Coffee and fruit served. The ship cat and her kitten now appear and get about their toilets; next the barber comes and flays us on the breezy deck. Breakfast at 9.30, and the day begins. I do not know how a day could be more reposeful: no motion; a level blue sea; nothing in sight from horizon to horizon; the speed of the ship furnishes a cooling breeze; there is no mail to read and answer; no newspapers to excite you; no telegrams to fret you or fright you — the world is far, far away; it has ceased to exist for you — seemed a fading dream, along in the first days; has dissolved to an unreality now; it is gone from your mind with all its businesses and ambitions, its prosperities and disasters, its exultations and despairs, its joys and griefs and cares and worries. They are no concern of yours any more; they have gone out of your life; they are a storm which has passed and left a deep calm behind.
Add to that mental image that you’ll see whales, often lots of whales, and waterfalls, sometimes more than you can count. The land passing peacefully by at 7 knots — every bit of it you’ve never seen before. The fjords you’ll travel through are thousands of feet high on the sides, and the peaks are snow covered even in late summer. Amazing and we haven’t even started talking about the delicious baked treats that Christine pulls from her cookstove.
Twain would have loved it, you will too.
The quote is from Following the Equator–A Journey around the World, 1898, American Publishing Company, and available on the web from Google Books