"I want to get away from it all," I said to the travel agent, reclining behind the computer on her desk. "I've had it with the rat race. The never ending pressure. People always calling and texting me. Always asking me to solve one problem or another. And it's no different when I get home. It's always 'when are you going to do this?' 'When are you going to do that?' 'Can you take me here?' I want to be so far out of touch that nobody will be able to find me. Then maybe I can relax."

My voice must have been rising, because the woman who had been reclining grabbed her cup of coffee and the brochures on the desk as if she were afraid I might wave my arms and dash them all to the floor. She looked at me for a moment as if to make sure she wouldn't have to call security. For a moment, the room was quiet. Then, she said, in a hushed voice, as if she didn't want to impart this information to just anybody: "Have you heard of the Saturn Rings Hotel?"

"No," I said. "Should I have?"

"Well," she said, "It's a very exclusive, private resort that caters to people just like you. People in search of peace and quiet. People who need space. A place where you can just unwind."

"Is it expensive?" I asked, with some trepidation.

"It is, but I believe they're running some specials that might make it a bit more affordable."

"And you say it's comfortable?"

"Every amenity. Outdoor recreation, spa treatments, five star restaurants, plenty of booze, and I can practically guarantee that you will have the place to yourself."

"Where is this place?" I asked, racking my brain to determine if I had ever heard of it.

"It is remote," the travel agent said, "But you said you didn't mind travelling. The trip there is an adventure in and of itself."

"What do you mean by that?"

"It really is a once in a lifetime journey. A very unique experience."

I pondered for a moment. What kind of adventure was I getting myself into, I wondered. I had never heard of the Saturn Rings Hotel, of that I was certain. Why hadn't I heard of it? But it sounded exciting, somehow; something like Mount Everest, perhaps, a place that was difficult to get to, but afterwards, everyone would be impressed that you had been there. It might be a spiritual journey of self discovery, a kind of Shangri-La where, stripped of outside influences, I could reflect on my life, its meaning, and purpose. On the other hand, what was the down side that she was hiding from me? What was the fly in the ointment of this unique experience?

"All right," I shrugged. "I'm game. So tell me, where is this place?"

"It's on the rings of Saturn. Hence the name."

"The rings of what?" I asked, not sure if I had gotten the location right. I was expecting to hear something familiar, like South America, Australia, or Southeast Asia.

"Saturn. The planet Saturn. You know, the gas giant out beyond Jupiter."

"Isn't it cold out there?"

"They have heated rooms. And they supply heated space suits for the excursions."

"Excursions? Excursions where?"

"Well, the rings are one of the wonders of the solar system. The views of the planet from them are supposed to be spectacular."

"How long does it take to get there?"

"A few months."

"A few months!" I exclaimed. But as outlandish as all this sounded, it was becoming more and more intriguing. Months, maybe years, away from everything, away from everybody. No demands. No obligations. No distractions. Just the prospect of standing on the edge of Saturn's rings, admiring the sublimity of them, the graceful arc, and that slowly revolving golden orb at the center of it.

"You did say you wanted to get away."

"That's true. But this is a trip on a rocket, right? Isn't it dangerous?"

"Stop worrying. The pilots are professionals. You're really in more danger getting into a car."

"And they really have a hotel up there, with a restaurant, a pool, a cocktail lounge?"

"They actually do."

"With entertainment?"

The woman laughed. "I think you're going to be impressed."

"All right," I said, "You talked me into it."

The down payment for this once in a lifetime adventure equaled almost half my life's savings, but handing it over to the travel agent was like unburdening myself. Somehow I felt lighter, all of a sudden, unencumbered. When I notified my boss that I would be taking a year long sabbatical, he fired me. But it felt good to be free from obligations. I was only answerable to myself now, and I could concentrate on things that mattered to me. I began to work on the regimen from the flight director's office. I would have to pass a physical, and I started running two miles a day, working out on a treadmill, and practicing maneuvering in weightless environments by doing underwater aerobics in a pool. I no longer answered emails, phone calls, or written notices.

My sister was concerned. "What do you mean by throwing your life away on a trip like this?" she said one day. "I've been trying to get you a date with this woman I know in my office. What am I supposed to tell her; that you're going on a spiritual journey of self discovery to the planet Saturn?"

"Look," I said, "I'm tired of all these obligations. I want to do something for me, for a change."

"By taking a trip to Saturn?"

"It'll give me time to figure things out."

"By the time you get back, this woman will end up with someone else. And women are looking for stable guys."

I shrugged. "So be it."

At least this way, I wouldn't have to worry what she thought of my moustache, or my sports jacket, or my pastel slacks. I wouldn't have to get an expensive hair cut, or be afraid of showing my crooked teeth. At night, I set up a lawn chair, sat in the backyard, and peered through an old pair of binoculars at the hazy patch of light with the elegant ring; imagining myself standing on the edge of them, waving back to Earth. Wondering what they were saying about my accomplishment. Planning a party to celebrate my return.

A month before my scheduled blast off, I had to go to Florida for a flight briefing. I took the train to Cape Canaveral, which was included in the price of the vacation, and got to meet the crew of the rocket taking me up there. There were two people, Capt. Lovejoy, a tall, strikingly handsome former air force pilot, and Lieutenant Pinchnik, whose first name was Vera. She was a voluptuous red head who looked more like fashion model than a co-pilot. They were both sitting in rattan chairs on a patio, dressed in flowered shirts, Bermuda shorts, and wearing sunglasses. Vera was sipping a cocktail. Captain Lovejoy was taking pictures of her with his cell phone camera, and she was posing for him.

"So are you ready for your vacation?" Vera asked me, in a thick, sexy, Russian accent. She looked at me over her glasses.

"I am," I replied, noticing her smoothly shaven, tanned legs. "What can you tell me about the trip?"

Capt. Lovejoy laughed. "Relax," he said, "Sit back and relax. Leave the flying to us. Enjoy the scenery." Vera giggled.

"I have to admit that a journey in a rocket all the way out to Saturn does sound a bit dangerous. At least to me."

Vera put down her glass and began refilling it with vodka and vermouth. "Let me assure you, for us, it's a walk in the park. We do it all the time. There is absolutely nothing to worry about."

"Is there going to be booze on the flight?" I asked. I couldn't help noticing that Ms. Pinchnik was enjoying her martinis.

Lovejoy and Ms. Pinchnik looked at each other and laughed. "Of course there is going to be booze," Capt. Lovejoy said, "What kind of trip would it be without that?"

"What about entertainment?" I asked. "Will there be any entertainment on the flight?" I was imagining Ms. Pinchnik doing a tap dance routine in high heels, black silk stockings, and a mini skirt.

Capt. Lovejoy put his arm around his co-pilot. And the co-pilot was rubbing the inside of his calf with her foot. Evidently they were very fond of each other.

"We do have the exersize machines," he said, trying to keep a straight face, "And there is the view from the portholes."

Vera gave me a wry, disdainful look. "If you're travelling alone, I suggest you bring a couple of good books, and a computerized chess set."

"Do you play chess?" I asked her, hopefully.

"Well," she said, somewhat non-committedly, "You know, we're going to be flying the rocket."
They both broke out laughing.

After that, they took me on a tour of the ship. I have to admit that the passenger quarters looked quite comfortable. There were leather recliners, queen sized beds in the sleeping compartments, a personal communications system {to keep in touch with people back home and update them on my progress} a stereo system, and access to the gravity free deck and its viewing platform. I imagined myself floating around in there, checking out the asteroids whizzing past.

"What's it like crossing the asteroid belt?" I asked the crew. Ms. Pinchnik was leaning against a bulkhead, sipping another martini. Capt. Lovejoy was running his fingers through her hair.

"Will you stop worrying?" Vera scowled, as if annoyed at all my interruptions of her favorite pastime. "Most of them are just rocks. It's like crossing an intersection on a motorcycle."

Maybe she was right. I couldn't let something that trivial spoil this getaway. It was my chance to cut the umbilical chord, to do something for me, to experience something unique and thrilling, something that might change my life. I took the train home and started packing. But as I put months long supplies of underwear, socks, shirts and pants into my suitcase, and stuffed a year's worth of deodorant, aftershave lotion, and toothpaste into duffle bags, I couldn't help feeling an eerie sense of how mundane much of the experience might end up being. So many things, were, to a large extent, inescapable after all. Sure there would be the solitude. The views. The novel experience of weightlessness. But the day to day struggle with satisfying basic human needs would still be there. Shaving. Eating. Going to the bathroom. Taking a shower. I had to wonder what that would be like in zero gravity. And then there was Vera Pinchnik, the sexy Russian co-pilot. I had to admit that I was attracted to her, there was something exciting about the prospect of meaningless sex over the course of an otherworldly voyage across the solar system. And I was jealous of her affectionate relationship with Capt. Lovejoy. I was beginning to have fantasies of expunging the good captain through the outer doors of the airlock, and cavorting with my prize in the excersize pod. Now that would be a vacation, I thought.

With these oddly provincial concerns dogging me, I prepared for the lift off. My sister came to the launch pad, maybe out of familial habit. I was watching the luggage handlers throwing my cases into the storage bin when she appeared beside me.

"Did I tell you you're nuts?" she said. "You're turning down a date with a nice lady, for a safari into outer space."

I shrugged. "I'll be back before you know it," I said. "And think of the pictures I'll get. I'm bringing along 10 packs of compact flash cards."

She rolled her eyes. "How many pictures of the rings of Saturn do you need?"

I gave her a quick hug, crossed the steel plated threshold, and then they closed and bolted shut the hatch. I stood for a moment looking at the rows of seats in the passenger lounge, wondering which of them would offer the best view. Since there were no other passengers flying that day, I had my pick, and I chose a seat exactly in the middle, on the right of the capsule. A door to the pilot's cabin swung open, and the rather cavalier looking head of Vera Pinchnik, her long, red hair not yet enclosed in a helmet, popped into the space. "Make sure you securely strap yourself in for the blast off," she said in a voice as smooth as honey, "All the harnesses and leg straps must be in place before the final countdown. Put on your helmet first, for safety reasons. And enjoy the ride." I couldn't be sure, but in my overworked imagination, she might have winked.

While I waited for the final launch countdown to begin, I glanced out of the window at the steel beams of the tower bracing our rocket up right. Innumerable thoughts went through my head. I couldn't help thinking of past tragedies in which rockets had exploded during launch and astronauts had been killed. I wondered what my sister was thinking, somewhere down in the Launchpad complex below. I wondered if anyone would be interested in an account of my adventure when I got back. It might make a good blog. I pictured myself in a bar, proudly relating tales of my exciting trip to a host of interested and impressed young ladies suddenly seeing me in a new light. And perhaps, to no real surprise, I imagined myself in the pilot's cabin having sex with Vera Pinchnik on the instrument panel.

I was surprised at how disappointing the launch experience was. I heard the countdown that you always hear; three, two, one...and then I guess the jolt just went by so quickly I hardly had time to envision myself in it. I remember seeing this bright, flash in the porthole window, and then this flaming, red glow, finally fading to the starlit black of outer space. There was a sense of relief. A voice in my head said: "You made it! You're really in outer space!" I craned my neck to see if I could catch a glimpse of the Earth. That was something I had always wanted to see, for myself, if I got to outer space. But I discovered that it was only visible from the portholes on the other side of the capsule. Damn! I had chosen the wrong seat! Typical. And then I realized that I had to pee.

It seemed like hours before Vera announced that I could release my seat belt and restraining harness, and I could finally experience what weightlessness was like. The initial lightheadedness, the floating sensation, was exhilarating, but then I began to compare the feeling inevitably to something familiar, like floating in water, and again I was disappointed to discover how eerily commonplace this exotic sounding novelty actually became. And then, if you weren't careful, you ended up banging your head, legs, and arms on the bulkheads, and that could be painful. Eating and drinking in space turned out to be a bothersome chore. If you weren't precise, whole tubes of vitamin water and vegetable smoothies would squirt across the cabin and globules of liquid would lodge in difficult nooks and crannies, and Vera was adamant about having them cleaned up. She had a thing about sloppy eaters in space, I learned. When you slept, you had to be strapped in, and that proved quite uncomfortable. It took days for me to adjust to lack of sunrises and sunsets, and for a week, I slept poorly.

After that, the days began to stretch into weeks, the weeks into months, as the true monotony of space travel set in. There wasn't much to see in the window portholes, aside of the odd comet streaking by, or an asteroid tumbling around like a potato tossed at a state fair. Capt. Lovejoy and Lt. Pinchnik spent most of the time locked in their cabin, apparently satisfying basic human needs. I heard a lot of moaning and groaning and banging around behind the cabin door. I spent my time pedaling on my stationary bike, playing chess with my computer, and reading. Rather like the things you did on a long ocean cruise, without the sun tanning. As we wizzed through the inner solar system, passed the asteroid belt and out into the outer solar system, at an incomprehensible ten thousand miles per second, I felt myself oddly unimpressed with these achievements, and anxious to arrive at my destination. I sent a few emails home, to let my sister I was OK, and I sent my ex boss a photo of Jupiter, just to make him jealous, and that was about it.

At last, the destination appeared in one of the starboard portholes. Vera Pinchnik, her hair visibly tousled, and quite out of breath, popped into the passenger lounge to inform me that we would be arriving at the hotel in a couple of days. I peered out of the window at the softly golden orb, watching its clouds and rings rotating slowly around it. The rings glittered like snow on a phonograph record. To see it in person was amazing. I snapped a few pictures of it, like any self respecting tourist would do. As we crept closer and closer, I began to make out the shining, glassy shapes of structures out on the crisp edge of the rings. It really was a hotel, I remember thinking. Now my vacation would begin at last!

Vera Pinchnik, in a shiny, tight, silver space suit, floated into the passenger lounge, a great, big smile on her face. "Well," she said, "Congratulations! You made it. Time to unstrap and gather all of your luggage and personal effects. We will be docking in a few minutes. Thank you for flying with us, we hope you enjoy your stay, and that you will consider us in your future travel plans. Remember; you have logged significant bonus travel mile points on this trip!"

With that, she presented me with the standard souvenir rocket model, emblazoned with the rings of Saturn motif, and shook my hand, as any flight attendant might do at the termination of a flight. It was all so commonplace, I thought to myself. I would have much preferred an evening with the lieutenant all to myself.

The Saturn Rings Hotel itself was a decently appointed complex, given its distance from Earth. The outer façade, done in multicolored plexiglass, welcomed the visitor with a half replica of the fabled arches. A uniformed red cap at the front door took my luggage, and wheeled it into the entrance foyer on a rolling cart.

"Welcome to the Saturn Rings Hotel, sir," he said, with a click of his heels.

The hotel lobby was dotted with several potted tropical plants, and a collection of haphazardly arranged Adirondack chairs. A soothing strain of muzak was playing softly in the background. An illuminated plexiglass model of the planet Saturn, complete with its rings, hovered above a pool and gurgling fountain. I looked down into the pool and was not at all surprised to see fantailed goldfish swimming in it.

A young man in a crisp business suit stood behind a teakwood counter at the far end of the lobby. This was the check in. The red cap rolled my luggage toward him and I followed. The young man watched me walk up with his hands clasped behind his back, smiling, as if he had been waiting quite some time for this momentous event.

"I believe I have a reservation," I said.

"Name, sir?" the young man asked.

I told him my name and the young man punched it into his computer and stared into his monitor, waiting for the confirmation.

"Do you have many guests here, now?" I asked, glancing around the empty room. The red cap was tugging at the sleeves of his uniform.

"I believe you are the only one at present, sir," the polite clerk replied.

"I guess that means I have the place to myself," I said, somewhat disappointed.

"Lucky you," the clerk rejoined, smiling again.

"How many rooms do you have here?"

"500. The more rooms they build, the cheaper it is per room."

"Amazing. All the way out here. When was the last time someone came through here?"

"I believe you are the first sir. Ah, here we are. Room 347. Just sign here."

With that, the clerk gave me my room key card, and I followed the red cap with my luggage into a sleek elevator, made entirely of plexiglass. As we glided up into the upper echelons of the resort, it afforded me a stunning view of the glistening rings of Saturn stretching away towards the massive, golden globe of the giant planet beyond it.

"What's it like working here?" I asked the red cap.

"It's alright. Not much to do, and the pay's pretty good. Does get a bit lonesome sometimes."

"Oh well. Plenty of peace and quiet, I suppose."

"Plenty of that, sir. Here we are."

And with that, my stay at the Saturn Rings Hotel commenced.

My room, overlooking the rings, was everything the travel agent promised. The bed was comfortable, the computer was equipped with a library of movies, the in-room bar was well stocked with beer, wine, liquor and snacks; there was even a Jacuzzi. I took a shower, opened a bottle of whiskey, and poured myself a drink over ice. Then I sat down on the bed and looked out of the window at Saturn, slowly rotating out in the silence. After a few minutes, I went for a walk. The halls were empty, as was the pool and the game room. A lonely waitress behind the bar in the lounge suggested I go for a space walk. The guide took me out for a two hour excursion on which I 'walked' on the ice chunks that made up the rings themselves. The effect was exhilarating, but I found myself wondering what my sister, or that girl in her office, might have thought of it if they were there with me. The brilliance of the sunlight, the all encompassing silence, the lightheaded feeling of being weightless again, somehow could not add up to the excitement of a conversation, and the guide was very matter of fact, all business. He merely presented me with a souvenir ice chunk at the conclusion of it.

The food in the restaurant was quite good. I must say the tornadoes of beef, the orange duck, the chocolate souffles and fine French wine I enjoyed there were memorable. The waitress was attentive, until she found out I was on a tight budget, after spending most of my money on the rocket flight and hotel room, and after that she kept her distance. Eating in the silent dining hall became a bit awkward too. I felt self conscious, and I kept looking out of the window, as though trying to look occupied.

Floating in the pool, making small talk with the bartender, excersizing in the fitness room; it wasn't long before my time in the Saturn Rings Hotel began to seem like time spent in any hotel, except for the fact that there was no one to meet, no one to look at, no one to share the experience with. I was beginning to wonder about my plan at cutting the umbilical chord and getting away from it all. It turned out that getting away from it all made me realize how much all those people who annoyed me on Earth kept the world and life exciting. After a while, the rings, and the planet Saturn, could have been any place. Or no place.

Before another week passed, I began to count the days until the shuttle would return, and I could begin the journey home, back to the life I had left behind. I had discovered what I was looking for.