The following journal entry comes from a young soldier deployed in the Persian Gulf. He has shared it, anonymously, so that others will know something of what young men and women in the military are facing.

I would like to play the travel agent for this email. Subject: Seychelles. Beautiful islands, considering there are only 115 of them. Their history is a complicated one. They were colonized by the British, but they speak French.

Much of the British influence still remains. The buildings, although crumbling (which only gives the island its character), are of British origin. As we drove through the downtown on our way to check in with the boat our cab driver showed us the courthouse. Inside you could see the judge in his robe with his white wig.

The Island was liberated on June 5th 1977. We missed the celebration by one day. After its liberation it became a communist sympathizer. We had an Air Force base on the island and ironically enough it was a very strategic position for us. Our satellite on the peak of the tallest mountain on the island gave us the ability to monitor the entire Indian Ocean. The base was shut down in 1998.

The people gave up on communism around 1993. The same president has been in power for twenty-five years, and they say he is corrupt but it doesn’t affect the people too much. For instance, the island is a large tourist trap for many Europeans, and Americans. The President has ordered the hotels and casinos to allow Americans to pay in U.S. dollars instead of rupees. It is five rupees on the dollar. There is a large Black Market for U.S. dollars. The President can save himself from losing money during the exchange when it comes time to pay their debts.

The people are black; some of them are lighter-skinned almost looking like Arabs. They all have an accent that sounds South African. The people are truly the friendliest people. They are not afraid to talk to you, and show off their Island. They are used to tourists, and don’t mind them a bit. After all the tourists are keeping them employed.

All over the island you find drifters, or travelers who have landed on the island temporarily. They all look the same. They are tanned with sun streaks in their long hair. They do a variety of jobs. One man we met who worked next to our bungalow was a fisherman. He and some of his friends had some wooden boats that they paddled out into the water to cast their nets each day. They offered to take us to Silhouette Island to go snorkeling. If we had had another day we would have taken them up on their offer.

Our diving guide was from South Africa and was working his way around the world working in dive shops. His next big job was working in Australia on the Barrier Reef. There were others who were waiters, bartenders, carpenters, and everything else you can imagine. When I see that I wonder where they came from and why. I have always wanted that form of life style, but I have been bound to laws of nature and man.

We pulled in early on the third of June. The day before, while pulling in, we had crossed the equator, and to celebrate they had a beer day — two beers per man, and some BBQ ribs.

Branson and I sat on the flight deck and it just felt different crossing the line that cuts the world in half. I could almost see an imaginary line, and I thought about all the places that lie on that line, and to the north and south. It was a magical experience that is hard to describe.

We could not pull into a pier so the ship dropped anchor and we took LCU’s to shore. The Military can take anything fun and make it extremely grueling. First we waited all morning for them to sound Liberty Call.

We had dropped anchor at 6:30 but liberty wasn’t sounded for five hours after that. No one really knows why. Then we waited in line to sign out of the boat. We climbed into the LCU’s, which are the large WW2 type boats that can drive up onto shore and drop their gates. They are hot, oily, and uncomfortable. After an hour of standing in the hot noisy well deck they finally let the water in and the boat pulled out from the back of the ship.

It was only a thirty-minute ride, but for security reasons the Navy had only requested one pier. We sat in the hot sun, only a swimming distance away from the pier and waited while the other one unloaded people. All in all we ended up finally getting on shore to enjoy our day and a half of free time around 2:30. It was one of those extremely frustrating experiences. Not to mention we had to check in with them twice, and it was a twenty dollar round trip to get back to the pier. Some things just never make sense to me.

After our long boat ride we were all in bad spirits, and frustrated. The island seemed less beautiful. I remember stepping out onto the flight deck that morning and getting my first good look at her: a small port with a light house; a couple of Islands sitting in the water beside her, and large, green mountains with majestic cliffs all over her. I took a look through the big eyes, and noticed the red roofed plaster houses. I knew if I could ever get to it, I would fall in love.

The group consisted of Branson, Cortez, and two of our Marines, Duncan and Greenlee. Branson is only about 24 but being the father of two kids has aged him quite a bit, and has turned him into a definite dad. He is skinny, and looks like an older man. He walks around with his map in his back pocket and his video camera around his shoulder. He walks fast so you have to rush to keep up. He likes to coordinate everything before it actually happens, and sometimes the coordination can drive you crazy. He’s pretty stubborn so don’t argue with him. If he said the sun is a cold place he could probably argue it into an ice cube.

The cab ride was absolutely beautiful in itself. One of the things that I would have liked to do was take a cab ride around the island just to see the whole thing. However our time was limited, and my first priority was to kick my shoes off and relax. The streets were narrow, and to the side a deep ditch had been dug for drainage. The cab drivers always had something to say, and drove like all other cab drivers in this world.

We climbed up the side of the mountain, overlooking the downtown of Victoria, then through a gap in the mountains, and we exchanged one ocean view for another. We told the cab driver that we wanted to go to a cheap hotel. He drove us to the Boat House, and told us we could find lodging in that general area.

We stood on the side of the road with our bags by our sides. On one side was a green mountain and on the other a white sandy beach shaded by palms and mangroves. The water was crystal. One mile out was a large mountain of an island called Silhouette Island. There were a few stores, and a lot of restaurants tucked into the shade of the palm groves, and a lady sitting on a fence. “You need a room?” She said to us as we stood there mesmerized by the place our feet had landed.

She escorted us to a bungalow with a patio, and two beds. The floors were tile, and the walls a mahogany. There were only white sheets on the bed; there was no need for a comforter. It was cool there with the constant breeze coming off the water. We wasted no time in swimming, and checking out our surroundings: a beach store, a convenience store, and a dive shop along with a pizzeria and many other restaurants without walls. I checked out the dive shop and there were five spots open for the 12:00 trip the next day.

After a nice swim in the ocean we met at the pizzeria. The floor was sand, and no place on the island required shoes, and everyone walked around in their bathing suits, so I figured why try to fight culture. It wasn’t hard to give in, and I started to relax, and the worries of being on the ship melted away. We ate our pizza and sipped cold beers beside the water.

Branson and I had a four-hour duty from 6:00 until 10:00 that night. We had to leave everyone and go back to the pier. During the duty we eavesdropped on people who were upset that the island was so boring. They wanted more nightlife. I filled out a crossword puzzle and thought ‘that is the greatest part about this place.’

We met up with the rest of the guys. They were at the boathouse and were going on and on about the food, and how good the wine was. Duncan introduced me to the manager. I told the manager that I was in the market for the best glass of wine that he had. He took me to the back room, and handed me a bottle of French wine. “For the best drink pour it elevated over the wine glass to allow the air to get trapped in it.” It was a nice glass.

The evening found us at the Casino. Branson enjoys a nice game of Black Jack. I am afraid that I would end up liking it, so I stuck to playing solitaire. I was just sitting by the bar watching people when a man walked up beside me. He asked for a glass of Scotch. I noticed his thick Scottish accent and was perplexed by his dark complexion. He looked Arabic. The bartenders were bad about their service. He started complaining to me about them and I just agreed with him. Before you knew it I found out his father was from Pakistan, his mother from Glasgow. He was born in Glasgow as well. He worked for a travel agency and was being paid to spend a couple of weeks on the island.

It wasn’t long until the whole bar was filled with the English. A man from Wales sat beside me. He disagreed with the war, but “What can you do?” he said. An older woman from London was the ringleader of the whole excursion. Another man came from the other side, the good side of London; and so on and so forth. I think I talked to all of them and by the end of the night I was talking like our friends again: “You can’t sell a bloody Ford Focus that you have never driven, mate. Can’t sell an Island you have never been to.”

We talked about politics, and our countries. We talked about the island. We talked about home. We shared stories. The travel agency paid for the night, anything we wanted. It was a nice experience getting to know them, and it was easy to detect their accents and where they were from.

Since there wasn’t enough room for us all in the bungalow, I took one for the team, and slept on the patio. I like sleeping outside anyway. I took one last dip in the ocean then fell asleep listening to the nightlife. I didn’t even need a blanket and slept very well. I woke up that morning to find the lady who gave us the room, draping a blanket over me, and putting a pillow under my head. She said something to me in French then she was gone. Such kindness is hard to find in most places. It helped me to sleep a little easier into the morning.

We ate a breakfast of eggs by a stream that flowed into the ocean, checked in with the boat, and then we were diving. It was a beautiful dive. The guys fell in love with it. It had been so long I had forgotten how beautiful it is. We swam with the schools, swam by the coral, and played Frisbee with the starfish.

Our guides were from all around the world. They told me about the beach on the south end of the island where the waves broke at twelve feet. Some of the more dedicated guys from the ship had gone surfing. I wanted to surf, but I also wanted to go hiking … and hiking … and so much more.

After getting back, Branson and I walked down the beach and met up with Cardoza. He was about to rent a small catamaran, so I jumped at the opportunity. We had to paddle our way out past the shore, and even then the winds came in gusts only. The people rented the boat to us for an hour, but forgot that we were out there. We stayed on the water for close to two hours. The island looked different from the water. You could see the rain forests that inhabited the hillside. The people on the shore were so small and far away. It was quiet.

We lounged around and talked about business and made plans for Australia. There were sail boats moored off the beach. We sailed around them, and back again. I have always wanted to learn to sail and spend my life roaming from port to port, from island to island. I wonder if they knew how well they had it.

Dinner was spent at the Boat House with another bottle of wine for the table and the best seafood buffet I have ever tasted. It was right off the grill, and the variety was endless. There was something for everyone.

The desserts were some baby bananas served in a rum sauce. Afterwards we sat by the beach talking to some natives about their island and their life. We talked about books, and Shakespearean plays. We left late that night to get back on the boat.

I remember discovering Jimmy Buffett and Bob Marley. I remember traveling to Puerto Rico for two weeks almost four years ago and discovering the tropics. Islands seem to have their own atmosphere. They have their own way of life. That idea has always been with me since I was a sophomore: that there has to be a place on earth where things make sense.

In a song, Jimmy Buffett writes, “Everyone here is just more than contented to be living and dying in 3/4 time.” I can’t think of a better phrase for the lifestyle there. It is a place you can go and be away from everyone and everything; hang up a hammock and kick off your shoes. So why can’t it be like that back home? For some reason it just isn’t, but it does offer an idea for the way I would like my life to be. After we left, I think I took a little something for myself from there: I took a memory of a dream, and it feels good.