from a BOAT (1)

I’m afraid folks; the following is not about, sex or politics, violence or death & life; or anything controversial at all. This quite simply is a:

Journal of the Voyage

1800 hrs, Sunday 06th:
My dear reader, you have found this virtual bottle, cast off the window of my cabin with my daily journal inside. I will try to send a bottle for you everyday or otherwise every other day as daily engagements may allow.
I’m board a supply boat with British flag now. We have set sail from the east coast of Scotland heading for Denmark. Fortunately, the sea is calm and the wind is low.
Please, don’t get me wrong folks, I’m no seaman, nor am I seeking adventure or a voyage full of excitements and peculiarities as such. Well to be honest, I thought it’d be interesting as my first real sea voyage, and knowing it is going to take quite a few days, I was expecting, hoping for a lot of or perhaps some new experiences. You know, the type of things that makes people write about their trips. So I decided to write my journal, nothing fancy in it as such, and post it for you good fellas.
Let me tell you about this vessel a bit. It’s not a big boat, about 200 feet long, (more?) and my cabin’s also very nice with a window opening to the back deck and another one to the port side. I met the captain, elderly chap perhaps in his 60s; he greeted me warmly and took me to the bridge and showed me everything, the compass, and all. The view of the sea from the bridge is breathtaking, specially when you turn your head and you see distancing from the shore.
I was expecting to get seasick and all, so I went to the first officer for medicine. He laughed at me and said I’ll be fine. I thought he was waiting to see me get sick and make a fool of myself, but amazingly, I’m good. I confess I had a “funny feeling” at some point, but I’m getting used to it. One of the crew saw me eating in the galley and mentioned that I must be alright if I could eat.
Talking about the crew, they appear to be somewhat weird. I don’t know what makes a man give up land and go to sea. Why should someone choose a life of not having a home? What is it out there that draws their souls? I suspect it’s like a deficiency or the lack of ability to perform in normal condition that makes sailors retreat to the solitude of the endless waters and horror of the abyss. They really make me wonder! They appear to be polite and helpful at times, yet there’s still a strange quality in their manners. One might think they have evolved and adapted to the sea; part of the sea.
I was having a conversation with a gentleman on board a while ago. He wasn’t a sailor either and shared some of my views, though he’d been around boats a bit more and things appear to not surprise him any longer, as such.