My Experiential Paper

So we were all assigned to write a 3 page paper on any experience we've had since we've been in Europe. They were all really good. So I decided to post mine up for anyone to read. It's my experience of getting lost in Antibes and having to walk 6 miles to get home along the coast. But it's through the eyes of a 17th century commodore. Hope yall like it.

Excerpt 67 from the Journals of Commodore Thomas Edward McConnell

The Precarious Journey from Antibes to Juan Les Pins

10:00 am

Our journey from the southern France city of Juan Les Pins has led us to a brave new world: The unchartered world of Antibes, as the indigenous peoples call it. Set in the hills of the Mediterranean Sea, this bountiful land will provide many resources and for the people of our home land of America. My crew of 14 trusted explorers have come with nothing, spare a few essential tools, water, and our private accords. Our goal was to map out the land, mark out any points of interest, bring back anything small of value, and report our findings back to the Royal Families of Reichert, Kohn, and Beaver.

As we first began to explore the area we were optimistic. Nothing was on our minds but the thought of possible eternal glory that would be granted to us should we succeed in our missions. We pressed on throughout the area to find that the indigenous peoples have already established a thriving economy and marketplace. Absinthe was the local drink of interest, of which my crew and I took a plentiful stock. Ancient corridors, which oddly resemble the sprawling cities of Athens, lined the entire area. We would trudge on with only a few guidelines to steer us from potential danger that were graciously provided to us from the Royal Family Beaver, who had employed several smaller factions to scout the area briefly.

Once the area had been thoroughly mapped and charted, with items of interest collected, it was time for us to make the journey back to our outpost of Juan Les Pins. The route we initially had taken, although short, was one of precarious dangers. Many of the tribal bands of Golfe-Juan-Vallauris had taken a watchful eye of us. As acting commander, I would make the decision to take an alternate route home, along the coast. I had believed that decision to be wise, as to avoid attack and plunder by those aforementioned tribes. It would be a decision I would regret for the rest of my days.

11:00 am

All would seem to be well as my crew followed on. I was able to recognize many landscapes, recognize our direction on via compass and through other less traditional means, such as tidal patterns and foliage growth direction. It seemed as though my loyal crew would follow me in to Hell and back, no matter what wretched demon spawn we might encounter. A commodore could not ask for a greater crew.

We would continue on primitive roads, constructed by the indigenous peoples at some time in ancient history, in a single-file line with myself at the Helm. The air was brisk and the sweet smell of the Mediterranean uplifted our spirits into a god-like trance. Traditional American songs were sung and some of the crews even began to perform ceremonial steps of our home land. Times were good.

As we continues to find our way home, the scenes had began to change into a more ominous shade. We encountered more and more strange locals who enjoyed time at the beach in the nude, a tradition unheard of and looked down upon back in America. Worry began to spread across the entire crew for fear of being at lost. I must admit, a tinge of doubt was beginning to cross over my mind as well. Even the strongest of men can only be taken to a certain point until they too crumble under the weight of indecision.

12:00 pm

Midday had finally approached. Sadly to say, we had hoped to be back in Juan Les Pins, resting comfortably in our outpost. The crew had grown restless as our feet began to tire and water rations began to dwindle. My first mate had become more and more distant as the day grew on, an ominous sign for any captain. Whispers of mutiny had reached my ears so I decided to take drastic measures. I pulled my crew to the side of a sharp cliff to let them know of my decision. Our language specialist, Deckhand Molly F Drake was to engage a local and hopefully communicate enough to ask for directions back to Juan Les Pins. I knew that if this attempt failed, I would surely be doomed to mutiny. We then started on again and as the first local came into sight, an overly tan male wearing nothing but what seemed like a loincloth that resembled a Speedo as we know in America, Deckhand Drake engaged the peculiar fellow in the local tongue of Antibes. We watched the transaction with angst hoping for a good outcome. The conversation faded and the man faded back on to the beach. Drake reported back to us that we were indeed headed the right way and that we would be home in no more than 20 nautical minutes. The crew was overjoyed at the good news so we trudged on. 40 minutes passed...

1:00 pm

Was it a false set of information? We shall never know. Nonetheless we were once again lost. With water rations dwindling into dangerous amount (myself only having a meager 40 milliliters left in my trusty Camelback) and tempers flaring my worst nightmares came to fruition. Mutiny.

I was sent to the back of the line, the brig as some of the other deckhands had termed it, to wallow in my own self pity and reflect on the dangers I had led my crew into. First Mate Mallory O’Brien took over the reigns as acting commander. Do I blame them? No. The crew had done what all peoples in the world would have done in a dire situation: cut the head off of the monster and replace it.

Several other natives were consulted as we continued, and all gave us promising information, but after our last encounter, no one knew if it was actually verifiable. We continued along the coast, south by south west, in the same single-file line, with me in the back. Dehydration and massively sized blisters would slow our pace to that of a sloth. Tied up in the metaphoric shackles that gripped me, I wanted nothing more than to lead my crew again. Eventually the entire group dissipated into a free-for-all of individual bands, tied together only by the thought of reaching Juan Les Pins. It seemed as though all hope had been lost.

I will reserve my next journal log exclusively for if I survive or perish.

2:00 pm

Salvation. Under daunting odds, we have reached our outpost of Juan Les Pins. After four grueling hours of navigating the coast, we have made it home. The most fortunate news is that no one perished along the way. All the crew was accounted for. As we arrived back to the outposts, we were immediately swarmed by other worried explorers. After everything had been accounted for, we reported our findings to the Royal Families. Despite our extended journey, they were just as pleased to have us all back as they were with our findings of the Mysterious world of Antibes.

I can only hope to have my reputation as an unfaltering leader restored through means of hard work and preparation. Hopefully my journals will help future explorers not make the same decisions I foolishly made.

God save the Royal Families of Reichert, Kohn, and Beaver.