Pak Coco, the Scuba Master Who Cured My Vertigo
He still cheesed. His smile was checkered, but in every place where he was missing a tooth, dignity stood. His hair flowed past his spectacles, sweeping against his weathered skin as he all but marched toward me. I immediately thought of Coach Bertrand. I wasn’t sure I could believe my eyes. You see, I had just gotten new contacts, and this uncle approaching me was Coach’s spitting image. After all, who knows if Coach had a random Indonesian brother? Everybody had a grandpa in the Pacific during that time, anyway. Just like we all have uncles who were in Saigon.
Pak Coco, as he’s known among the playas of Indonesia, was an astute associate of the local surf and scuba school. A wicked combination, if you ever asked me. We had already signed up for surf lessons, but I could tell his big push was getting us to join his weekly scuba school. In fact, I’m certain he started humming and then singing “Under the Sea.” This man was as dynamic as the men I was accustomed to back home. So, I shot straight with him, like I always have with the men in my family. After all, Bali is one of those melanated cultures where everybody is your uncle or auntie. The lines between family and strangers were only attempted to be drawn by the Dutch.
“Uncle,” I said, “I’d love to, but I can’t.”
“Come on, nephew,” he teased, grin widening. “Let’s conquer your fear of sharks. The sharks in Indonesia don’t even have teeth!” His belly swelled with a Buddha laugh, and I couldn’t help but grin. But I am a Gex, so I got even more earnest.
“Pak Coco, when I was in college, I was hospitalized because of vertigo,” I said soberly.
I can still feel the world whirling around me as Brittany whisked my very adult self to the local children’s hospital. Breezy, Brittany’s car, was my ambulance, and there wasn’t a chance I was going anywhere else. Something about the psychological comfort of Winnie the Pooh Band-Aids and Pedialyte popsicles seemed essential at the time. That morning, I woke up for my penultimate Statics exam in Dr. Efimba’s class, and not only did the room refuse to stop spinning, but I couldn’t stop throwing up. I was CERTAIN; it was a curse. I’d never even heard of vertigo until then—or that adults could be admitted to children’s hospitals.
Coco listened intently. His scuba lessons were no longer his priority. He leaned in, taking in every bit of my nightmare with an intensity that felt almost familial.
“Fun fact,” I continued, “I didn’t stop throwing up for days. The room would stop spinning just long enough for me to think I was okay. Then, the cycle would start again. It was hell.”
Coco nodded, his face calm but serious. “Oh, just like my wife,” he said. “Watch how many oranges you eat. Make sure you rest. And massage your neck and head every morning, afternoon, and evening.”
I felt like I’d just been hit with Balinese wisdom. Five different ENT specialists had shrugged their shoulders at me back home, and here was this man offering practical advice that actually felt… actionable.
“Does your mind ever stop?” he asked. “Do you ever truly rest? Or not think? The stress from your thoughts is overwhelming your system, nephew. You need to break the thinking with relaxation techniques.”
He leaned in again, demonstrating how to massage my neck and shoulders. It wasn’t soothing—it was painful. But damn, it felt good. How had this man, on a random beach in Bali, given me better advice in minutes than I’d received from countless specialists back home?
Honestly, I got emotional. Not just because he understood—his wife suffered from the same condition—but because he offered a solution. A real one. One that didn’t include “Good luck with that, maybe try some Dramamine.”
Is this why we travel? To discover common-sense wisdom we’ve overlooked? Sometimes, the simplest truths come from the most unexpected places, like singing “Under the Sea” with Uncle Coco. Maybe our world is designed this way. You have to explore to discover.
Seek, and you shall find.
