Thursday, July 18, 2013

The Real Inside Passage


The Inside Passage haunts me, the sheer mass, muscular and domineering, the allure of frozen quiet shattered with a crack, more ominous than usual because of all the global warming talk. People walk the decks at all hours thinking ponderous thoughts, another kind of Inside Passage. I wanted to be hammered by weather when I was out there, pummeled by a shiatsu of wind and rain. I wanted to get laid every day, have my Inside Passage explored, assaulted, maybe even enjoyed as a safe haven. Cruising is a rite of passage. So is marriage. And turning fifty (not me, but HLH, in whose honor we gathered). The cruise was the cruise was the cruise. Not to be missed.





Hmm . . . yummy fog. Please envelope the ship, let the motors go still so I can hear the electric snap of ice, the hungry lap of water as I walk the decks blindly bumping into other sightless voyagers, perhaps hearing breathing behind me. I turn. The breathing becomes a soft moan. A rustle. "Now," someone says, and, "there."

Lovers out in the open, but hidden by the fog, secret parts lubricated by a salty mist.





My husband doesn't understand why I wanted this photo from the children's playland on the ship.

It's sinister. You could leave a body in the well for an innocent child to discover.














Two of my fans.

It's past ten at night. Note the windows in the rear of the photo.

The midnight sun. One of the best things about this cruise.

I don't wear a watch. I relied heavily on the elevator floors to tell the day of the week (anyone have a picture of that?), and I had incredible energy.


Would a vampire made in the frozen northern reaches of the world be able to tolerate light?