“Not really. I didn’t sleep for a long time. But it was better down by the water. Peaceful.”
“Like meditation?”
“More like it got me out of my own head. I still come here sometimes if I’m overwhelmed, or just to watch the boats.”
“What is it with men and boats? I get seasick.”
“Men and boats? That’s a question for the Vikings, Britt. Men want to dominate the sea and prove they’re men.”
“That makes zero sense to me.”
“Eh, me neither but it sounded like I really knew. Boats are okay. I mainly like to watch them go in and out, imagine where they’re headed, that kind of thing.”
“That I can understand. Tell me about this one, closest to us, then.”
“That one’s going to South America to get fruit. Loads of bananas and papayas. All the people on board will go ashore the first night to look around, and they’ll all end up in a salsa club, shitfaced and learning how to dance,” he said with a smile.
Britt could imagine it when he told her the story, a lot of weathered, tired sailors, their forced merriment. Drinks and the energy of being in a crowd again after weeks of isolation on the ship, the curves of women in bright short dresses as they danced, the alcohol telling the sailors they could dance too. She smiled at the thought, of dim rooms and flashing red lights and the throb of Spanish guitar.
“I like that. What about the other boat?”
“That one? They’re going to load it with steel girders tomorrow. It’s going all the way to India, the long way around, to build a school. The girders are too big even for a cargo plane, so they’re sipping. The sailors will unload the beams at the harbor and never even go ashore. They don’t know how beautiful India is. They just think it’s full of child brides and waterborne illnesses because they’re so ignorant. They’re not going to have half as much fun as the South American boat’s crew.”
“Have you been to India?”
“Sure. It’s gorgeous.”
“What’s it like there?”
“It’s just—people. Wall to wall. There’s no being alone; there’s always voices and a crush in the streets or on the sidewalks, people, cares, animals. Everything is so alive and vibrant and never stops—horns honking, they even have loudspeakers in, like, the mosques and other places you’d think would be fairly quiet. And guys would just shove their phone in my face to take a picture.”
“Are you famous?”
“No, I was a tourist. I look and sound different so, boom, photo opp, I guess.”
“So personal space isn’t a thing?”
“No. Privacy isn’t either. It’s just different.”
“Hmmm...so if I decide to travel there in my far off adventurous future, what should I do?”
“Only drink the mineral water, get a tetanus shot before you go, always argue with your host.”
“What?”
“It’s rude not to. Like if you go out, and your host is going to pay, you have to argue with him and try to yank the checkout of his hand. It’s pretty funny, but it’s really impolite to just go with it and say thanks. Then if he pays, you have to shove money at him.”
“That seems weird. Wait, should I have shoved money at you back at the Ocean Club?”
“We aren’t in India. If we were, you’d have to wear pants for sure, baggy clothes. Don’t mention Pakistan.”
“I’m pretty sure I’ve never mentioned Pakistan to anyone ever.”
“Then you’d be fine. Ride from Manali up to Leh on a motorbike. It’s heaven.”
“What’s Leh?”
“It’s like the highest city in the world. It takes a while to get used to the altitude, but the views are amazing, and the samosas were killer.”