I paddle away from Hung and board the John Gray boat again. We set off into a gorgeous sunset with pink and orange cascades lighting the islands. Lounging in a deck chair, I take in the scene, as fishing boats wobble in the bay.
Inside, a feast awaits. It seems incongruous, extravagant: a salad with tomato-peel flowers and carrot florets, corn soup with shrimp and crab, a whole fish garnished with ginger and tomatoes-—enough to feed a family of eight. I sit on a plush red chair at a table with white linen. A uniformed waiter pours a glass of wine and sets the bottle to chill in an ice bucket. An evening breeze whispers through the wooden windows of this massive boat I have chartered exclusively for myself, three times the size of a squid boat and incomparable in elegance and sheer comfort.
The food keeps coming, I keep eating. I think of Hung.
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