It was true. At home, Andra and I normally sleep six to seven hours. Our first night on La Creole, we logged nine, which we attributed to the stress of the trip. But each succeeding night we fell asleep earlier and arose later, until it seemed we snoozed half of each day. The less we did, the less we did. Spoiled, somnolent, satiated, we were the childlike Eloi of H.G. Wells The Time Machine (starring Rod Taylor as the Time Traveler in the movie version), clothed and fed for consumption by the underground Morlocks. Perhaps my perspective was a little skewed, but as Morlocks was the way I now viewed practically everyone back home in the, you know, rat race.