with the door of his hut wide open and didn’t use the mosquito net provided.  He told us they gave him pills which helped right away and he also told us the hospital had an open sewer running right through the middle of it.  He said it was pretty gross.   We were happy he was okay, though. 

Andrew and I went to take a look at the MC Cottages and they were much nicer than the ones we were staying at and cheaper, so we told Frankie we would check in the next day.  MC Cottages has a dive shop on premises but once we went to check it out we knew we wouldn’t be diving with them.  Their equipment is all brand new, so that’s not a problem.  It’s their divemaster that’s the problem.  When I asked him about his certification (what level he’s at) he told me he didn’t have money for that, but that he’s been diving a long time.  I was a little surprised because this was the first time someone had told me they dive and lead groups but they’re not certified or licensed.  Andrew asked him if they have oxygen and he went to show him his air compressor.  Oxygen is usually kept on boats in case someone has a diving accident and needs pure oxygen right away.  An air compressor cannot produce oxygen.  I would have perhaps considered going with him if I knew the area was calm and didn’t have any currents, but Bunaken is known for its currents and I wanted to make sure we were diving with someone reputable.  We did move into MC Cottages the next day but we wouldn’t dive with their dive shop.

That night we had a great dinner at Danie’s home stay with a lot of broccoli and cauliflower, veggies I hadn’t seen in months.  We had a great time talking to George and we swapped contact info as he was leaving the next day.  The next morning, after being woken up by the damn kitten on the roof, we checked out of Daniel’s without even so much as a question as to why we were checking out.  It’s like they didn’t even care.  We were greeted warmly at MC Cottages and given a bungalow with a nice view.  Including us there were only 8 people staying at MC so the atmosphere was very relaxed.  That day we found a dive shop (next door to MC) that was very professionally run, although a little more expensive than the one at MC.  After walking around the island and comparing all the dive shops we decided to go with the one next door as they were very professional.  Bunaken divers is owned by an Ozzy and his Indonesian wife.  His staff is very well trained so we knew we would be in good hands.

That night during dinner we met a girl and her husband.  She is Australian and he’s Indonesian but they live in Darwin and were in Indonesia on vacation.  It was very interesting talking to them because as tourists we experience a lot of racism from the locals (usually in the form of much higher prices.  Everyone assumes because you’re a westerner you have a lot of money) but since they are a multi racial couple they receive a lot of reverse racism.  A lot of hotels have a strict no locals policy, meaning locals can’t stay in the hotels, and a lot of them refused this couple to stay there.  Some hotels would demand to see their marriage certificate while others, if he called and tried to make a reservation by phone speaking Indonesian, would just say they’re fully booked.  So it seems no matter what, you can be subjected to racism.

The next day we went diving with Bunaken Divers, and although it was overall a good experience, during our first dive I experienced a panic attack under water.  This was the first time something like this has happened to me and I can only attribute it to the current we experienced.  Before we went into the water I specifically asked if there was any current and our guide said no.  Okay, we jumped in, had been under for around 10 minutes when the current hit us.  That in itself might have been okay but I felt like the dive guide didn’t really have a plan on how to deal with it.  What’s more, he kept showing me hand gestures I didn’t understand, which made it even more frustrating because he should have done a dive briefing of the signs before we went in the water.  I don’t expect a briefing on the basic signs that you use during every dive, but he kept clapping underwater and I didn’t understand what that meant.  As we got out of the current, he would be swimming and then all of a sudden he would turn around.  I felt like he didn’t have a dive plan at all.  That’s when I started hyperventilating and crying.  I had to physically hold the regulator in my mouth because I felt like I couldn’t breathe.  Andrew was beside me trying to get my attention but I wouldn’t respond to him.   Finally after a few minutes it passed and I was able to continue the dive with no problems but I just wanted to get out.  We talked about it on the boat later on, but our guide never noticed anything was wrong.  After when I asked him what the clapping sound meant, he said it meant I should get closer to the reef.  Right, that made total sense.  The second dive of the day went without any problems.

We had received so many positive reviews about Bunaken that we couldn’t wait to get there.  Mainly about the quality of the diving and snorkeling.  The reality is Bunaken is full of garbage.  In the water and out.  Yes the reefs are healthy, but when you’re diving and on your right you have a wall of beautiful corals and on your left you have a wall (literally) of floating plastic bags, bottles, candy wrappers, chip wrappers, etc., it takes away from that beautiful experience.  They say the garbage flows down from Manado, but the reality is, I don’t care where it comes from.  It’s not only disgusting, it’s disturbing to see the mentality of the people.  They throw evening in the water, and I mean everything.  You can be on a ferry and you throw your garbage into the garbage bin, and then half way through one of the staff members comes along and dumps everything overboard.  If you say anything, they laugh at you.  Out of sight out of mind.  I don’t know what they think happens to all this garbage but a lot of it ends up in Bunaken.  This happens all over Indonesia (the rest of Asia too but we mostly saw it in Indonesia) and if you have ever heard about floating islands of garbage in the middle of the sea, you now know where they come from.  What’s worse for me is that tourists still provide such positive reviews for Bunaken.  Why are we encouraging this?  If tourism doesn’t suffer, no one will do anything about it.  So here is my humble opinion…take it or leave it…don’t visit Bunaken unless you want to swim with garbage.  And lots of it.  There were times when we were getting ready to go into the water for a dive and the driver of the boat had to look for a clean spot for us to jump in.  And no matter how beautiful the reef, all I remember from our experience are the islands of garbage we had to swim with.  Tourism is booming in Bunaken but at what cost. 

That evening we told Frankie we would be checking out the next day and if he could take us to Manado.  He asked us what time we wanted to go and we said around 2pm since we were diving the next day.  He asked if we were diving with his dive shop and we said no, with Bunaken Divers next door.  He was furious.  He said it’s the rule of Bunaken that you dive where you stay.  This wasn’t the first time I had heard about this rule as we had read about it but I thought it was ridiculous and we chose to ignore it.  He said if he would have known he would have kicked us out and told us to stay with the resort associated with Bunaken Divers.  He said the western owners always talk a lot and take his business away and tourists listen to them.  He said if we wanted to dive with someone else he would have called his other friends.  Probably unlicensed friends too.  He was just mad he couldn’t make commission off of us.  Needless to say that killed the mood somewhat but I didn’t care.  There was no way we were going diving with his unprofessional and unlicensed dive guide.

That evening we went over to Bunaken Divers and had a beer with Terry, the owner.  We told him about Frankie’s reaction and about the “rule” and he said the only rule that there should be is that all dive shops are licensed and unfortunately not all are.  He told us there are only 14 licensed dive shops in all of Northern Sulawesi, but there are hundreds of dive shops.  It’s really scary when you think about it.  We went diving the following morning without incident, and we saw turtles that were 150 years old.  They were huge and beautiful.  Again, the wall of garbage was there.  The Indonesian guy married to the Aussie girl came with us this time.  He was scheduled to dive with the dive resort at MC cottages but it was cancelled because they didn’t have a boat driver.  Another reason why not to dive with them.  When we finished our dives, we paid for them, check out of MC Cottages and Frankie took us back to Manado.  He was grumbling again about us not diving with him but we told him he needs to get someone more professional if he wants to maintain his dive shop.  It wasn’t the best way to part ways, but we shook hands with him and left.