We headed to the coast of Borneo with high hopes for some of the best scuba diving in the world around Sipidan — a tiny oceanic island that rises 600 meters from the seabed and sits at the center of one of the richest marine habitats on Earth.

This was a special leg of the trip for me as my dad has told me stories about his unforgettable dive trip to Sipidan back in 1991, when we were living in Singapore. At that time, you could stay on the island — either in tented camps or basic huts — and dive to your heart’s content. He’d described Barracuda Point, where the current was so powerful that that divers had to surface one by one, each quickly plucked from the water by someone waiting on the boat before they drifted away. But if you could power through the current, you’d be rewarded with tornado-like schools of hundreds of barracuda.

Just nine years later, in April 2000, Sipidan made global headlines. Filipino Moro pirates arrived by boat and kidnapped 21 people — 10 tourists and 11 resort workers — forcing them aboard at gunpoint. While everyone was eventually released safely, Malaysian National Security took over control of the island, and everything changed.

Today, Sipidan is different world. It’s considered completely safe for travel but in order to protect the reefs, stays on the island are no longer allowed, only Advanced Open Water-certified divers are permitted, and access is capped at 120 daily permits split among dive operators. To visit, you have a few options: stay in Semporna (the nearest coastal town), stay on one of a handful of small nearby islands (small, as in, less than 1km long), stay on the sole live-aboard boat in the area — or stay on the world’s one and only “dive rig”: a decomissioned oil platform turned diving lodge. The rig’s shipping containers have been converted into rooms, and the rig is fully outfitted with all the essentials: dive gear, delicious food, evening karaoke parties, and, of course, a ping pong table.

Travis and I debated whether staying on the rig would drive us insane or be the coolest thing ever. For me, it was without a doubt the latter. We stayed for five days — long enough for me to complete my PADI Advanced Open Water certification (I’ve been diving for 20 years but had only been Open Water certified) and go on 15 dives, four of them at Sipidan and the rest in the surrounding area. Every dive was fantastic in its own way: massive schools of fish, giant bumpheads, dozens of sea turtles putting on a show, camouflaged crocodilefish, nurse sharks, eels, and my personal favorites: every imaginable variety of tiny, alien-like nudibranchs (please google them!). The reefs had those brilliant shimmering blues and pinks, and the coral looked otherworldly.

It wasn’t lost on us that the same week we were diving, back in the U.S., our orange leader was issuing a proclamation to “unleash American commercial fishing in the Pacific”, removing critical protections for nearly 500 square miles of marine sanctuary. But I digress.

On one afternoon dive, after swimming through murky waters with a terribly strong current, feeling like we were in desolate ocean void territory, I started to make out the shape of a few barracuda ahead. Moments later, the visibility cleared, and I found myself face to face with hundreds of fish. I looked at my dive guide, stunned, and he gave me a calm nod to say “You’re good.” The fish were totally unfazed by my presence — they just folded me into the center of their spiraling silver cyclone. Time slowed and all I could see were streaks of motion. I was completely transfixed, briefly transported somewhere else. And yes, I cried into my mask. It was just too beautiful not to.

We shared the rig with fewer than 40 other divers and a number of staff, a group just small enough to mostly know each other by the end of the week. Between dives, we feasted on whole fish and curries and bonded with our small adopted dive rig family — including two best friends from Malaysia and an Italian expat living in Singapore. We were immediately bound by our mutual love of diving, and there were endless laughs and stories shared and plans made for future visits. My favorite part of travel.

After five nights, we bid an emotional farewell to the rig, and ended our Borneo journey in the most bizarrely charming way possible. Wanting to stay close to the airport (which is conveniently located in the middle of nowhere), we booked the closest possible accommodation: a $15/night guesthouse at a local golf course/holiday resort. Travis bet we’d be the only guests — and he was right. We had the entire place to ourselves. We strolled the course at sunset, alongside locals out for their evening runs, and dined alone at the clubhouse restaurant, where dusty photos of colonial-era generals and present-day visiting kings and political leaders lined the walls. A perfect last night.