Richard calls the cabin to awaken me. He’s been out on deck since 5am practicing his tai chi. He says we’re floating through a mystical lancscape—I must come see. I step out onto the promenade deck as the sun rises out of the sea sending fingers of mist curling around some of the 3000 fantastical limestone islands. We’ve surely arrive on another planet. I’m thinking this must be the most beautiful, peaceful place in the universe. Suddenly, I’m seeing planes dropping bombs from high overhead and helicopters swooping low, long bursts of machine gun fire rat-tat-tat-tating. Jim Morrison howls, “Come on baby light my fire.” Am I seeing the past (I am very psychic) or just seeing through the memory screen of endless news reports and movies of the Viet Nam war that haunted my formative years.
We tender in to shore. It’s hard to reconcile the horrific visions with the warm and welcoming smiles of the local people—the men, soft spoken and kind, the women delicate with bell-like voices. You see a little piece of paradise like this and cringe at being a part of the human race that allows two super powers to play out a war they claim is ideology, but is always economic, using small poor countries as their warring fields.
Though Richard and I are not big time consumers, we can’t help supporting the local economy. The handicrafts are so fine and so inexpensive, we feel, instead, like we’re stealing.
Back onboard, we retrace our path through the rock islands, this time with the setting sun as backdrop. Legend has it that long ago the gods sent a family of dragons to help defend this land. They began spitting out jewels and jade, which turned into these islets, which then linked together to form a great wall against invaders.
Sitting down to a 5 course dinner with our priviliged shipmates, we try to reconcile this extravagant experience with the simple lives we leave ashore. Later, on our way to the ship’s Queen’s Lounge theater to see a London and Broadway star sing and entertain us, we remember to always be grateful for our blessings.
