It’s quiet. Very quiet.
Directly in front of me, a faint pastel sunset struggles to glow against a faded sky of serious and bruised clouds. It’s not a bold display of day’s rapid decline into night – there is no sky show, theatrics or shooting shards of colour, just a subtle fade-out in transition from day to evening. A few kilometres behind me I can see a massive building, its blazing lights piercing a dark night and standing out against the blackened backdrop in a brief moment where light is a precious commodity. Light - there’s not too much of it about; after all, it’s just past midnight.
The view from my veranda graduates with each minute – for once I can literally just sit and watch the world go by – minute by minute – there’s no rush, there’s plenty of time.
I’m travelling on a ship – Holland America’s Westerdam, north along the Alaskan coast, somewhere between Juneau and Ketchikan where time and its importance has become irrelevant. My cabin has a balcony – a little travel accessory which takes ship travel to a new level when in parts of the world where the scenery is so enticing and delicious as this. Delicious is not an adjective I’d normally reserve for Alaska but unfortunately every other descriptor has been used too many times before and after all, this is beauty one can almost taste. These waters are well travelled and well described. For me, these views are delicious.
Through a curtain of semi darkness, I’m facing off with a geographical mille feuille of muted colours which lie in layers from the deep dark sea to the face of heavily wooded mountains - all dusted with a generous layer of early summer snow. That sombre sky which before graduated in colour from dusty pink to musty ink sits as a lid above them, containing the various strata in a perfectly structured wafer. There is no battle for supremacy between function and form in this ancient display of nature’s art – for once they buddy up like yin and yang.
It’s taken a long time for nature to sketch this scene, to paint the palate and to hang these pictures in this extraordinary gallery. My casual hours on board this ship are rewarded with images of glacial floes which the centuries have gently nudged from far, far away towards me – a passenger on a ship. They lazily slide between the valleys and edge towards the sea as they have for centuries - massive symbols of power and patience.
The chilled Alaskan silence secretly tells me that there is life out there and I can only imagine what happens in those deep green mountains where the stories these pictures paint become animated. Bears on the ground, small birds in the trees and wing-spread eagles guarding the sky above like sentries. The greens which dissolve into translucent greys are the mask that covers a strange and foreign world where whales oblige by breaching in front of me – oblivious. It’s an integrated performance, free for the taking.
At midnight, with most of my fellow passengers asleep, I cast my eyes back into the semi darkness. That strange, illuminated building I saw several kilometres behind me is another ship carrying just as many passengers as mine. Its glowing form against the dark water and sky is unnerving. Is there someone on their balcony doing exactly what I’m doing, staring in a mesmerised state at the passing, semi frozen world? I can’t imagine sharing this surreal experience – it must be just me and Alaska, surely.
Tomorrow will deliver a city – Ketchikan. But tonight is the travel I’ve been waiting for – the quiet and seemingly solo journey through one of the most disarmingly beautiful passages of all creation.
I’m happy to take my time just as the product of time is taking me.
And sleep would be a waste – a waste of time.
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