The sun had just risen when we hurried to the harbor. There, the boat captain was already waiting, wearing a traditional Balinese headscarf. With a warm smile, he helped us load all the diving equipment on board.
The day before, we had finally reached the Sanur coast after flying from Jakarta to Bali. From Sanur, the journey continued toward a small island southeast of Bali: Nusa Penida.
The Balinese are right—if you want to see Bali as it once was, take the time to visit Nusa Penida. Life here still feels like the Bali of the 1980s. Like a painting frozen in time, women can sometimes still be seen walking bare-chested, a glimpse of traditions preserved.
Now, our boat—carrying about 30 people—sped across the waves. Luckily, the weather was clear, so there was no need to worry about storms. Some of our friends were busy at the back of the boat, preparing their diving gear.
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Manta Point
It didn’t take long before we arrived at a diving spot known as Manta Point, famous for its large population of manta rays. These graceful, kite-shaped creatures prefer the rolling waves near rocky cliffs.
The boat rocked heavily as one by one, divers plunged into the water. There was no time to linger on the surface—better to descend quickly, as floating too long only risked seasickness and losing the will to dive.
Below the surface, things felt slightly calmer, though the currents still swayed us like an invisible swing—sometimes to the left, sometimes to the right. No wonder this site isn’t recommended for beginners; without strong control, it’s easy to lose balance here.
Our local dive guide signaled us to stay together, using hand codes to communicate. Two or three of us tucked ourselves against a small underwater hill, peering upward at the faint silhouette of our boat.
Then, within seconds, a manta ray appeared—gliding down gracefully toward the sandy seabed. Its body was nearly a quarter of the size of our boat. Like a shadowy kite, it drifted through the water with effortless elegance.
The next manta came closer, allowing us to see the details of its underside—splashes of reddish color around its gill-like lobes. In total, we spotted three mantas. Not many, but far luckier than some other groups, who saw none at all that day.
Crystal Bay
After our awe-inspiring encounter with the mantas, the captain steered us toward Crystal Bay, a sheltered cove busy with boats and divers. The waves here were still strong, so we decided to have lunch before diving again.
By around two in the afternoon, we set out for our next dive. The depth here wasn’t too extreme, only about eight meters, but the seabed mostly consisted of white sand with sparse coral formations.
According to local divers, Crystal Bay is often visited by the elusive mola-mola (ocean sunfish). These giant, disk-shaped creatures are known to bask in the warmer shallows after long journeys through icy deep-sea currents.
Searching for mola-mola requires braving the bone-chilling undercurrents. Without proper wetsuits, the cold is almost unbearable.
Although we didn’t encounter any mola-mola that day, the disappointment was softened by the memory of the mantas we had seen earlier. Unlike in Komodo, where we had only glimpsed them from the surface, here we witnessed their majestic flight under the sea. (Sulung Prasetyo)
