Lunch is coming. Free buffet. The other rule that I would enforce if I had the fleet would be the ‘no ‘free’ lunches’ rule. No more eating. Only bread and water. If you want salt on the bread, you can lean over the railing on board and let your bread be splashed with sea-water. There would be retreat rooms instead of TV rooms. No soap operas. The only drama allowed would be the drama created in these silent rooms, where people can get to do yoga, meditate in zazen, and feel the pain of disciplining the body. All for nothing. My chief of staff in charge with the well-being of the tourists onboard will have one announcement only over the speakers: ‘good morning ladies and gentlemen, today we begin the day with selling nothing.’ ‘Guten morgen, meine Damen und Herren, heute Morgen fangen wir an Nichts zu verkaufen.’ ‘God morgen, mine damer og herrer, i dag starter vi dagen med at sælge ingenting.’
Dinner time. Everyone out on the deck. The full moon creates magic, Trollfjorden is not bewitching for nothing, even though the trolls are not interested in exchange rates and more selling. Here you get the magic all for free. By the time you hit the deep arctic, the only desire you will have left would be the desire to think of yourself as one without a self. As No One. You will come home empowered. Nothing will impress you anymore. You will be able to see through a lot of shit. You will wear masks all according to context and circumstance. You will have become a shape-shifter.