Best scuba diving courses in andaman

When the ferry from Port Blair finally reaches the ivory curves of Swaraj Dweep, a certain kind of quietness and stillness comes over the traveler. The Bay of Bengal loses its stiff, colonial mood here and turns into a clear, shimmering glass, a liquid jade that seems to hold the history of these volcanic outposts in its depths. When you go scuba diving in the Andaman Islands, you\'re not just doing something fun; you\'re also giving in to a sensory shift, a quiet move from the busy, hot world above to a cathedral of silent, crushing blue. Going down into the \"Aquarium\" or the steep cliffs of \"The Wall\" feels like going through a liquid mirror into a world of Baroque complexity. The coral gardens are huge and complicated, and they look like a lost civilisation of calcified buildings. Brain corals sit like old, thinking stones among the swaying, purple fans of Gorgonians that pulse with the tides\' unseen rhythm. At \"Nemo Reef,\" the sunlight shines through the water in long, heavenly beams, lighting up the frantic, neon dance of clownfish darting between the stinging safety of anemones. This is very different from the slow, regal glide of a single Green Sea Turtle passing through the middle distance. The trip starts early in the morning, when the light is still a pale, watery amber that comes through the old Mahua trees that line the shore. As the boat cuts through the waves towards the famous scuba diving in Havelock, one boards a wooden donga. The engine\'s rhythmic thrumming sounds like the heartbeat of the archipelago. The smell of salt and sun-warmed neoprene fills the air at the edge of the reef. This is a short prelude to the moment of immersion, when the weight of the world and one\'s own body is suddenly and miraculously lifted. When you get further out, where the seabed drops off into the dark blue depths of \"Dixon\'s Pinnacle,\" the experience becomes more profound and almost like Dalrymple\'s. Like silver shards of a broken mirror, big schools of Barracuda hang in the current. The hulking shadows of Napoleon Wrasse move through the canyons like solemn cathedral wardens. Every breath taken through the regulator is a reminder that you are a brief, privileged ghost in a world that has thrived in beautiful, indifferent isolation for thousands of years. When one finally breaks the surface and goes back to the heat and noise of the island, the memory of that turquoise silence stays with them—a vivid, submerged haunting that makes the world seem suddenly and strangely thin.