A quick trip to tourist information changed all that. There was an area on the map called “Manta Road”. Normally, this means mantas used to congregate in the area until they were fished out or driven away by over eager dive-operators. The locals said otherwise and, with diving, my optimism always outweighs my cynicism.

We were not disappointed.

Manta road is actually a funnel-shaped channel between two fringing reefs. As the funnel narrows the current gets faster, increasing the flow rate of the plankton-rich water. It is here that the mantas congregate to feed and be cleaned. We saw four. They were big, majestic, courageous, not scared by our bubbles or flapping fins. They were feeding, their front fins curved in the characteristic pose, scooping plankton into their gapping mouths.

The largest had a wingspan of about 3 metres and headed straight for me. It swam unashamedly close, I stared into its mouth and peered down its throat. At the last moment it turned away showing me the gill slits on its pale underside. We suspect them to be Manta birostris, the larger of the two species of Manta, and the one listed on the ICUN red list of threatened and endangered species.

When I surfaced I couldn’t stop grinning. In ten years of diving I’d only ever seen one manta ray. The experience had been transcendental. If god had had an earthly form: he'd have been a manta.