Diving Takes a Dive

I like diving.  Being out on the water removes you from so much of the hubbub of daily life here: there's no music, no barking dogs and no crowds.  Under the water is even more serene.  Just you and the fish and the gentle hiss of your breathing through the regulator and the bubbling of expelled breath.

However, in order to be out on the water and to be able to run a diving school involves a plethora of red tape and . . . well there's no other word for it: bullshit.

The guy who runs the company (let's call him Jacques) I dive with has wrapped up and closed down.  He just can't take any more nonsense and is moving back to Thailand where he came from (or Malaysia).  He originally came to Subic because he was fed up with Thai corruption and the language barrier.  Corruption here in the Philippines makes Thailand look like a model of probity and although everyone here speaks English, very few people seem to actually understand it.  Rather like a parrot that can speak, it doesn't actually understand what you're saying when you say 'Who's a pretty boy' nor understand what it's saying when it says 'Pieces of eight, pieces of eight'.

I can vouch for this.  'I didn't understand' is the catch all, get out of jail card excuse for all manner of problems.  Even when you repeat instructions/requests several times over and even get the instructions repeated back to you so that you know what you've said has been registered, it doesn't stop something happening completely opposite to what you expected to happen.

Here's a recent example.  I told the driver that he should check the pressure in the tyres before heading off on an errand (one of them had a very slow puncture but I didn't want to tell him this and confuse the situation. Keep it simple is the key).  I repeated it.  Three times, very slowly. Each time he said he understood. I got out of the car and pointed to the tyres.  I kicked one of them and said "air".  I asked the driver if he understood. He said that he did. I got back in the car. Just before we headed off he asked me if I was going with him? With him where? "To buy the tiles" he said, "...otherwise I won't know what tiles to buy or how many" (I'm not making this up).  Now, I can almost of understand that he confused "tyres" and "tiles" but how on earth did he think tiles were related to me getting out of the car and pointing to the round black rubbery things on all four corners of the vehicle and saying air?  As an old school teacher of mine used to say: "You ask for reinforcements because you're going to advance but they send three-and-fourpence because they think your going to a dance".

When Jacques bought his own boat because he couldn't find a dependable source for renting one, he thought all this troubles were over.  But they'd only just started.  To begin with, when the boat was delivered to the marina, the marina company dragged the boat up the slipway nearly wrecking and sinking it.  Then they charged him a fortune to repair it and rental whilst they were carrying out the repairs.  Then, once it was sea worthy and the diving was up and running the owner of the marina decided to impose, quite arbitrarily, a Php1,000 (£15) charge per person for each customer just to walk on the jetty to where Jacques' boat was moored.  Had Jacques passed this cost onto his customers it would have made him uncompetitive and drive him out of business so he was forced to find another mooring.

He obtained agreement from Subic Bay Municipal Authority to anchor the boat off the beach.  So they set about creating an anchorage and moved the boat.  However, the local bar owner didn't like them mooring the boat outside his bar. The bar owner told Jacques to move elsewhere and when Jacques politely pointed out that he had permission to moor there and it was a public beach he later had a visit from some 'heavies', who made it clear in a roundabout way that if he didn't relocate, either the boat or him or both would be found on the sea bed.  Hence, they had to move to another mooring further up the beach.

Then there was the local staff issues.  Failure to turn up, without excuse or reason or letting Jacques know in advance ('I didn't understand you were going to take 6 divers visiting from overseas out for a days diving, I thought you were telling me to stay in bed' was probably the excuse) and failing to look after the boat properly leading to it being beached by the tide several times, thereby forcing a cancellation of the days diving, and on numerous occasions getting the anchor rope tangled in the propeller, having similar impact.  This wasn't a case of lack of ability but moreover one of a willingness to apply oneself to the task in hand.  And finding replacement staff is rather like my ordeal in trying to find a driver.

Finally, following the accident and drowning of two divers (Diving Accident) a whole new raft of form filling, committees, meetings and bureaucracy was introduced, which simply meant more expense and more cash. For example, every time there was a dive trip organised permission had to be obtained from not one, not two but three different local government offices.  And you couldn't do this by fax, e-mail or a telephone call, you have to go there in person.  

Let me give you a taste of what visiting one of these offices is like.  I went to pay the local council tax for the house I'm renting.  I walk into the office and I'm the only customer in there.  There are five people behind the counter doing important stuff like reading the papers, watching the TV, combing their hair.  I walk up to the counter and ask no one in particular, as no one seems bothered to actually to acknowledge my existence, if I'm in the right office.  'Take a queue number' I'm told '...and we'll attend to you'.  'But I'm the only person in here' I replied looking around incredulously.  'We can't attend to you unless you take a queue number' I'm told.  So I do as I'm instructed and take a queue number.  Then wait.  And wait.  And wait in a queue of one.  I was very nearly at the point of walking out then one sullen looking lad nods at me.  Nothing more.  No cheerful good morning.  I go over to the window and push the bill over to him. Between chatting to his colleagues and gawping at a computer screen for a inordinate amount of time and moving like he's in a pool of molasses, I finally get to pay my bill.

The thought of having to do this at three different offices would drive me out of my head, never mind out of business.

So Jacques has wrapped up his business.  He's selling his house and moving on and yet another revenue generating entrepreneur leaves.

Welcome to the world of Atlas Shrugged.