"The Red Sea, Massawa was humid, hot stickiness like caramelo clinging to the skin, a stick of tahasasse in my mouth.  I woke up early in Engineer Hernandez's accommodations, gated, on the second floor, located across from the bombed mosque.  I washed and dressed and stepped out onto the balcony, alabaster walls, creamy arches like picturesque days of Persian saharas.  I looked out across the Red Sea, the sun looming in the sky - red, emblazened, furiously bloody-red.  The boats sleeping in their slips, cursing at small ripples where the wind outlined their hulls, reflections and memories like sea urchin spines, sharp, painful, dark . . . I see the trees, their spiky thorns and golden cotton blossoms wither and powder away at the slightest touch; they all come together, melting into each other's branches to form a haze where the sky meets the margin of a very quiet place . . . muted gulls trespass the early morning sky, winged black devils delivering feathers to the waters, and the Red Sea, so transparent, so warm, showing its interiors; enthused by the pulchritude of this steamy place.  I take shelter, standing 'neath those arches.  This lovely romantic place, a setting of liquid loveliness, red sun, blue water, feeling the weight of the years of war dissipate . . . as I forget, thought I was back home in the United States, and I forget that this country is still at war - melting away all anxiety and fear as I languish in happiness in  the Red Sea."