Alaska Cruise
Ran Tao
©
Copyright 2025 by Ran Tao
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I
didn’t hear
the intercom and missed breakfast again. It was already eleven
o’clock when I woke up. Something about the rocking motion of a
ship and a windowless room that made me sleep so well and lose track
of time. Even my insomniac travel companion was vanquished by the
sleeping spell and slept through the night.
“Wow,
I
have never slept so well in my life!” He stretched out his
arms in the air and reached for the TV remote control on the
nightstand to check the news.
I
got up, turned on
the fluorescent overhead light in the bathroom, and splashed some
cold water on my face. As the sleeping spell slowly dissipated it was
replaced with a sudden realization of claustrophobia and hunger.
“I
am going
to see what they have for lunch today, OK? Meet me on the seventh
floor.” I gathered my phone and room key, and left my
companion who was still watching the news and getting dressed.
It
wasn’t easy to reach the dining hall from our shoebox-size
cabin in midship. I got on and off from two different elevators,
passed a few extravagantly decorated cabin doors and inconspicuous
Filipino housekeepers, got lost a few times in the winding and narrow
hallways, and finally reached the dining room. The first wave of
lunchgoers had already formed a long queue at the buffet. Today’s
menu had grilled salmon, barbecued chicken, salad, fruits, string
beans, bread, cookies, teriyaki salmon, baked potatoes, roasted
vegetables, mountains of pies and cakes for desserts.
I
walked along the buffet queue and tried to see if there was anything
appetizing. We were surrounded by so much salmon that even the air in
the dining room smelled like fish. I didn’t want to sound like
a spoiled child but after eating salmon for lunch and dinner three
days in a row I was ready to try something less omega-3 concentrated.
The more I looked at the queue, the less I was inspired to eat. It’s
funny how when I was in California all I wanted to eat was salmon for
dinner. Now I was in a place where salmon was abundant, and all I
wanted was a juicy Angus burger with lettuce, tomato, and avocado.
I
felt the urge to leave the warm salmon-scented dining room, feel the
crisp air on my face, and set my feet on the cold hard ice. I just
wanted to get out of the dining room and see the glacier up close.
Unfortunately, it would be another five hours before our next
scheduled disembarkment in Icy Strait Point. For now I had to settle
for the upper deck. Luckily since most passengers were cozying up in
their cabins, eating salmon for the eighth time of the day, sipping
cappuccino, or playing Monopoly or Scrabble with their families, it
didn’t take me much effort to find a nice quiet spot on the
upper deck to be by myself.
“Brrr!
It’s cold!”
The
glacier air wasn’t exactly as welcoming and refreshing as I
imagined. For one thing I was inadequately dressed for the Alaskan
early summer weather. For reasons unbestowed to me when I got up this
morning I chose clothes with a nice texture and soft touch to my skin
over sensibility and practicality. I didn’t even know why I
packed a soft cashmere sweater and a form-fitting wool jacket for an
Alaska cruise trip. When the cold air hit my face I had an instant
flashback to the coldest winter I spent as an oncology research
assistant in a hospital basement in Milwaukee. My daily commute to
work involved embracing the wind that cut my face like an obsidian
knife on the sidewalks with densely packed, eight-feet-tall snow that
would remain unmelted for months. But the glacier exuded a different
kind of coldness; no movement, no noise, only tranquility and
austerity. It was as if time itself had frozen.
I
took out my phone, attempted to capture one of the most beautiful
things I had ever witnessed. I must have taken hundreds of photos of
the same iceberg and floating ice block. Alas even with the advanced
bokeh effect and depth control from my smartphone camera none of my
photos could do justice to the natural beauty of the frozen water.
I
put my phone back in my coat pocket and stood silently, pledging my
allegiance to the ultimate representation of timelessness and purity.
I was in a trance, imagining myself as a bubble trapped inside of the
permanent ice. I decided to start a staring contest with the glacier.
It’s a tough staring contest that I was almost guaranteed to
lose. The more I stared at the glacier the more I couldn’t get
over how blue it was.
“What
are you doing here? Aren’t you cold?”
My
short-lived solitude was prematurely terminated. My companion
discovered my hiding spot and kindly brought me an extra jacket. He
wanted to know if I would like to join him for lunch. I nodded but
wasn’t quite ready to concede my defeat in the staring contest
or get back to the salmon-scented room.
“Excuse
me. Do you mind taking a picture of us?” I stopped a
passing Filipino housekeeper. He smiled courteously and took my
phone, a task he probably had already performed a thousand times
today.
“A
little closer, a little more, right there. Now smile. That’s
good.”
The
Filipino housekeeper directed us expertly like a professional
photographer. He was turning my phone vertically and horizontally,
stepping backward and forward, squatting down and standing up, until
he found the perfect angle and lighting.
“OK,
just a few more pictures. Big smile.”
With
his encouraging words we obligatorily flashed our biggest smiles and
posed like a happy couple on honeymoon. The Filipino housekeeper
proudly showed us the pictures he took with my phone and then he took
a few more with my companion’s phone. I never liked my photos
being taken, neither did my companion. I was doing my due diligence
of being a good tourist and reporter for my acquaintances back home.
My acquaintances would want to know what I did on my cruise vacation.
Telling them that I looked at some big block of ice would be an
insult and make them devastatingly disappointed. After all, how good
a vacation could be without some evidence to prove it? We thanked the
patient housekeeper and apologized for interrupting his work.
“So
you want to get some salmon before it’s gone?” My
companion asked.
“Sure!”
Ran
Tao is an aspiring writer who resides in the Bay Area, California.
She has been writing short stories poetry and fiction (for her own
entertainment) for the last ten years. Her style can be described as
intimate and playful. 2025 is the year she decided that she was
finally ready to share her whimsical and creative inner world with
the rest of the world.
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