Part I

GhostTown B&B

The Discovery of Who I am

Part II

Gypsy Life

Learning Skills and Training

Part III

The Silent Minority

The Defeat of ISIS and Radical Islam

Copyright 2018, 2019 Edward & Anne Charles

All rights reserved

Published 10/31/2018, 05/28/2019

ISBN 9780463732106

License Notes

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Preface

One evening, several years ago, I was in our den watching TV, waiting for my husband of thirty years to come home. He is an emergency room physician at Orange County Hospital and me, a psychotherapist in private practice. The local PBS station was broadcasting the life of Princess Di. I noticed a quote she made flash up on the screen:

Nothing brings me more happiness than trying to help the most vulnerable people in society. It is a goal and an essential part of my life - a kind of destiny. Whoever is in distress can call on me. I will come running wherever they are.

What a noble thought.

It made me think of someone else, Steve Jobs. He was a snot-nosed kid way back, when I knew him as one of my clients. Thinking of Steve made me think of Mozart, untamable, brilliant and one of a kind in his field. I turned off the TV and pulled his biography off the shelf. I was looking for something, and finally found it, a simple Steve Jobs quote:

You can't connect the dots looking forward; you can only connect them looking backwards. So you have to trust that the dots will somehow connect in your future. You have to trust in something - your gut, destiny, life, karma, whatever. This approach has never let me down, and it has made all the difference in my life.

Little did I know the path I was about to take would intertwine those words and take me on a strange journey into the future. Now, at the end of this journey can I write this and avow as truth the words written by Princess Diana and Steve Jobs.

Part I

GhostTown B&B

The Discovery of Who I am

Chapter 1

The Opening

Everything was perfect. We’d just spent two months cleaning and reconstructing a beautiful historic building on Toughnut Street in Tombstone, Arizona. An old, run down warehouse was now converted into a stylish bed and breakfast, something very much needed in this historic town. Tomorrow, giving building department approval, my husband James and I would hang the Vacancy sign out front and start welcoming guests to GhostTown B&B. Six months prior we had made a very risky move from southern California and were anxiously anticipating the opening of our new business. Everything was set for the next morning.

Around midnight, after putting the final touches on the property, my husband and I were finally finished. We were seated in the parlor enjoying a glass of wine at a small table. For ambiance, Jim had turned off all the lights, lit a small kerosene lantern and placed it on the fireplace mantle about ten feet away. It created a lovely dance of shadows against the walls and made for a very romantic setting. Even after thirty years of marriage he was still wooing me. I loved him for that. I lifted my glass of merlot. Here’s to you proprietor James Butler Hickok. The glasses clinked.

And here’s to you proprietor Vadoma Lovell Hickok. We both laughed and took a sip from our glasses. After reviewing the day and finishing our wine, Jim went to the kitchen and brought back the rest of the bottle. He refilled our glasses, set the bottle down and started wiggling his jaw.

What’s wrong? I asked.

Nothing. My tooth is acting up again. No big deal. I lost a filling and need to get it refilled when we get back to California.

A moment later I was startled to hear a sharp rap at the front door.

Do you want me to answer that? questioned Jim.

I stood up. No, let me see who it is. But you can keep your hand on the shotgun, just in case.

Okay. Gimme a sec. He went to the closet, took out the twelve gauge, hid behind the adjacent wall and then motioned for me to open the door.

I opened it slowly. Yes? I peeked with one eye through the crack.

Good evening, ma’am.

I found myself looking at a very handsome young man, probably in his early thirties. He stood about five foot ten and held his hat in front of him below his waist with both hands. He had dark hair that was well trimmed and parted a little off to the left center of his head, a slim handlebar moustache, and bushy eyebrows. He was dressed in the manner of many of the 1880’s re-enactors in Tombstone and had on a white shirt with a small black bowtie, an almost double breasted black coat and black pants. Two pistols dangled on a holster from his waist. He had a pleasing look to him and did not look at all threatening.

I relaxed and opened the door a little wider. May I help you?

Well, ma’am, not really. I saw you were getting ready to open this here establishment and wanted to come by and welcome you to Tombstone, Arizona Territory.

Why, thank you. That’s very nice of you.

I also wanted to let you know you’d be safe with me around here.

I was confused. What do you mean? I asked him.

Well, ma’am, he flipped the left lapel of his jacket. I got just enough of a glance to see a badge marked Marshal, Tombstone AT. Under the star was the number, 1. As Marshal, I’ll keep an eye on your property and make sure no riff-raff comes around.

Well, thank you very much.

You’re welcome.

He turned and started to walk away. When he was half way to the street I called to him, Sir? I questioned, or should I say Marshal?

He halted and turned back toward me. It’s Marshal, ma’am. His hat was on his head. He doffed it to me out of respect.

Marshall what? I asked.

Marshal Fred White¹, ma’am.

Thank you again, Marshal White. Goodnight.

Goodnight Vadoma.

He turned the corner and was gone. I stood there with my mouth agape gazing at Toughnut Street thirty feet out front. It was quiet with no cars or extraneous sounds except for crickets chirping and the faint sound of western music coming from Big Nose Kate’s Saloon on the next street over. Finally, I turned and slowly shut the door. I locked it. Twice.

Who was that, honey? I couldn’t see him.

You couldn’t?

No. I heard him speaking to you, but the door kept me from seeing what he looked like.

I’ve got to sit down. I made my way to the table where we had been seated and picked up my glass of wine. My hands were shaking. I swallowed half of the glass in one chug, set it down and looked at my questioning husband. I just met Fred White, the Marshal.

I’ve met the Marshal. His name is Bob Randall.

"No, you don’t understand. I just met the very first Marshal of Tombstone, Fred White. I polished off the rest of my wine in one gulp and set the glass down. Got any whiskey?"

Chapter 2

A Vacation

Five years earlier

After many years of marriage and a lifetime living in various suburban areas in and around Orange County and San Diego, my husband and I fantasized about quitting the rat race and finding some place in the country where we could live a more peaceful lifestyle and still make some kind of a living. We looked into many towns within hours of where we lived that were off the beaten path, like Temecula and Julian. They all had the flavor of being rural and remote, but were really just trendy retreats where urban couples or families could flock to for a vacation or the weekend and pretend they were somewhere else in time. In a word, they were tourist traps. After about a year of searching we gave up looking.

When our youngest son graduated from college we suddenly became the proverbial empty nesters. One evening my husband James was sitting at the kitchen table waiting for me to get dinner ready. He had just poured us each a glass of chardonnay and was seated on the chair at the head of the table while I was busy chopping some salad ingredients at the counter five feet away.

Put the knife down, he demanded.

Why? I questioned, setting it on the cutting board and turning toward him.

He grabbed my arm and pulled me over to him. Sit on my lap I did so. He took my face between his two strong hands and pulled me to him, giving me a very sexy kiss that lasted at least thirty seconds.

I pulled back a little. Wow! That was nice. Shall I throw the dishes off the table and have wild sex on it right now or could we wait until after dinner?

I love your attitude Vadoma. I think we should get away to some exotic places where we can have wild, crazy sex together all the time.

Where did this come from? I asked, rather surprised.

He looked me in the eyes. I lost three patients in the ER today. I’m sick and tired of a job where I sometimes lose more than I save. And this Obama Care bullshit is turning my ER into a political arena.

You need a break, I told him, handing him his glass of wine, Here, drink. Medicine for my Doctor Jim.

It’s more than that. He paused and took a sip of his wine. You remember how a few years ago we flirted with moving out of southern California?

Sure.

I’ve been thinking, maybe we should take a road trip around the southwest and see if there’s anywhere other than here where we might like to settle down.

Wow!

My husband laughed. "That’s two wow’s I’ve gotten out of you in the last sixty seconds."

I took a sip of my chardonnay and then set it down. It’s just this came up so quickly.

So, whaddya say? Does a road trip sound appealing to you? Can you clear your patients for awhile?

Actually, I’ve been cutting back on my patients lately. There are three new psychotherapists in my practice and I’m trying to get them new referrals. Come to think of it, I could use some time off, too.

Well, I’m tired of emergency room surgery and need to get away. What do you say after dinner we look at some options.

Totally surprised at myself I blurted out, I’d like that.

* * * *

After dinner and dessert we made our way to the family room. Jim pulled some maps from the desk drawer in the corner. Here’s a map of the southwestern United States. Let’s start here. We spread it out on the coffee table and for the next hour poured over the map. Jim and I were tired of mega-cities, so we decided, as we did a few years ago, to stay away from large metropolitan areas. We only considered towns with a population of less than ten thousand that seemed some way interesting and had a history to them. We initially plotted a route as far east as Austin, Texas, the largest town we might consider visiting. By ten O’clock we were both tired of trip planning.

I yawned. Jim, let’s take some time for this to settle in. How about we watch the evening news, I suggested. Jim folded the map, picked up the remote and turned on the local news. When the news was over we both agreed to skip the late night talk shows, so I took the remote and began the brainless task of channel surfing. I hate this.

Hate what?

We’ve got over a hundred channels and nothing to watch. As I said this I landed on the local PBS channel. It was in the middle of some documentary. The camera was panning a desert landscape with mesas and canyons.

Hold it, announced Jim. What’s on PBS?

I turned up the volume. The land you see was first inhabited by humans beginning about eleven thousand five hundred B.C. Around nine thousand B.C. the Archaic People lived here followed by various tribes, including the famous Hopi’s. Today, Sedona is considered the center of four different vortexes attracting many spiritual and new age visitors. John McCain also has a home here…

I muted the sound again. Wow! Let’s include that stop on our trip. Jim unfolded the map, found its location and circled it in pencil. Well, he announced, we have at least one stop. It’s southwest of Flagstaff.

I turned off the television. Let’s go to bed. I’m remembering that thought you had about wild aggression before dinner.

Over the next several weeks the trip planning continued. Sometimes it seemed like we were planning the trip together and at other times it felt like the trip was determining our route on its own. Either way, we finally decided on a circuitous route that made its way east as far as Austin, Texas and returned through southern New Mexico into Cochise County and Tombstone, Arizona, where we planned to stay three nights before heading home.

* * * *

Finally, we were off, just the two of us in our Ford Explorer SUV. I sensed it would be an adventure but didn’t really know how much of adventure it would be until later, close to the end of our trip.

We took interstate eight, the eight as people call it, out of San Diego and headed east. Jim drove. We climbed over the mountain pass almost a mile high and then wound our way into the Imperial Valley. Three hours after leaving home we were in the town of El Centro, a dusty desert town a hundred feet below sea level. We were sweltering in temperatures exceeding a hundred and ten degrees and eight percent humidity. It was quite a change from Orange County where the temperature hovered around seventy-seven degrees twelve months out of the year. While driving on the interstate we observed hundreds of miles of irrigation lines supplying the desert with Colorado River water that fed countless acres of vegetable and hay fields. It made me hungry.

Let’s stop for lunch, I said, El Centro looks like a nice little town. We exited the interstate and made our way to what looked like a popular hamburger and beer joint in the downtown area. As we sat enjoying our lunch and viewing a soccer match on one of the many large screen TV’s, I had the strange feeling that someone was staring at me. I asked my husband, Jim, could you do me a favor?

Sure, honey. What is it?

I have this weird feeling that someone is staring at me. Could you be very casual about it and look around. Tell me what you see.

Jim stretched his arms, took a sip of beer, looked around and waved at our server. She came to our table. Another beer, please, he looked at me, anything for you, honey?

I’d like a Margarita on ice, with light salt on the rim. She scribbled our order on her pad and left. Well? What do you see?

He leaned in and spoke softly to me, About seventy percent of the patrons are Hispanic, there’s a black couple and probably twenty or so Caucasian people, mostly couples.

Jim, I’m not interested in demographics, I just want to know if anyone is staring at me.

I can’t really tell. I can tell you, though, your profession as a psychotherapist has its downfalls and this may be one of them. He laughed.

Jim, you need to take me seriously. I have a very bad feeling. Just humor me, okay?

Okey dokey.

Our drinks arrived and I took a sip. Here’s what I’m going to do. The ladies room is next to the bar. When I leave the table you look around and see if anyone’s eyes follow me to the restroom. I got up and took my time, straightened my blouse, lifted my purse, pushed my chair back in place and walked slowly to the ladies’ washroom. I still felt eyes staring at me. I took my time in the stall. Five minutes later I returned to our table and discovered Jim wasn’t there. I took my seat and nervously took a sip of my drink, wondering what had happened to him. I thought perhaps he was in the men’s room. At least I no longer felt like someone was staring at me. I looked around the room. A few minutes later the door to the restaurant opened and in walked Jim. Where were you? I questioned.

You were right. There was a couple, they looked Italian, maybe eastern European. They were seated in that booth against the wall. He pointed to the booth. "They both watched you, I mean really watched you go into the ladies room. After you went in, they hastily paid their bill and left. I followed them out of the restaurant to see if I could find out anything."

What do you mean?

I mean, were they on foot? Did they get into a car? That sort of thing.

And?

They got into a black Toyota and took off. The only thing I saw was the car had California plates. That’s all I can tell you.

I kissed him on the cheek. Thanks, honey. Let’s finish our drinks and hit the road. It was probably nothing.

We passed through Yuma, Arizona, Blythe and Needles, California. Both of us agreed those towns were not for us. We decided to spend the night in Kingman, Arizona off the Interstate forty. We found a small diner on historic Route 66, where we ate and inquired about an inexpensive motel. We were surprised when we found a quaint motel that was a throwback to the 1950’s filled with all the charm of yesteryear. The next morning we took the interstate to Flagstaff, a city 6910 feet above sea level. It’s a city surrounded by mountains, desert and ponderosa pine forests and is the gateway to the San Francisco Peaks, home to Arizona’s tallest mountain, Humphreys Peak, 12,635 feet. We had motel reservations that evening in Sedona.

While driving south of Flagstaff toward Sedona I rummaged through our maps and found a flyer I had stuffed there before we left on our trip. I opened it. "Jim, it says here Sedona has long been known as a spiritual power center. This is because the power that emanates from the vortexes produces some of the most remarkable energy on the planet. This energy is the reason Sedona is full of people that are ‘on the path’, that is, people who have made a commitment to grow and become as much as they can spiritually. It is also the reason that such a large New Age community has sprung up in the Sedona area, bringing with it a variety of spiritual practices and alternative healing modalities, and it is the reason Sedona has sometimes been called a spiritual Disneyland."

Jim asked, Do you think this is for real or is it another tourist trap for middle-aged spiritual seekers?

I hope it isn’t anything like Disneyland. I laughed. Who cares? We’re only here for a night. We’ll have fun analyzing it.

I want to see the vortexes. They say the branches of the trees found near them are all twisted around each other. Not even Walt Disney could have done that.

I guess our adventure begins! Drive on, James. We both laughed.

* * * *

We arose at the crack of dawn in preparation for our walking tour of one of the mesas, Airport Mesa, the most visited Sedona vortex. Getting to the top involved some vertical hiking, but we trudged along okay. When we arrived at the top of the mesa we were amazed to find so many people already there. Some were walking around on the top of the mesa taking photos of the spectacular views while others were sitting, many in Yoga positions with their eyes closed. As I understood from reading the brochures in our hotel room, a Vortex is a place in nature where the earth is exceptionally alive with energy. The term Vortex in Sedona refers to a place where the earth energy swirls and draws to its center everything that surrounds it like a tornado. At these magical sites, trees often exhibit a swirling or twisting of their trunks due to the powerful vortex energy at the core of a Sedona Vortex.

I decided to sit on a rock and relax while Jim explored the rest of the mesa with its red rocks and scrub-like trees with twisted branches. At first I noticed the stupendous views in all directions. It calmed me. After a time I closed my eyes. Sometime later, I don’t know how long, whether minutes or hours, I felt a oneness with the earth. It was an experience like I never felt before, so dreamy yet so real at the same time. I didn’t want to wake from it, but I heard Jim’s voice calling me from far, far away. I opened my eyes and stared at him.

Hi, honey! I see you’re back. How was your trip into the vortex?

Huh? I questioned.

Hey, wake up! He put his hand on my shoulder and gave me a little shake. Time to come back to earth.

I broke from my reverie. Oh, hi.

You can tell me all about your experience later, but what did that couple say to you?

What couple?

A man and a woman came up to you and said something. You smiled, and then they left. What did they say?

"Ashen Devlesa, Romale."

What?

"I just told you. They said, may you remain with God."

Chapter 3

The Tooth

We timed the opening of our GhostTown B&B around Tombstone’s Helldorado Days. It was the most popular weekend of the year and marked the beginning of the tourist season for Tombstone. Re-enactors fought it out at the O.K. Corral while others strolled in the streets and bars wearing authentic 1880’s costumes, guns and all. We were booked solid, sold out. Our part time maid showed up on time to clean the guest quarters, and Jim who likes to cook, made a wonderful breakfast spread for our guests. We received excellent comments from them and some of the town’s regular residents stopped by to welcome us and wish us luck. All in all our grand opening was a resounding success.

Helldorado days lasted Friday through Sunday. By Sunday evening the town was empty of tourists and so was our B&B. Like we often did after a busy day, we were seated in the parlor enjoying a glass of wine at a small table with the lights out. A kerosene lantern on the fireplace mantle provided a little light. The room, really a parlor, was located next to the front door. Two windows faced the front yard. About thirty feet away was Toughnut Street. We were discussing the success of our real first weekend when someone on the front walk caught my attention. He looked familiar, so when he tapped on the door I told Jim to go ahead and open it.

Honey, it’s Fred White, announced Jim.

I tried not to be surprised by the name. After my first brief meeting with Marshal White I had guessed he was one of the re-enactors, so I wasn’t concerned. Ask him in, I shouted back. A few moments later Jim returned with the Marshal in tow.

Let me get you a chair, announced Jim. He returned with a third chair, a bottle of wine and a spare glass for the marshal. Everyone sat down and Jim poured the wine. Marshal White sat and stared at the wine glass.

I was curious. So, what brings you out here this time of night?

The marshal replied, still staring at the wine bottle and glass that was in front of him, I came by to let you know some visitors are coming. I’ve checked them out and they are very reputable people.

It’s a little late, isn’t it? I questioned.

I guess it is, ma’am. I can tell them not to come, if you’d prefer.

No, that’s okay, said Jim. They can’t stay long, though.

You just tell me when you want them to leave and I’ll make sure.

Thank you.

Marshal White looked at Jim for a moment. James, I told your wife the first time we met that I’d keep the riff-raff out and I meant it.

I said, That’s right, you did. Thank you. He was still staring at his glass of wine in front of him. I asked, Do you not care for wine, Marshal?

Oh no, Ma’am! I love wine. It’s just that I haven’t tasted it in a long time.

I held my glass up. Cheers!

The marshal slowly reached out and touched the glass and then lifted it. He looked, however, like he’d seen a ghost.

Cheers, he replied. I drank to the toast and so did Jim. The marshal stared at his glass for a long time and then finally took a sip. He smacked his lips and looked to me like someone who was starving for water and then finally was sated. A big smile came across his face. It’s been a long time coming, he said.

I responded, Really? How long?

About a hundred and thirty years. With that he lifted his glass and finished the wine in two gulps. Got any more? Jim poured another round for all of us.

He asked the marshal, Can you tell us who we can expect and when?

Sure, he said, downing the second glass of wine, It’s John and his girlfriend, Kate. They’re waiting at the front door.

I stood up. I didn’t hear them knock. I’ll go and let them in. Remember, they can’t stay long. It’s late.

While I went to let the couple in, I heard Marshal White say to Jim, I asked John to stop by and give you some help. It won’t take but a minute and he’s real good at what he does, at least he was.

Huh? was all Jim could say.

I went to the door, opened it and found two more re-enactors, dressed appropriately standing there. John was tall and thin, he had blond hair and was rather handsome, excepting a small scar above his lip and a wandering left eye. He carried what looked to me like an old fashioned leather medical satchel that opened at the top. The woman walked in next to him had a very confident, if not demanding air about her. She was probably five foot five with dark hair that was pulled back in a bun behind her head. She was not very attractive, short and plump with a rather oversized nose. She looked eastern European, maybe Hungarian. Later, I discovered she spoke with an accent. I couldn’t see Marshal White, but then realized he was out front watching the door, keeping the riff-raff out, as he promised us.

Upon entering the room, John sat down next to Jim at the table and shook his hand.

Kate asked me, Do you have anything to drink?

Come with me to the kitchen and I’ll get you some water, I told her.

Got anything stronger? she said eyeing the now empty bottle of wine.

While Kate and I were in the kitchen I could hear John talking to my husband, Jim. Why don’t you sit back and let me have a look at that filling you lost on your posterior lower second bicuspid molar.

How did you know that? questioned Jim, wiggling his jaw.

John shouted to me, Can I get some more light in here? I rummaged through the kitchen junk drawer and found a flashlight. I banged it on the counter and it came on, so I took it with me and turned on the electric lights.

That’s better, said John.

It was an almost humorous sight, my husband, the emergency room doctor, leaning back in his chair with his mouth agape and John hovering over him looking into his mouth. He had opened his satchel and had some kind of a tool in Jim’s mouth. He spoke to me. Light, please. Shine it in Jim’s mouth so I can see what I’m doing. I did as he asked.

Aha, was all he said.

Aha, what? I questioned.

Got any whiskey? He’ll want a few slugs before I replace his lost filling.

You’ll do what? questioned Jim.

I brought the bottle and a shot glass from the kitchen and handed them to John.

Here, he said, pouring the contents into a shot glass, take two shots.

Astounded, my husband gulped one shot and then another, looked at the glass and knocked down a third.

John patted him on the back. That should do it. He set the bottle on the table whereupon Kate reached out and took it. She retreated to the kitchen with the shot glass and the whiskey.

He looked at me. You stand over him with the light and I’ll put in the filling. He then reached into his satchel and pulled out a vial.

What the hell is that? questioned my husband.

It’s perfectly safe. It’s called sponge gold and was introduced in the United States and England to replace gold leaf. It’s a cohesive gold introduced by my dentist friend Bob Arthur in 1855. I love the stuff. He pushed Jim back in the chair. Say ahh.

After a few minutes of work John announced, All done! You were a good patient. He returned the tools and various items he had for performing the task of tooth filling and closed the top. He shouted to Kate, Kate! Time to go.

Go to hell! slurred Kate in her eastern European accent. John looked at me and shrugged his shoulders.

I asked him, "Do you call yourself John? Do you have a last name?

Sure, it’s Holliday, John Holliday, but most folks call me Doc."

Doc Holliday?²

The very one and only. He patted me on the back and then shouted in his unmistakable southern accent, Damn it Kate, get your head out of the bottle. We’ve got to go.

Kate appeared. Do we have to go so soon?

I told her, You can come back some other time, okay?

Okay.

I escorted them to the door, but before opening it I wrestled the almost-finished bottle of whiskey from her grip. When I opened the door, there was Marshal White, waiting. He escorted the two out. When they were gone I asked the marshal, Who was that woman with Doc?

Why, his girlfriend, if you can call her that. Big Nose Kate³. Goodnight. He turned and disappeared.

Chapter 4

Vortex

I don’t remember returning to our hotel room in Sedona. I vaguely remember having had lunch. I recall that I slept in the car while Jim packed and returned us to the interstate. When he spoke to me it felt like he was far away. I only half listened to him because my mind was racing in some other place. That night in Tucumcari, New Mexico, I went to bed and slept in a fetal position for over twelve hours. When I awoke the next morning I felt refreshed. Good morning! I announced from across the pillows, where are we?

Well, good morning to you. Welcome back to earth. We’re in Tucumcari. It’s the mountains here that represent the American Indian version of Romeo and Juliet.

I snuggled up next to him. You’ll have to tell me more, later. Jim, what’s been happening to me? I feel like I’ve been somewhere else for the last two days.

You have. Do you think it was a result of your vortex experience or what?

Let me think about that. Right now, I’d like to have your body. I kissed him deeply. I love you, Jim. Please forgive me if I’ve been acting strange lately.

Nothing to forgive. He slowly rolled on top of me.

An hour later at breakfast, Jim told me he had also felt the vortex in Sedona. To him, it was a feeling of release and he claimed he woke from a short trance feeling wonderful and energized. We returned to our motel room with to-go coffees. Me, the psychologist, wanted to take notes in hopes I’d discover the strange pall that had come over me for the last two days.

Seated at the small round table in our tiny motel room, Jim asked, Why don’t you start at the beginning, when we climbed atop that mesa. Do you know when the sensation first came upon you?

Not immediately. I was awed with the view and like you, walked around the mesa for awhile. When you went to look at the twisted trees, I sat on a rock. I tried telling myself, like I do my patients, to close my eyes and relax, let all present thoughts fade into nothingness. I do that to my clients a lot, especially those whom I want to hypnotize.

That’s nice. Tell me what ensued. Did you fall asleep? Did the vortex make you dizzy?

"It was nothing like that. At first, I felt a little self-conscious, uneasy sitting alone on the rock with the feeling of people staring at me. With my eyes closed I could hear people around me talking about how nice it was up there, how fantastic the view,