Call me Michael. Some years ago—never mind how long precisely—having little or no money in my purse, and nothing particular to interest me on shore, I thought I would sail about a little and see the watery part of the world. It is a way I have of driving off the spleen and regulating the circulation. Whenever I find myself growing grim about the mouth; whenever it is a damp, drizzly November in my soul; whenever I find myself involuntarily pausing before coffin warehouses, and bringing up the rear of every funeral I meet; and especially whenever my hypos get such an upper hand of me, that it requires a strong moral principle to prevent me from deliberately stepping into the street, and methodically knocking people's hats off—then, I account it high time to get to sea as soon as I can. This is my substitute for pistol and ball. With a philosophical flourish Cato throws himself upon his sword; I quietly take to the ship. There is nothing surprising in this. If they but knew it, almost all men in their degree, some time or other, cherish very nearly the same feelings towards the ocean with me.
By reason of these things, then, the whaling voyage was welcome; the great flood-gates of the wonder-world swung open, and in the wild conceits that swayed me to my purpose, two and two there floated into my inmost soul, endless processions of the whale, and, mid most of them all, one grand hooded phantom, like a snow hill in the air.
However, little did I know at that time the unexpected turn of events that my journey had lain in store for me. Through a series of mishaps that no longer lie clear in my memory, I now rest, by my reckoning, on the opposite side of the earth in every sense. The events that led to my arrival are nearly as unknown to me as the world which I am surrounded by. I have expended much effort in attempting to decipher the local tongue; but there is a myriad of fine nuances that continue to elude me.
It is a world that is in nearly all manners converse to the one which I was familiar with. However, I can not help but notice that there are an odd number of things that bear subtle, yet striking resemblances to the world I had known. It seems as though the vague vestiges of my memory were scattered everywhere upon my arrival. All of which, however, leads me to believe that I may not have been the first to know such an experience in this land of seemingly infinite unknowns.
Some notable entries from my previous log:
30, October
All of the crew and a few locals gathered this evening for quite a joyous celebration. Some were given to wine and all were certainly full of gayness and laughter. Being that it was his birthday, Momchil, a Bulgarian and quite a pillar of a man as he rises over two meters, was of the highest spirits among us. As he is usually reserved, I was quite surprised to see how drink had loosed his jaw. He seems to have become quite fascinated by a sport in which two rather corpulent men struggle to push each other out of a small arena. He also withheld none of his enthusiasm for dancing to the music of Bulgaria. 'Twas quite a merry evening.
10, November
I went today with Jorge from Germany and Jordan from Australia on the first of what is to be a series of visits to a nearby primary school. We are to go once a week and give presentations that provide an international perspective for the children. Interacting with them was all good fun and I am looking forward to the upcoming visits. However, having nowhere near mastered the language, this may prove to be a difficult endeavor.
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