DAY 240: It was only about 7:45 in the morning when I was out of bed and back in the comforts of the pillow lounge on the beach of Penguin Village. Reason (other than the fact that pillow lounges rule): I had to finish all my written homework for my Advanced Open Water diver certification course to turn in later that day. Apparently my classmate and dive buddy Oz had the same idea because he was out and at the pillow cafe by eight to do the same. I had finished most of my homework by the time Oz arrived -- it was fairly easy; the homework was open book, and the book was written at a fifth-grade reading level -- and so I did the courteous American high school thing by letting him copy.

FOR MY LAST DIVE -- coincidentally on my last full day in my new paradise -- we rode in a truck to a bay area known as "Golden Blocks" (picture above). Golden Blocks was south of Dahab in an area passed a police checkpoint where the driver of each car had to have a pass filled out -- or, in the case of our driver, three cigarettes to bribe the officer with.

Our fifth and final dive was a Navigational Dive, where we had to pass a simple test underwater by swimming in an (almost) perfect square, by use of an underwater compass. More math was involved with this one -- I had to face the difficult task of adding 90 at every turn -- but in the end, everyone in the class passed. We spent the rest of the time underwater admiring the coral and the big sea turtle feeding on some bottom sea grass just five feet away from us.

"GIVE ME YOUR WRITTEN REVIEW," dive instructor Walid requested of me when we got back to the Penguin Divers dive shop. I stalled for time, pretending I had it back in my room, buying some extra time for Oz, who was in his room still copying my answers. He rushed through it and turned it in -- not that it mattered because it was just a formality; I'm sure Walid never even read it. It wasn't until afterwards that I thought to write, "Are you really reading this, Walid?" as one of my answers.

With everything turned in, log books signed and stamped and payment made, Oz and I were finally PADI Advanced Open Water Certified Divers, qualified to go diving anywhere in the world at depths up to about 100 ft. Oz was so excited about being a diver in Dahab that he decided to prolong his trip and stay another week to do more diving since he had no pressing obligations back home just yet. He had to run his plan by the wife of course, but she, a tall, easy-going Spanish woman named Rosa was okay with it; in fact she would have stayed another week too if she weren't starting a new job in the next two days.

MY LAST DAY IN PARADISE was pretty much just like my first and every other time I wasn't diving: lounging out with a book or notepad in the Penguin Village pillow lounge along the beach with an ice cold lassie or milkshake. The rest of Team Barracuda gradually poured into my little cushioned alcove after waking up at different times in the afternoon -- they had all done the early morning Mt. Sinai trek earlier and slept in all day. Still a bit drowsy, they too just lazily sat amidst the pillows for another day of complete rest and relaxation -- that is, except for the occasional annoyance of a little girl tout trying to sell hand-woven friendship bracelets ("I don't want one!" I'd say) or one of the many street cats scratching up stuff or meowing for food scraps (one actually vomited on the carpet).

By dusk, our group was fairly substantial, including all members of Team Barracuda and some newcomers, including a young hippy-type that Angie and Denise referred to as "The Human Shield" because he over exaggerated about traveling to "dangerous" Jordan where he'd have to use a human shield to defend himself from flying bullets. Sitting around the table, we passed around the hookah pipe to inhale apple and honey goodness until Butch and Cheryl busted out the bottle of cheap Red Star vodka they bought in Aswan -- so cheap that it tasted and smelled like it was fermented with feet. Denise and I went out on a mission to get lemonade and soda to mix it with, but it was no help; orange soda and Red Star just tasted like orange feet.

Giving up on the cheap but nauseating home-mixed liquor, we decided to go out for a celebratory pub-crawl. The reason for celebration: my last day in Dahab. We walked down the promenade to where the other bars were and ended up in one shaped in the fashion of an old schooner. It was a session of gelatin shots, daiquiris, beers, other cocktails and conversation until we ended up next door at another pub with a pool table. Angie and I held the table all night with equal skill levels, and to mix things up we played with our opposite arm, just like we did in our rock throwing contest on our special felucca ride. For some reason, it just wasn't as funny this time around.

IT WAS ABOUT 2:30 IN THE MORNING when Denise, Greg, Angie and I were back at the Penguin Village courtyard, standing around for an awkward goodbye. I hate goodbyes, particularly with people who develop into friends, but there I was again in the familiar situation. Actually, I was too tired to be emotional at all, so it was just handshakes, hugs and spoken phrases like "Keep in touch," or "See you next year." I went back to my room and packed everything up; I was to leave for Cairo in a minivan with Oz's wife Rosa just three and a half hours from then.

Angie was apparently a better person at goodbyes because when I opened the door at six the next morning, she had left me a farewell and "keep in touch" note on my doorstep. Next to the note was one of the woven friendship bracelets that the little girl tout was trying to sell me that afternoon in the pillow lounge. I may have not wanted it when she was trying to sell me one, but under the new circumstances, it was a welcome and appreciated gift -- a reminder of my times with Team Barracuda, Team Shawl, and above all, the pillows and cushions of the paradise known as Dahab.