AS PI CONTINUED HIS JOURNEY, he respected the power of the sea and always kept the Great Bear in his sight to guide him. His journey took him to many distant shores, where he encountered the people of the world.
The members of the light-skinned tribe on the cold, rocky shore were small and meek. They set out baskets of food in front of their huts of animal hide but would not look at him.
On the shores of the bluest waters, he found houses built of clay and brick instead of branches and leaves. The villagers wore tunics and sandals and engaged him in great dialogues and debates. They asked him questions he had never thought of: What is more important, the soul or the mind? Are we responsible for each other or only ourselves? Is there such a thing as mystery, or only that which is not yet understood? Pi enjoyed his time with these great philosophers—the Thinkers, he called them—but the food was not good, and after a time, his head began to ache. He was relieved to say his farewells and enjoy the solitude of his boat.
His shortest stay was on an island in the choppy waters to the west, where the sun beat down on hot sand and left so little moisture that nothing could grow. Pi realized that water must be essential not only for life but for happiness as well, because while he was met with open arms, those arms were throwing spears and rocks. He made a hasty retreat and took away only bruises and cuts as mementos of his visit.
His favorite people were those of the lush region off the calm coastal waters. They were big, loud, and boisterous, and after welcoming him into their village with a banquet of savory meats, sweet fruits, and spiced ales, they celebrated his friendship for weeks and nearly refused to let him leave.
But he did leave. After all, he was not looking for a new home. He already had a home. He was a voyager. A navigator. One who keeps plotting a course and finding his way. He was still finding his way.