
(This came to us in a forward. The person who sent it doesn't know its provenance. It was supposed to have been taken on the day the bridge opened.)
I’m floating on my back, in a blood warm-sea. Land is a thin smudge on the horizon. There’s not a sound to be heard except the stray seagull, and the watery patpatpat of the swell against my body. A voice yells my name. I raise an ear out of the water; Kedar, leaning over the rail of the Rosa, is demanding that I turn over and swim for the camera. Damn. Duty must be done. I flip over, and execute a few energetic freestyle strokes.That's the first paragraph in a piece we wrote for Outlook Traveller's May edition. It
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