151

More passengers came on deck. The boat sounded its horn. It seemed that we soon were to arrive. More seagulls around seemed to indicate that land was nearby. A huge cornerstone came into view, Cape St. Mary's, according to the map. We passed the island at a great distance, approaching the coast at an angle. 'It's odd,' I said, 'to arrive via the back door instead of directly from the ocean. We should have chosen a boat that sailed to St. John's. A few cottages were scattered along the coast against the mountains, looking attractive in the evening sunlight. Following our course on the map we passed villages, which names ended with Cove. We watched them with the pocket sized Zeiss binoculars, calling the names, Angels Cove, Patrick's Cove, Gooseberry Cove, Ship Cove. Just before we passed an inlet there was a place that must have been Point Verde. Then followed Freshwater after which we rounded the peninsula with the airfield. We made a wide turn into the harbor of Argentia, on the left, on the portside, the massive Castle Hill, as if we were entering a port of North Wales, Great Britain.

152

'It's so odd,' I said, 'it feels like homecoming and it's very special that I'm sharing this with you.' 'Well then,' she said, 'if I may make a suggestion, I propose to seek a hotel as soon as we arrive in Argentia. We then can make the drive from there to St. John's at a laid-back pace.' Exactly after twelve hours at sea we moored in the bay of Argentia. Amber started to sing the song that then faded away into a hum: 'Don't cry for me Argentia.' 'The guide tells me that this place has been an American military base until five years ago.' The voyage had been long one, but ended hours earlier than we had expected. We found a room in a nearby and neat hotel 'The Anchor' and had dinner in a nearby small restaurant. 'It's being in the ocean air all day must have made us so sleepy, don't you think? I'd like to read a few pages in the Titanic book. She seems to have come closer to the surface, in my imagination that is.' Amber made herself comfortable in bed with the book and I checked my email at the little desk and wrote replies to some of them, meanwhile making notes in my diary, like 'Local greatness, provincial significance, Titanic Publishing is working towards communicating that across the border via the web.'

153

'What are you writing?' Amber asked. I read the line aloud. 'How much time is that taking you?' she asked. 'The time it takes,' I said. 'We're dead certain that the formula will work. We're building a concept and we're building the site. In future we'll see whether we'll have to merge with a larger organization that already has built their databases. Since legends are our core material we want to build a database of obituaries, and visual material of still living globally known and local future legends.' 'Perhaps the whole idea has been brought in a too playful format,' Amber said. 'Looking at it from my point of view, seeing it from my legal profession, your titanic database could be connected with the archives of the CIA and the FBI, or other categories of communities. I am aware that you are after great stories. I believe that such an interface might be possible.' 'No, no,' I said, 'I don't mean the great stories of all times, but the stories that are of local interest to any member of the family, or the neighbors, or the members of a club, of all kinds of clubs. We have stories in mind with images, visual documents, and albums. Ever since I met you I have been looking for the words I could use in a poem in honor of you. But you're an idiom onto yourself.' 'And your obituary would be a long one, if I were you I'd start keeping a diary as from today.' After I had switched off the lights. There was still some light coming into the room. It was quiet outside. Amber pretended to be an iceberg, but she soon melted after I pretended to be the captain of the Titanic.

154

The next morning it was Sunday morning, if I wasn't misled by the quick passing of the days. We got up sooner than we really felt like, but then we had a long drive ahead. The weather was fair, and both our moods were sunny. Another Sunday with her and even more of a fairy tale just like in the beginning, and it still was just unbelievable how well we suited. As we had decided not to waste too much time loitering at the scenic spots, we would give our full attention to St. John's and the coastline so we left Argentia at nine. On the way up we bought the film edition of 'Shipping News' and we discussed the book for some time. 'I got to dislike Quoyle,' I said, 'who in my imagination looked like the klutzi helicopter pilot in Mad Max the Australian movie. The man can't help it, but then the writer can. Hopefully we'll see him in St. John's.' 'You are so practical,' Amber laughed. She seized and squeezed my right hand and said, 'But what's more important, we're under way together as if we've been on the road since I left my parental home. I'm so surprised that you're so different from anybody I've known or been looking for, and that would become my life's travel companion. In actual fact I can't arrest this phenomenon. With the passengers who were swallowed up by the icy ocean something in my mind told me that this trip was so much like a new life.' 'Since I was a boy,' I said, 'I wanted to make something different of my life. I've tried, but I was always tied to such a tight schedule practically leaving me no spare time to realize that this was My Promised Land I have always been craving for. This is a real home coming.'

155

Amber made notes of the route we were to follow: Argentia, Freshwater - still far from Iceberg Water - and from Dunville to Villa Marie, and Placentia Junction. 'Good Heavens, this really is Newfoundland!' I cried out. Then we were to hit Highway One east, and drive to Ocean Pond. From there, according to the map, we would have one swift, comfortable highway to St. John's, and then we would pass Butter Pot later in the afternoon, high tea, toast with butter and marmalade or something else. We both were anxiously looking forward to traversing the most consoling views on nature that we could dream of. We guessed the trip would not last longer than two hours, if all went well, and we would not stop taking photographs. Otherwise it could take up to three hours. Although we were planning ahead our idea of what to expect became somewhat distant. We didn't take off earlier than necessary, around eleven, perhaps a little later. Amber took the wheel. I took the camera in my lap, the Contax G2 with the Zeiss Vario-Sonnar, the short zoom. I also thought about looking at her as she smiled, watched her hands on the wheel, and enjoy seeing her beautiful slender legs, and listen to her cunning remarks, and her laughter. She sang with the radio, and the journey was like a movie, up the hill and down, bend after bend in the road, a boy's dream come true, something I never dreamt of in the bow window of my parental home. On this trip I would be driven eighty happy-go-lucky miles with this divine girl, through a countryside that intrigued me more than the Andes region and was safer and socially more cultivated.

156

Past the exit to Holyrood there was a loud bang in the rear of the car, we swerved to the middle of the road and then sharply to side. Amber remained cool and calm and steered us safely to side of the road. It was a flat rear tire indeed, caused by a piece of steel from a torn truck tire. The tire was quickly replaced, and on we went. 'It's the same distance as from Amsterdam to Paris,' I said, 'but ten times more fascinating. I'm always been curious to know how the locals see their own environment.' 'You'll get your chance to ask. We're doing ok aren't we?' 'Yes mam, we sure are doin' real great!' It was well past noon when we found a café that complied with our taste and appetite. Instead of taking seats opposite each other we sat next to each other so we could give the travel guide an once-over starting on the last leg before entering St. John's. Well past apple pie time we ate an omelet and drank a Coke© and tried to memorize the map of the town, so we could drive directly to the waterfront, as this was assumed to be the ideal location for a hotel. Taking my time I took some pictures here and there. We rolled into town at four.

157

As we had memorized the layout of the town beforehand we got into town we found our way to St. John's harbor straightaway. On Water Street, we guessed this would be an ideal spot considering the view. We parked the car, practically in front of a most appealing hotel. We booked a room with a view. Delighted with it stood in silence for a long time, enjoying the view, the harbor and further down the opening to the ocean. Amber loosened her grip on my hands and turned so we had full eye contact. She had a serious look on her angelic face. 'I see St. John's,' she said, 'as a milestone in my life. It seems to me that on this journey we're coming to a different phase of our life, and that at our age. Naturally I am speaking for myself. My mother raised me in a strict manner; she never promised me a rose garden. Even when I was very young I had this sense of reality so I decided to grow my own roses. I had no other definite goal in my life than to remain true to myself. That is my personal mission. Which doesn't mean that I would not light a candle where I could switch on the lamp. My calculated realism includes all varieties of romance, but there is law and order in my blood. I also crave for the excitement and passion. And now's the moment - I never had the chance to express these feelings in my own words to anyone except to my diary. In other words I'd like to tell you that since I've met you I am in exceptionally high spirits.' I took both her hands, and while softly stroking them I said 'I've always been looking westward at the sunset and fantasizing about my future, and now, at sunset, we are looking eastward, in the direction of where I came from, ain't that odd?' 'I am curious to know,' she said, 'where you did come from, while it's clear to me where my roots lie, I'd like to know yours.'

158

Early Monday morning a layer of morning mist softly drifted over the water down by the harbor. Past the mouth to the ocean seagulls were circling above the rocks in the distance. 'It's well past noon by now at home,' I said, 'my home which meanwhile has become my yesteryear's home. But let's talk options for today. First of all I want to call Ron Stamp and tell him I'm here, sorry, that we're here.' The cell phone rang. Amber picked it up, probably because she felt that it must be Walter who called. It was Walter. He spoke loudly; even from a distance I could hear him. Formulating in a friendly manner she said that she would be returning the forthcoming week. She took the wheel and as the captain of the ship she said that she had the right to those days off, and that although the timing had been a bit sudden but not at all inconvenient for the office. This trip was an opportunity not to be missed and an unforeseen bonus. 'Good job,' I said, 'next call you make is to Stamp, you're doing fine as my secretary.' After this we went for breakfast. With the sounds of the harbor in the background we had a delicious meal. Back in our room Amber called Stamp on the hotel phone. I heard what he said by listening in with the extra earpiece. 'It doesn't surprise me at all,' Ron said, 'to get you on the phone, I've read about you in his latest chapter that were posted onto the site. But don't worry the adventures have been recorded in good taste. I trust that you may have confidence in Roger. You should trust Roger. I'm glad you've arrived. I'll come down to the hotel to pick you up.'

159

Amber kept her calm but kept looking at me in silence. Then she looked out of the window, without saying a word. With a look I had never seen before she asked 'Did you also put post some pictures of me on this site?' Her usual calm and composed way seemed to be disappeared, she looked infuriated. 'No, I did not,' I said. She looked at me with a blush: 'You really live up to your name, Sparks, posting your intimate diary onto the web, to be read all over the world, that is our diary, if I'm correct. As a Gemini you really seem to live two lives, a person with two characters like Jekyll and Hyde. This is not funny! I happened to wake up during the night, and half consciously I saw you working on your laptop, probably writing that I had just woken up.' 'I'll naturally let you read it. This relationship does not need to end after I have finished writing this book. What's more, for me it's to become a continuing diary, like what we have going now.' 'You may as well write an epilogue, and delete the preceding installments,' Amber said, 'If you go on with this without my knowing and consent.' She wasn't exactly mad at me, but very apprehensive. I called Ron Stamp and asked him to pick us up in an hour or so. 'I hope Walter isn't going to know about this,' she said.

160

'I am mad about you, but I'm even madder at you,' she said, 'and I don't want to deal with your two faces. And as for what you published on your site, I feel that as a penetration of my privacy.' She had a very grave look on her face. 'I cannot smile at your Freudian association of words,' I said, 'but I think of my posting this on the web as a long piece of prose, or as a long poem, dedicated to you. Lovers don't write poetry anymore these days. And poetry isn't read any longer. On line they chat with each other, across desks in the same offices, between offices, at school. A lot of chatting goes on between friends and between people who haven't even met each other in any other way than via the web. Have you ever visited a chat room on the web? We live on the threshold of a whole new era. People stopped writing letters, and those who still receive a letter don't answer them. They don't even have stamps anymore. You may have read Howl or other poems by the poets of the Beat Generation, because you've lived in a niche of a well-educated society. Culturally you live on an island. Society is changing rapidly. Lovers write each other short messages via their cell phones. And those who are inspired and real poets make beautiful cyber haiku. I suggest that we'll talk about this later, hopefully tonight.'

161

'I've been thinking about this new form of publishing for quite some time,' I said, 'And in order to understand it, I feel the need to write about my discoveries in life, whether they are into technologies or the ultimate soft tech. Although I'm here in my capacity as photographer I register my reactions as a writer as well, or let's say a minor poet. In the old times writers published these pieces of prose and they were applauded. That's not what I'm after, but I seem to have embraced this new way of communicating, that has become another way of breathing, or a sort of virtual social contact.' Outside a car door slammed. Amber looked and turned around. 'Well,' she said, a little softer, 'let's adjourn this discussion until tonight, when both parties have had some time to think about the situation.' She smiled, in an evasive way and said 'Let's go downstairs, my friend, I can see that Stamp has arrived, that is if you described him correctly. He's wearing a kind of Scottish or Norwegian knitted woolen sweater. But beware, I am not letting you off the hook; we'll talk about this later.'

162

On the stairs I started another attempt. 'I hope that you did not see my explanation as a lecture.' She didn't stop and said 'Tonight'. Stamp was in the lobby, talking to the receptionist, and he greeted us cheerfully. 'That must have been a long drive,' he said, and he turned towards Amber, 'I didn't expect you, but naturally you're always welcome on Newfoundland. I propose to go for a coffee before we go down to the plant, that is if you don't have other plans.' 'From now on, Ron, while we're on the island, this is not going to be a vacation,' I said, 'although we hope to enjoy our stay here. We are we planning to take a motorcycle ride around the island, that is after we finished shooting and talking.' 'That's an excellent idea; we'll talk about that later. Did you bring your equipment?' 'I'll dash upstairs,' I said. 'I left them there, not knowing what your plans could be.' Ron and Amber were engaged in a friendly chat when I came down with my cameras, lenses and film, ready for a long shoot. 'Will you be able,' Ron asked, 'to put them straightaway on the website?' From the corner of my eyes I could see Amber giving me a grave look. 'I'm shooting these pictures on film,' I said, 'and I'll have them processed back home. Only after they've been scanned I can put them on the site. On my site or yours?' 'On both our sites,' Ron said. 'Well, let's get going.' Walking towards Ron's car Amber snapped: 'You'll have them processed back home?' 'Yes,' I said, 'that's the best way. Otherwise I'd have to seek a lab in New York, and besides there's no gain in the rush.' 'We need fine prints, and scans, to put them on the site,' Ron said, 'But l suggest that we'll discuss a to-do-list in the coffee shop down the road.'

163

We walked down the street until we reached a café and took seats at the window. 'You've seen me,' I addressed Ron, 'taking pictures with a video camera. The density of the pixels is adequate for posting those pictures onto the website. But for printing it's not. If we'd like to use these shots for prints, or to be framed for the wall, the video pictures are useless. That's why I've brought my analog photo gear. But then I also brought my video camera along, in case we decided to shoot video, or whatever.' 'That's all very convenient,' Ron said. 'We'll soon have to decide what we're going to do. Say Amber, if you don't mind asking, where are you from? Your English is so perfect that I doubt you're from Europe, although I first guessed that you could be from a Scandinavian country.' 'My forefathers were Vikings,' Amber said, 'or rather, they came from Norway. My family has been living on Long Island as long as anyone can remember. Well anyway, a long time. Roger and I haven't known each other long. I was intrigued; by his or maybe more so, your project, as he told me about it, I thought that it would be interesting to join him, and I may add, it's already has been very interesting up to now. I've been to Norway once, and this area reminds me of that same landscape, same sort of weather, and even the people seem to be Norwegian, but I guess their real heritage is more Scottish.' 'Yes,' Ron said, 'this whole area has more Scottish heritage, same as on Nova Scotia, if you ever have seen that part of the coast.'

164

'Nova Scotia,' Ron said, 'is in many respects quite a different area, but let's now concentrate on this island. I propose to go down to the plant now, so you'll get some impression of the work that's being done, and the processes and some of the people. And later we may discuss the marketing endeavors and goals.' 'It amazed me,' Amber said, looking at Ron, 'that it's so much simpler than for instance digging up coal, or fishing. An iceberg drifts by and you put it into a bottle. And then you sell it like a precious commodity.' 'Yes Amber,' Ron said, 'it's practically as simple as that. But then it took us quite a while to work out this simple idea and make it profitable. It's the purest product on earth. It drifts by and is for free. We filter the water for security reasons, to get the most unimaginable purity. To melt the ice, bottle the water in sufficient quantities so the process is feasible. We then transport the water to the market, to the old and potential new customers. To succeed in all this you need to build and finance a plant, develop a process, and build up the marketing to make sure the customer is aware of the product and develops a desire to want it.

165

'Amber, I am curious to know what your profession is, that is, if it's not modeling,' said Ron. 'I'm a lawyer,' Amber said, 'my brother's partner in Arikssen and Arikssen, attorneys at law.' 'That explains your proficient look,' Ron said. 'I hope that you'll appreciate what we're doing up here. Let's go and see.' Ron paid the waitress, and we drove in his car to the plant. It was now ten thirty. The weather was fair, a little overcast; not much wind. There was a noticeable tension between Amber and myself. She looked apprehensive, but wonderful and energetic; there was a distance, as if she was on an island, or on an iceberg. Seeing her that way I loved her, but I feared the cold was personal. My phone rang. It wasn't Walter, nor was it Allen whom I had mailed that I was off to St. John's, but it was Jan van Buuren, who called from Amsterdam and asked how I got on with the photography. I told him that I had just arrived; some practical chitchat about the site followed, after which he wanted to speak to Ron. While Ron talked and wasn't looking I kissed Amber; she let me, but not wholeheartedly. But then she held my hand longer than a second, and squeezed it. I wondered whether she had let me off the hook. I seriously wondered whether I really had made a mistake to have virtually trespassed one of her strict limits.

166

Traffic in St. John's was easy going. Many vehicles were four-wheel drives with heavy tires, slowly thumping and gurgling along. A relaxed and leisurely, pleasant atmosphere hung about town. Some trees in the street surprised me. 'I should write about those trees,' I said, 'at least I should mention what kind of trees they are, but then I never saw much in names; I'd say they could be plane-trees.' I had not expected wooden houses, but small, weathered Scottish brownstones. They were kept up wonderfully; we passed wooden houses in a jolly nice variety of colors; Norwegian Red, Irish Green, Scottish Yellow, French Pink, somber British Grey, German Black, presumably the authentic colors of the houses in this first town in America, built by the first settlers who arrived here from Europe, looking for a new future and a new life. 'Back to the future,' Amber said, 'where it all started.' In sight came a pleasant looking one-floor office building. Maurice Murphy, the president of Iceberg, opened its heavy wooden door for us. He seemed to have been expecting us. Ron must have told him about our plans to come and talk to the staff and make photographs the production line.

167

The office looked like an ops room from where a marketing campaign was being prepared. Large ordnance maps with data and markings on the walls, prints of maps as seen in a television weather broadcast. We inspected the laboratory and met pleasant people working there. We drank a glass of water that was at least 15.000 years old. 'It's so pure,' a girl said, 'that the first time it was tested by a laboratory in Japan the gauges didn't move. After a lot of puzzling they came to the conclusion that there was nothing in the ice that could be measured.' The walls in the conference room featured photographs of icebergs in many varieties and shapes. Drinking coffee we reviewed our plans for the coming days ahead: this afternoon a plane flight and viewing the icebergs from the air, and on Tuesday a tour to the Borealis, the harvesting barge. Then a photo shoot was planned in the bottling plant in the afternoon. On Wednesday the motorcycle ride, to shoot some local color. Halfway through the brainstorm my cell phone rang. It was Walter on the phone asking me whether we were about to pop up at his office. I gave the phone to Amber after which she left the room. When Amber returned the four of us drove off to the Bagel Café, Maurice' favorite food and drink place. Maurice had the look of a Frenchman in the fishing trade, thick moustache and a way of moving about as if he was playing 'jeu de boules'. The only thing about him that was really French was his first name was French, he assured us. We dropped Ron off at the office and drove to a quiet inlet where a seaplane was moored. I asked Amber whether Walter had lost a dossier. 'Yes, me,' she said.

168

An orange Cessna on floats was moored at a wooden pier. At the end of the pier a dozen or so seagulls were watching us as we walked towards the plane. 'I wonder why they are looking at us that way, or do you think they might be jealous?' Amber asked, 'Or are these looks they are giving us more out of curiosity, or could it even be superiority?' 'It's just an attentive but plain look,' I said. 'They're a pain,' Maurice cut in, 'for don't forget that when they're loitering in the sky they're plain lethal.' 'It feels like we're going on a honeymoon,' I said. 'You're too plain romantic,' said Amber. It was an odd feeling stepping onto the floats before entering the cabin. We settled down. Amber in the back, and I next to Maurice who then started the engine and let her warm up. He then unfastened the ropes and gunned up the engine. The weather was nice enough for us to have a nice flight. I had loaded the camera with sixty-four asa fine grain slide film and mounted the ninety-millimeter lens and I was ready to go. When we turned into the wind a man came running onto the pier. He looked like Walter. Maurice didn't see the man and we kept quiet. 'Did he tell you,' I asked Amber, 'that he was in the neighborhood?' 'From what he said I guessed he was up to something. But don't you worry, we have the law on our side,' Amber said. She was smiling, but her smile didn't comfort me.

169

Maurice pointed out where we were on the map and indicated where we were heading. He steered the plane east, over the ocean and then banked to the left, more to the north. The sun was shining. We had a glorious view. Maurice pointed at something glaring, some white heaps floating in the water. There they were! We approached three small icebergs. Their quaint forms were just like the ones we had seen on the pictures in the office. We descended. The ruble between the icebergs now became recognizable as floes. The bergs were surrounded by a rim of linden green water; a mini-surf. 'When sailing one had to be alert not to hit one of those ice-floes,' Amber said. 'It's not easy cruising around here.' Next to the bigger iceberg were two large barges and a tugboat. Maurice eased on the throttle, lowering the revs, adjusting twenty degrees of flaps and said: 'There are our harvesters.' They waved at us. Maurice made a steep bank so I could make pictures in a 360 degrees two-minute turn. 'Could you fly somewhat lower?' I asked. And that's what Maurice did. I shot with the sun on the side, and into the sun and from the side again, with the boats on the forefront. The men went back to their business, evidently knowing that they would otherwise spoil the picture. A crane took big bites of ice from the crystal white iceberg with a large hydraulic scoop, and deposited them into the barge. 'From here,' Maurice told us, 'the ice is transported to the tank on the other barge. Then it'll be tugged to the plant for testing, then it's processed for bottling, it's as simple as that.'

170

'All the icebergs have different sizes and shapes,' Maurice said. 'We must careful and make the right choice, as not every iceberg is economical to work on. We have to watch out that it doesn't topple over as people are working on top of it. It has happened that an iceberg tumbled, heaving up the tugboat into the air; that was a scary moment I can tell you, but that's what life is in the Far East, on the Easter Tugger.' Maurice pushed the gas handle forward, pulled up the flaps and the engine roared and swept the plane back into the air. I felt a soft touch on my left shoulder. From the expression on Amber's face I could see that she the excursion. She kissed me. We flew further north. More icebergs were floating down from Iceberg Alley. Maurice descended somewhat, giving me the opportunity to make some more pictures. 'It's impressive from above,' Maurice said, 'seeing them drift slowly along. It's even more impressive seeing them from the boat. We'll come back for more pictures later.' He banked to the west, towards land and continued south along the coast. Although the Cessna must have been a couple of decades old and equipped with the legendary, antique Continental engine, it still sounded reassuring. 'The weather can be rough around here,' Maurice said, 'but today it's great, and this certainly is a nice flight. I always feel drawn towards the sky.' 'Yes,' I said, 'you certainly are a rare bird!'

171

We were flying closer to the coast, slow and as safe as possible, enjoying the spectacular view on the jagged coastline, the fjords, the deep crevices, the pounding surf that looked like a row of fountains, and even an occasional rainbow came to view. I kept shooting. With St. John's in sight we made a wide turn and landed near the inlet we had come from. Landing was strange compared to landing on a grass strip, but it certainly was not frightening. We taxied to the landing stage where a boy helped in the final procedure of mooring. From a distance I noticed Walter was walking towards us at a swift pace. I did my best to keep a casual appearance. I greeted him calmly as if not feeling guilty about running off with his sister. He greeted me more polite than I had expected, but his grim face said it all. He kissed Amber and said hello to Maurice, then he took Amber aside. I cut into their conversation telling him we were here on business and that this was not the right place or time for a discussion. I asked him to meet at our hotel at six. He looked enraged but he gave in to my request. He seemed to know which hotel, and said he would be there. Maurice didn't ask anything, but I made sure that he wouldn't get the impression that I had run off with Walter's lady, but that he was Amber's brother and partner in their own company. 'So he came all the way to fetch her,' was his conclusion. 'No,' I said, 'we'll have to make him forget about that.'

172

Walter certainly had an air of authority about him; I did my best not to shy away. Seeing him walk away with larges strides I wondered what he had that I hadn't. It was not his sister that was for sure. More so, what did I have that he didn't? I had his sister. She put an arm around me and said: 'I know Walt, but then he knows me too, don't be afraid. It's hard for him to acknowledge that he has definitively lost control. We must be careful though not to let him loose even more.' At five thirty, after we had a chat with Ron and a few others, Maurice took us to our hotel. Walter was sitting in the lobby, staring into the air. 'I've heard that you posted your diary onto the Titanic site,' he said, 'about this trip and my sister and all. This goes way too far.' 'If you would have focused,' I said, 'you would have seen that it is not possible for anybody to associate you with the people I used for the story on the site, if you had bothered to check that before you came up all this way, you would have seen that I have changed your family name into Arikssen and your first name into Walter, on top of that I changed your sister's name into Amber, so nobody's going to recognize you. Have you actually read the diary on the Titanic site?' No he had not. He had tried to but had not found the site on the web. He confirmed what I already knew, that there were more than 1200 Titanic sites. He also did not know the precise URL.

173

'So who's going to know it and read this story if he hasn't got a specific interest in it?' he asked. 'In future this site will catch a audience, and will be available to a wider public, that's for sure, but then nobody will know that you and April feature in this story. I named her Amber and even altered a lot of other specifics. My favorite all American sports car is a Corvette, of which I have a long line of scale models standing next to my desk, whereas in the story I'm driving a Mustang, which naturally is a silly car. As a matter of fact the role that I gave you in this story is that of the president of the Harley-Davidson Club of Long Island, who I have actually met a few years ago. I do own a Harley myself, but as far as I know you never have come close to owning one yourself. That's the magic and the craft of a storyteller. Let me invite you to dinner, we can adjourn this conversation for an hour or so, to freshen up and change.' Walter nodded and seemed to agree. We went to our room. I put the 'Do Not Disturb' sign on the door and unbuttoned my clothes while I tried hard not to laugh. 'If you haven't told him in clear, not to be misunderstood words about this diary, I can't imagine how Walt could have known.' 'Over the phone,' she said, 'I told him in an admiring way that while you traveled around you were writing a reportage which you posted to the site. That's all. His conclusions come his own imagination.' 'So we have a mole on the ship!' I said.

174

Amber looked withdrawn and at the same time she had a naughty expression on her face. It took me some strength not to cash in on my victory. She fell beside me on the bed and drew me closer, she was I could tell in a tender mood, but at the same time she was also in a loveable frame of time. 'I've never seen Walt this way before,' she said. 'The evident truth must have taken him by surprise.' 'You didn't say a word,' I said. 'That surprised me.' But then you did so well that I had nothing to add. This was not going to be the end of our discussion about this subject.' But we still reached a triumphant climax. Now that we have worked out this part of our relationship,' I said, 'this is like a fairy tale, but still it seems complicated the subject of you and me. From this point on we are going to work on a neat plan for the future something that involves the both of us and this cannot be done in just a few minutes. We have to tell Walter that he is up against the both of us. We can tell him that our plan will be to return to Long Island by next Monday.' 'Or Wednesday,' said Amber. 'Let's tell him,' I said, 'that we'll come and see him on Thursday morning, if that's convenient for you as well.' 'Sounds like a great plan,' Amber said between kisses. 'On the other hand we should be practical,' said I, 'and take a cold shower and dress. Downstairs we'll order large glass of Iceberg Water. Now, let's hurry.' Walter was sitting in the same chair were when we left him.

175

'It's still early,' Amber said, 'Shall we have a drink first before going to the dining room?' Was Walter preparing for an outburst, or was he just worried, and trying to cope with the avalanche of his feelings sister's relationship with me brought over him? Where was the jolly Walter I had met on Long Island? Or will we be meeting a third person, some other side to Walter, who will lives up to his nickname PPK? 'What are you doing here?' he asked Amber. 'The company Roger is working for in The Netherlands is connected with Iceberg Industries. Roger is making a photo reportage of the iceberg harvesting that's based on Newfoundland.' 'And you are his model?' Walter asked. 'No,' she said, 'the shoot is merely meant to register the manufacturing processes.' 'But then why then are you here?' asked Walter, building up steam, 'while piles of work are waiting for you at the office.' 'I fell in love with Roger,' she said, 'and I found this to be the chance of a lifetime to accompany him; I didn't want to let him go. I'm no iceberg you know! And since the present work hasn't got a deadline and therefore is not critical, I thought to go on a short holiday just a month earlier than I had planned. Like I told you.' The fighting attorney had turned into a disappointed brother. The waitress brought two bottles of Iceberg Water that Amber had ordered and one Iceberg Beer. 'We'll be back in the middle of next week,' she said. 'Damn it!' Walter suddenly shouted, 'Next week! You said today! I thought I could trust you! Why didn't you plan this all way in advance!'

176

Amber and Walter had fish, cod, and I had a crab salad. It was a good meal; candles on the table, the perfect dinner. 'What plans do you have, aside from making pictures here?' Walter asked. 'In my home country,' I said, 'the family would ask whether my intentions with the girl are honorable. Since we're sitting here now, after you made this long trip, I shan't avoid your question. I understand that you are worried, not only about the cases you're working on at present, but mostly about the well being of your precious sister.' I felt a soft touch it was Amber's knee against mine. 'I can tell you that she's become a real treasure to me that's from the moment I saw her. I hope that's a consolation to you.' Amber confirmed that the affection was mutual, and aside from the sympathy and respect and a longing to share these experiences together, she was still hoping we could enjoy having dinner with him instead of having to be afraid that he would make our lives miserable. 'I understand.' I said, 'that you are concerned. After this trip I'll go back to discuss our business options and sort out our matters as well and than I can make plans for the future. Meanwhile I cannot tell you more, since my future is linked with the possibility of getting together with Roger. Meeting Amber was like a great discovery and like a new invention in my life. I decided that I had to deal with this levelheaded. Amber will undoubtedly let you know what's going to happen.'

177

'I've never seen you that distant,' I said. 'Considering the communication problems between you and Walt and taking into account that this was an unexpected but very nice evening. If only my parents could have been here!' Amber said. That answer was undoubtedly was meant as an end to the conversation. Back in our room we made ourselves comfortable and enjoyed more than just a cuddle. 'So the situation is clear now' she said, 'until you come up with your decision. Although we've known each other for such a short period of time, I've a feeling I have known you all my life, and I love you wholeheartedly, this is all like a miracle come true.' The next morning Walter took a plane back to New York. Amber went early in the morning to see him off, in the mean time I was taking a shower and dealing with my mail. At nine Ron came to pick us up for the trip to the barge. He dropped us off at the landing and went back to the office. 'It's like being home,' Amber said, 'everywhere these gulls! I love to see them and I'd love to join them in their flight, and cry out with delight!' The utility boat was a sober ship, but fast enough. It had been a long time since I had been at sea not counting the ferry. Amber had her frequent sailing trips on the Sound. But this was quite something else, also for her. There were fewer clouds than yesterday. Amber needed her sunglasses; mine became darker in sunlight. The ocean air was fresh and salty. We were heading straight for the coast of French Brittany. From there it would still be quite a journey to land on the golden beaches of my youth.

178

The weather forecast was pretty good; we didn't need to fear for the perfect storm. The oceangulls joined us overhead, occasionally making a dive like a squadron of Spitfires, with their typical shrieks instead of the roar of the Rolls Royce Merlin engines, precise, professional, swift and elegantly choreographed. We talked loud into the wind, about working schedules, the wind and the storm, the often improvised planning and the hectic nature of the production. Amber stood firmly on her feet like a regular seaman, her fine nose in the wind, without the tears on her cheeks like those that streamed from my eyes. Iceberg at port! And another one! 'I'm no iceberg, you said to Walter yesterday,' I said softly in her port ear.' She gave me a kiss, slipping in her tongue. 'That's my feeling,' she said, 'that's what I think, personally, what do you think?' Oh, I think you're correct there,' I said. We quickly approached the iceberg that was nearer to us than the one with the moored barge. 'It's toppling over,' McKendrick the helmsman yelled at us. The crystal mountain moved; it was falling. McKendrick stopped the engine. We quietly moved up and down in the sudden tranquility of the calm waves.

179

A deafening thunder shattered the eternal silence when an ancient block of ice crystals heaved, sighed and plunged like an enigmatic underside of a frozen ghost that came to the surface. A fresh source of water, protected by nature for tens of thousands of years, to be photographed as an enormous and phenomenal new commodity for the thirsty consumers on earth, although video would have been a more effective medium, then the sound in the background would have been captured. Our boat was caught up in the forces of nature, Amber held herself like a true seaman standing upright to have a better view. She lost her balance and grabbed me; we both tumbled and fell on deck. There was no pain but laughter. McKendrick steered the boat around the iceberg, which still seemed to be thudding up and down. Then the object of our trip, a big iceberg with the barges next to it, came into view, a big tanker and the Borealis, the production barge with a crane on deck. Moving with the waves it wasn't easy to keep the horizon level in the frame of the viewfinder. I was moving well with the rhythm of the boat and the ocean waves. Although I felt safe with our helmsman the ice cold water was frighteningly close. I must admit that I felt safer yesterday in the air. Not like Amber, her being a lifelong sailing nymph.

180

Again I was aware of the resemblance between flying through the air and sailing on water, and riding a motor bike, the only difference being the density of the matter, the air, the water and the solid road surface. I thought back to the occasion when flying a small plane, an Italian SIAI Marchetti, in extremely bumpy weather, at that moment wishing myself to be the motorcyclist I saw riding on the slippery and winding road below. Then again the motorcyclist could be looking up into the sky and must have wished be me in the plane above. Thinking of the chilling scenes in The Perfect Storm I wasn't sure which form of transport would have been safer, or which I would have preferred. McKendrick steered around the iceberg that looked majestic, radiant, glistening white, with some awesome arbitrary forms. I kept clicking the camera. Amber looked very impressed with the way I was handling myself. McKendrick made a wide turn, giving me the opportunity to shoot some medium wide-angle and short tele shots with the Vario-Sonnar zoom. 'It once happened,' McKendrick said, 'that an iceberg started to tumble and it lifted the boat next to it out of the water as if it had no weight at all. I must say that was an uneasy moment for all of us.'

181

It was chilly on the Borealis. From the coast a low flying seaplane flew towards us, the orange Cessna, the sound of the engine swelled and weakened and the picture enlarged itself gradually. It greeted us by waving with its wings and then banked to the north. Big bites of antique ice were dumped into the container, with a rustling, crunching sound. Amber's hands felt cold in mine; her nose had become a trickle red. I made some shots with the 15 mill wide angle, from the bow to the back and various shots of the hydraulic claw doing its job working on the frosted mountain. The captain of the Borealis told us how he had spotted the icy monuments floating down Iceberg Alley. They are 75.000 to 100.00 years old. The Eastern Tugger makes about eight trips a year to pick them up. A rope is flung around the berg and is towed to a spot where it can be easily worked on. The icebergs we work on contain up to one million liters of the purest water on earth. Then I took a photographs of the men working on both ships with a glass in hand, I captured some powerful images. The men went inside for something stronger than the pure water. Amber winked at me, then took me by the hand and urged me to climb onto the iceberg. We worked ourselves into a blissful state of happiness and made sure we were out of sight of the crew of the ship. She quickly undressed, put her clothes to the side and posed for me, continually changing her position. Then she escaped the cold by getting back into her warm clothes. 'These are the best looking pictures I ever shot,' I whispered. With a lot of engine noise the orange plane droned overhead, waving again.

182

At noon we entered St. John's harbor, chilled to the bones. Amber said she had enjoyed the trip, and especially seeing the men working so hard and being so dedicated to their job, she said it without the fashionable pretenses of the white-collar worker. We had lunch at the Bagel Café, with Ron and Maurice, where they served bagels and pancakes. I ordered a pancake with maple syrup. As in previous assignments it proved to be more effective getting to know the style and atmosphere of a company in an informal gathering rather than a formal one. The response Amber gave on several remarks about the business was refreshing and even inspiring. On the way to the bottling plant we stopped by a Harley dealer to check whether we could hire a bike for next day. My HOG Membership card opened the door to an animated chat with the owner of the shop. I filled in the forms and made an appointment to pick up the hog around nine. 'In my diary, in my story,' I said to Amber, 'you are a Lady of Harley, and that although you are not really a member of the club. That does not mean however that you will not like riding with me.' 'Oh, I'm sure I'll love it,' she said. 'I still called you Amber,' I said, 'just to make sure none of your clients recognize you should they read the story on de website. I honestly think that it's a bit odd. It'll be an entirely different matter altogether when you appear on my calendar.' She laughed and said 'I trust you'll keep up my reputation not just for my sake but for the family, as well as for my business in mind.'

183

The bottling plant looked like any other plant in any other marine town I had seen along the coast of Florida or on the way to Boston. The location where the plant stood reminded me of all the towns along Lake Michigan, or some places like Monterey in California, Cannery Row. This had a strange effect on me; the site was immediately familiar, a real down to earth sort of workplace, with its roots on this rocky coast. Ron was called away by a telephone call. Amber smiled seeing me checking out viewpoints for photographs. The sun was glaring down behind a thick pack of clouds. 'Have you done this before,' Amber asked, 'making pictures in a factory?' 'Oh yes,' I said, 'I've photographed factories before, meat packing plants, chips, production lines for cars, snacks, bubbly drinks of all kinds, a filtering station for drink water, but not a bottling plant just for fresh water. However this isn't simply just water. In Bath, in England, I drank water from an ancient Roman spa that was also bottled on the spot. There I took snapshots as a tourist. But I think this is a story that appeals to everybody's imagination.' Ron came back and picked up the thread where he left off. 'It's a simple story, in one word, purity.' 'From way before the time our earth was polluted,' added Amber.

184

'I heard you were very successful in taking some fine pictures,' Ron said to me. 'Information travels fast,' my reaction was, 'thanks to the modern day sparks. Yes, we had a chilly but breathtaking morning.' 'When are we going to see the pictures, or are they classified?' Ron asked with a smile. 'They'll be developed back home,' I said, 'and scanned, and I'll send you a cd.' We went around the plant taking pictures, mostly shots of the production line. I also made some shots of Amber while filling a glass from a labeled Iceberg bottle. 'I should have taken this picture on the iceberg,' I said to Ron. 'One has to be careful on those escapades,' he said, 'because an iceberg may keel over before you know it. I'll drop you off at your hotel. And later I'll be back with some suggestions about seeing landmarks on the island. You might be planning to make photographs of the natural environment, of the flora and fauna in this area.' 'Oh yes,' Amber said, ' you're welcome to do so!' We had dinner in a little restaurant in a side street, near the hotel. And later in the evening Ron came round to discuss the optional places, spots and locations for interesting photography, marked on a small map, handy for use on the bike. 'It may be worthwhile to send copies to the Ministry of Tourism,' Ron said, 'if they show a side of the island that throws a new slant of light to the island. I suggest that we'll meet again on Thursday, meanwhile you can always reach me on my cell phone.'

185

We turned in quite early, but kept talking for a long time. 'What kind of photography appeals to you most?' Amber asked. 'Since I was a boy,' I said, 'I dreamed of roaming the world and making photographs, and not merely of exotic faraway countries. At the time I lived with the idea that I would understand life on earth better when making photographs of man's manmade environment that in effect had an effect on man, egg versus chicken versus egg, like for instance the Roman architecture of the White House and the President living inside and the people living up to the President, a silly hypothetical view, and career wise a treetop house as well as a castle in the sky. But then I've always regarded the National Geographic as the highest institute to work for as a photographer, but never found a way to realize this ambition. The last fifteen years I went abroad a lot but always on a sharply specified commercial assignment. Meanwhile I came to understand that line of work only does exist for a handful of photographers who stumbled upon it by sheer accident and not by talent or perseverance. I have no regrets that I haven't tried harder. But what is it that attracts you in photography, aside from expose your splendidly curved figure?' 'My involvement in photography is more or less my confidential side,' Amber said. 'Walter knows. I sometimes show him a photograph that anybody may see, a picture of me set in a landscape, sort of decent and beautiful calendar photography.'

186

'That's how I learned to appreciate a nice photograph,' Amber went on after a pause. 'I developed an eye for the light and the framing; yes, I've seen what framing can do to a picture. I even bought some books, of for instance Eliot Porter the nature photographer and also a book by Joel Meyerowitz the book A Summer's Day. That book came with a kind of print that struck me as so unusual that I could not resist the urge to buy this deadly expensive book. One of the photographs featured a very tranquil beach scene. It's decorating my bedroom wall. You'll see it when we're back.' 'Since we're on the subject of names,' I said, 'I would like to mention Stephen Shore and George Tice who are dear to me. What appeals to me most Shore's photographs are the seemingly unintended framing, making the view, or rather giving the impression, that the localities are far larger than what you actually see in the picture, you are aware of the whole scene outside the frame. It's the same as in literature, where the power lies in the suggestion, and for that matter the imagination of the reader or in the case of photographs the viewer.' 'You told me that you put a gallery on the Titanic site especially for photographers; what's the idea behind it?' 'It's a virtual gallery. I'll show you sometime. It's more a format for the future, a gallery for photographers as well as painters, sculptors and ant other in the visual performing art. In addition to that, their work, and a with but complete history of the artist would be posted.'

187

'You also will discover such a concept on the site for a HOG Book, a book for Harley owners who are combined in so called Hog Chapters. If I get a positive response from the Chapter's managers the books will exclusively be produced for the member of cooperative Chapters. The books will be personalized for each individual owner, with his or her own bike and a personal interview on the first page. In order to start the production of the book for a chapter we need enthusiasm of the majority of the members of a chapter. It's all in the preparatory stage. First we need to get authorization from the Dutch importer before we even will go further with our plans.' 'Sounds like epoch-making in the publishing business,' Amber said. She crept closer. 'And that's not all,' I continued. 'We discovered that it is quite a problem to get one's book published in Holland. Six hundred thousand women and women are writing; the art varies from little rhymes, to poems and verse to epic long stories and novels and detectives, an unbelievably voluminous library full of unpublished manuscripts. The total costs, to get a book published, are gigantic, in excess of thirty-five thousand euros. In print-on-demand we're able to offer the debutante writer fifty books to be printed for a comparatively small sum. I'll show you an example I brought with me. This is a wholly new form of publishing, making it possible to say hello to your parents, your loved ones and your friends and on top of that saying whatever you want to say to your worst enemies.'

188

'Have you written anything?' I asked. 'Yes, of course' Amber said, 'the defense of my clients is always drawn up before the trial you have prepared. I don't have to tell you that you can regard that as an inspiring art form, or how do you see it. Then I have my diary, and I also used to edit the college newsletter. Letter writing as an art form has disappeared altogether. I've read quite a few books that contained the letters of interesting people, modern day philosophers, and professionals like important CEO's. In my perception less and less is being read, so consequently less is being written and published. Or am I in the wrong about that?' 'We've seen a shift in interests.' 'E-book will be a lost case to our future society I imagine. In future we shall only read the downloaded collections of emails between the icons of our time. Possibly print-on-demand will break open new possibilities. The you write your e-diary and answer your mail, and possibly you'll post a book on my website that in future will bring in the revenues you deserve.' I filled our glasses with Iceberg Water and we both concentrated on our separated but linked pursuits until 23:00 hours. We then merged together our tactile interests in each other, and continuing our communication in an entirely different matter all together. I changed the alarm of my Breitling to 07:00 hours.

189

At seven sharp Amber pulled back the sheets and stated 'We're both ready for a new adventure today!' and whispered in my ear, 'aren't we?' And I agreed, the next half hour would be spent preparing for the trip ahead. We evidently were both open for any adventure coming our way, and decided to welcome this sunniest of mornings. My equipment for the day was the small Contax TVSIII, five rolls of film and my Motorola Tri-Band cell phone. Amber made sure she was dressed warm enough for the ride, with woolen socks in her Timberlands. We looked in complete silence at each other, and after what seemed an eternity we went down for breakfast. 'Will your pictures appear on the site?' she asked. 'There are two places where my pictures will be posted,' I said. 'On the Anglo-American homepage you'll see a cabinet. In the upper right hand drawer you'll find this diary, which I intend to illustrate with the photographs that I'll have shot on this trip. On the Dutch side of the site you'll find my other pictures and a link to my personal website that I sometime in the future will complete with the commercial pictures that I shot in the U.S. of A. and in Central and South America, which are my favorite pictures. It's a lot of work, which I've postponed since I started my own site.' 'Two sites!' she said with pretended admiration. 'You must be a magnate!' 'I hope both sites will attract visitors like a magnet!' I said.

190

'Shall we take the Corvette or the Mustang?' Amber asked. 'That depends,' I said, 'whether you're going to keep quiet about the reality of the identities of the cars in the fantasy of my diary.' It was sunny, and some clouds in the East, over the Atlantic. We arrived at the Harley dealer at nine sharp, where we found the silver Dyna Super Glide parked in front of the entrance of the workshop. 'See,' said I, 'that's the consequence of a strict house style. As a consequence this dealership looks exactly the same as Ron's shop in Bloomfield. This Glide is just the same model as the one Jan van Scorel owns. I'll mail him that tonight.' We had no problems with my HOG Credit Card, and we hit the road within ten minutes after entering the dealership. 'Let's take a short ride to begin with,' Amber yelled in my ear, 'Let's first ride to the Cabot Tower, to get used to the machine.' So we took a three-minute ride up Signal Hill Road. As if being a tour guide Amber indicated the Atlantic Ocean straight ahead, then drew my attention to the cliffs and the old town center that enclosed the harbor. Five hundred years ago a certain Cabot had landed here, and four hundred years later the tower was built and named after him, the Cabot Tower. 'This would be of special interest to you Sparks,' Amber said. 'On this very spot, on top of this very same tower, Marconi received the first transatlantic wireless signal marking the year 1901.'

Titanic Sparks Guillotine Key Courtesy Tom Perera.

Marconi (Cabot) Tower.

191

We sat down on the wooden stairs leading to the tower and looked out over the ocean. Amber put an arm around me and asked whether I was dreaming about Europe and about the bow window from where I had been dreaming of this coast, and this land. 'Yes,' I said, 'it's very strange sitting here, looking back how I dreamt of the future, when I thought about leaving home and leaving everything I knew behind me. All this with the thought of finding you, and as you can see eventually I did it, although it took me all those years to accomplish my goal. 'Well,' she said, 'it took some time to get together but her we are. I called Jan van Scorel. He was astonished when he heard that I was riding his bike and sitting there on Signal Hill looking in his direction over the ocean. 'He wishes us a good trip and he sends us a lot of riding pleasure.' Amber saw the iceberg with the barge alongside in the distance and pointed him out to me. 'Thinking back when we were on the iceberg together, that's where I definitively lost my head over you,' said she. 'And I was prepared,' said I, 'because I had been dreaming about you all my life.' 'Before we ride any further,' she said, 'we should take some more time enjoying this scene, otherwise all other places will be a setback. Oh, I could sit forever with you.'

View over St. Johns from the Marconi Tower on Signal Hill

192

We sat in silence for a long time looking at the changing patterns of the waves and the icebergs in the distance. When around eleven the orange Cessna passed below us, Amber jumped to her feet without a word, seized both my hands and pulled me up and quietly we walked to the Harley. 'I hope,' she said, 'you just said goodbye to the old side of your life; we now should discover our new found land, and try to discover a coffee and lunch place.' Riding into Trinity the place struck me and amazement was felt by the pressure of Amber's thighs on mine. She yelled into my ear: 'How delightful!' Age-old wooden houses in striking colors vibrated in the morning sunlight. I shifted back into second, and slowly we let ourselves be surprised by this unknown architectural fairytale. 'I wonder,' I said, turning my head sideways so Amber could hear me and so people on the sidewalk could hear me as well, 'where did this style come from, from Ireland?' She guessed I was right. We found a well conserved or restored café with a parking place in front. 'It's about time,' Amber said, 'I'm craving for coffee and a bite!' 'I just said to myself,' said I, 'that this place is a fairytale. I once saw a village by the sea, in Wales England, that had been designed and built by a rich architect, pretty as a Walt Disney picture, so out of the thinkable ordinary that it merely was a castle in the air. This is reality, but of ages ago. We drank delicious coffee and we ate great tasting pastry.

193

'This is what reality is all about,' Amber said, 'making all events as pleasant as possible. It is hard to believe you and me being here together like this. In my Long Island neighborhood you can see some pretty antique, well preserved houses, they almost look unreal, the secret behind this is they are well maintained.' Before we took to the road, I took some pictures, some wide-angle and as some details with the tele lens. 'I can show you some pictures I made in South America, can't remember where, with the same kind of beautifully colored house, really a joy to look at.' Before we rode north we first went by the bay; deep blue water as if color corrected in a photograph, like an Italian lake. Up until now we only covered a short distance, appreciating the Harley in a merely mechanical way. Once on the road to the Bonavista Peninsula I slipped into a dream. Inspired by my Scandinavian muse as my buddy angel the Dyna Super Glide soared along with a roar that sounded like a fully opened on symphony of Sibelius. I continuously felt her thighs around me. She gave me a nudge to make me aware of a charming or an amazing view as we passed. More than ever before I sensed a fusion of our lives and the beginning of new phase in my life.

194

We planned to be at the Street of Belle Isle in the afternoon, getting back at around six I guess that we will have to make a drag race of this pleasure ride. We stopped to discuss a dilemma. 'Do you want to catch all 22 highlights,' I asked. 'Ah, you read the book,' Amber said, 'yes, if you are part American you can't miss reading Joseph Heller, as one can't miss Updike; you're welcome to the club.' 'Shall we give those specialties all the time they deserve,' I asked, 'or shall we push on into the red and catch mere glimpses?' 'We should give Newfoundland a chance to be discovered as our own new found land,' she said, 'and let's give ourselves a chance to enjoy us and our new found happiness. Let's call the hotel, the HOG man and Ron, to tell them we'll be back by tomorrow afternoon.' We made the calls and met up with no problems, continuing our ride while heading for Terra Nova. We felt part of the landscape and its atmosphere. 'The idea of riding to the most northern part of the peninsula,' I said, 'seemed like an attractive idea, because it reminds me of my trip to John O'Groats in Scotland. It indeed would be a missed opportunity not to draw the greatest delight from this trip.'

195

The Harley's ride was smooth and steady as a rock, up most hills I accelerated with a fathomless surge of power. Compared with most of my rides, like the ones in my own urban area, these roads call for a less steep rake than on my Sportster. This being the difference between skating on ice-skates; we call those hockey skates in Holland, or than comparing them with long distance skates. 'Do you skate?' I yelled, riding in the wind. 'I've often skated,' she replied, 'on the ice rink in the Rockefeller Center. There are not many opportunities to go skating on my island; you must have more possibilities in your country!' 'You must have seen the paintings of Dutch winter landscapes!' I yelled back. The first part of the trip was along a wide highway. Past Ocean Pond the road took on the dimensions that complied with the modest density of traffic. The sun was in a straight line behind us. We were driving along keeping a low profile, going with the flow as one would say, like good law abiding citizen. The temperature was cool, but far from chilly, I was feeling the warm companionship surrounding me like a warm blanket, and I started musing over other rides that I made in the past and about the outcome of this unexpected trip.

196

How delightful it would have been to make a trip to the South of France with this angel, or from the North Pole to Cannes, or to the heel of Italy. I envisioned her on a flaming red Ducati. To my taste the climate wasn't warm enough to ride all the way up to the Street of Belle Isle, more or less into infinity; we weren't well dressed for a ride like this. I had made up my mind to propose to begin with making a stop in Terra Nova National Park, and probably stay there longer than for a short break, to talk and look each other in the eyes instead of yelling. I had a craving to enjoy her company instead of just feeling her body clinging to mine, and preferably in a warm and soft bed instead of the narrow buddyseat. Still a long way from Gander we stopped for coffee and a brownie in a little place called Sunnyside, just off the 202, at the end of Bull Arm, an inlet of Trinity Bay. It was a sunny place indeed, and the coffee brought back some of the temperature in our chilled bodies. I suggested not to continue this journey for a while and not to set our goals too high, and Amber agreed. She said she was also looking forward to loitering and chatting, in a more comfortable setting, as so many words got lost in the wind. I took some pictures of the Bay and the boats, and some funny ones of Amber. 'I say,' she said, 'why don't you let me see the website tonight! When you're typing on your machine I never dare to impose. I like to see what keeps you up when I am sleeping?' I promised.

197

'The Canadians are of a different breed,' Amber said, 'or should I rather say the Newfoundlanders. They look so essential, is that a good word?' 'Yes, that's a very good way of describing them,' I said, 'they are without frills and fringes. When you're accepted the bond is for life, I believe. Like with Scots, and that's no coincidence of course. I feel so at ease here that I'd suggest to look for a hotel room, and not seek anything better on the shady side.' 'Oh that's a swell idea,' she said. We found a hotel, The Bollard, that had a comfortable room for us overlooking the Bull Arm, and a garage in the back, a roomy shed for the Dyna. It was three in the afternoon. We agreed that it would be a great luxury to take off our gear and then warm ourselves in the natural heat created by our bodies. 'The hotel,' I said, 'looks similar to the hotel in Mystic, the difference is the people; they are tough and without frills.' We talked for a while and then dozed with our cheeks still glowing from the riding wind and we whispered nice words and must have fallen asleep somewhere along the line. In the middle of the night Amber woke me and said 'It's so peaceful, without the thought of Walter busting into our room and into my life at any moment. So this is it, to be free.' Again the tranquility of the place struck us, from time to time a shriek of a seagull and then the passing image in the distance through the sectioned windowpane. The shadow of the sun had moved. We kissed and dressed.

198

'Tell me more about your friends,' said Amber. 'You mean apart from Jan, the one I told you about. My best friends live in America,' I answered. 'Allen sent me an email that I received this morning.' To show Amber I meant for her to know more about my friends, I read it aloud. It said 'We, too, had an odd Saturday. We were in the depths of Bryce Canyon National Park, in southwestern Utah. Strange because we were gasping for breath hiking on trails that wound around amid exotic eroded columns and pinnacles and bastions and buttresses in pink and white and red and ochre sandstone, some standing 100 meters high, with Douglas fir trees in between. The trails descended about 150 meters below the rim of the canyon - from 2800 meters or so - and there was much gasping for air and much complaint from our aching, aging knees. 'This language makes me think I should refrain to my mother's tongue.' Then on Sunday, we drove off in our massive rented Dodge Intrepid sedan eastwards across Rte 12 from Bryce through a weird geological jumble of rock formations at 3000 meters elevation. Our destination was a trail leading about three miles up a deeper and deeper canyon to a spectacular waterfall leaping from the middle of a massive rock wall above us.' Amber smiled, and listened attentively and then said 'I can see why you two are befriended, it all sounds very familiar.'

199

'Trouble is,' Allen's email continued, 'the trail was loose sand, so now our hips and ankles hurt, as well. Since it was pretty hot, we drove on east to the crossroads at Boulder, Utah, and sat outside at a cafe, looking at the cattle/horse corral across the way, and poured gallons of ice tea down our throats, then, thinking of you, we each added a huge piece of delicious cherry pie to the mixture. I wish I had been driving the Audi. Today we drove for miles up and down through mountain forests, from an elevation of 3000 meters down to 1500 and back up again, to find that our planned road still had not been plowed out and was closed, so we had to detour around and down a spectacular descent to the interstate. Looking at a map? We departed Bryce Canyon and went west on Rt 12 to Panguitch, then Rt 143 past Cedar Breaks National Monument (where planned Rt. 148 was closed) continued on 143 past Brian Head Ski Area to Parowan (nice lunch in a cafe on the main and virtually only street) and on to Interstate 15 south to Las Vegas. We're in Las Vegas tonight, then leave at 9:30 via your favorite Ohio city, Cleveland, en route to Newark. Finally home.' 'It's a pity that we are so far from there,' Amber said. 'And the other friend, whom you first met with Allen?'

200