Still motoring on into the waves today, + little to report, except that I have an upset stomach. No, not sea-sickness- other end. So not a lot of activity. I have begun reading “Theophilus North” by Wilder, + am enjoying it immensely. It’s almost Wodehouse territory, with rich + irascible old gentlemen, those gentlemen’s gentlemen, fortune hunters + gigolos, + wilful girls. But at its heart is Theophilus himself, part chronicler, part dabbler, part sage. The character within the book keeps a journal, in which, we are told, he describes in rich detail the colourful people he encounters. Which makes me all the more ashamed of tis my own poor effort, in which I’m more likely to describe the contents of my lunch. Still, I can try.
The captain, for example. He looks extraordinary, like a wizened old turtle who’s stuck his head out of his shell. Except that, to add to the incongruity, nature has endowed him with large, sticking-out ears. He picks his way around deck sure-footed, but bird-like, toes turned in. To the crew he screeches instructions rapidly – to us it is a gap-toothed grin, + a single word, either “makari” (food) or mandi. He is the biggest loner of all aboard, separated from the others by age, interest, + authority.
As usual, the day passed with us encouraging it to do so as quickly + easily as possible. We spent some time in the cabin (my turn for an afternoon nap), some in the wheelhouse, + then, driven from there by the noise – they have, I think, just 2 or 3 tapes of Indonesian pop music, so these are played almost constantly, constantly when the first mate is at the wheel anyway, with changes in volume for variety’s sake – moved to the back deck. I played 2 games of chess, winning one handsomely, losing the other. I’ve decided that I shouldn’t play games – the satisfaction that I feel at winning does not measure up to the annoyance I feel at losing.
In an attempt to revive a couple of exceedingly jaded appetites, Val cooked a grilled cheese + onion sandwich for tea. It was OK, but no more than that I’m afraid. I was desperately trying to think of anything, anything at all, that I fancied to eat, + nothing appealed. Depressing. Many thoughts of home at the moment – have I said this before? We have worked out that the longest we reckon we’ll be away is until this coming Oct, simply because our money won’t last beyond another 10 months at the most, especially with all that distance to travel. And that thought does not dismay us in the least. Even the challenges involved – finding jobs, a place to live – excite me rather than otherwise.
Last night’s sleep was by no means good, but tonight’s was even more wretched. With the top bunk, I had the best of things while we were in port, being up out of the dust + bugs. I am now, tho’, receiving my just retribution. While Val is relatively firmly wedged down below, I am free to explore, involuntarily, every inch of my bunk, the movement of the boat sending me from bony hip to knobbly back to bruised rib. I listened to the Walkman for a while, hoping that would induce sleep, went for a stroll on deck, tried sleeping with Val, each time returning to my own bunk + finding no relief. Eventually, of course, I did drop off, to sleep I mean, + then slept like a log, albeit a rolling one.
And so we are at sea again, which on the whole ispretty tedious, even though we would not be missing this experience for the world. The trouble is, what comes across in the diary is the grumpiness, not the overall exhilaration. But exhilaration is not an emotion that bears sustaining.
