Like other fishermen in the gulf, Dimcho Cholakov would spend weeks on end cut off from civilisation, braving inclement weather and the prospect of falling overboard into the freezing, murky depths, all in pursuit the mother lode. Unlike them however, he had come from the other side of the world to partake in the fun.

Growing up in Varna, Cholakov, now 53, had no particular inclination for water, save the occasional dip in nearby beaches. His father though, having spent a lifetime out at sea as a ship utilities technician, ushered him in that direction.

"I didn't mind," Cholakov recalls. "As long as I had a profession that called for smarts and was admirable."

So after studying at the Maritime Academy in Varna, specialising in navigation, Cholakov chose to become a junior officer on board tankers, as opposed to cargo vessels, since the pay was better, owing to the increased precautionary responsibilities and inherent risks involved. These giants ferried petroleum and other liquid cargo, where even minor mishaps could transform into major catastrophes. "Fortunately nothing serious happened under my watch," he says.

With an all-Bulgarian crew, Cholakov traversed not only among Eastern Bloc ports within the Black Sea like Constanta, Odessa, Sevastopol, Novorossiysk and Batumi, but well beyond. At a time when his other comrades could not escape the confines of the empire, "seamen in this respect, were privileged", he says. On each voyage, which lasted from one to nine months, they would ply the same global shipping lanes that most other ships, regardless of origin, used, going to, from and among communist- and capitalist-controlled ports, for the most part unhindered.

Of all ports of call, Goteborg, Sweden, left the best impression on him. "It was meticulously clean, neat and orderly, charming and historical yet ultramodern," he recalls. On another voyage, Cholakov even harboured thoughts of jumping ship in Perth, Australia, where he later confessed to his family he would have started a new life, completely severing all ties with the old. Indeed his only child, Diana, now 26, suspects that he had always felt closer to his shipmates than his legal family. "Even when relaxing between voyages he would mostly congregate with his buddies, drinking and talking nonsense," she says.

At the other extreme lay Bombay (Mumbai). With a curious fascination for Indian culture and Bollywood films, Diana felt let down by the accounts he gave about the place.

"The only happy moment was when we finally sailed away," he concludes.

After 1989, foreign shipping companies began setting up shop at the Black Sea, and local seamen signed up with them. As well as having to undergo further training to upgrade their technical skills to keep abreast with modern shipping, they were forced to learn and speak English. "I now began working with multinational crews (Croatians, Filipinos, Indians, Poles) and officers (Germans, Greeks, Italians)," Cholakov says. But never British.

As the years passed life at sea became less of an adventure, as he had already visited most major ports and countries, while the expanses of oceans, ever vast and monotonous, grew even more so.

And while Cholakov's ships kept advancing, his career had long since come to a standstill. Not having taken the full officers' qualification programme, he was barred from captaining a ship, always serving one below as second command. His lucky break came at last in 1997, when a US shipping firm offered him such a position…on board a fishing vessel…in Alaska. He jumped at the opportunity, this time bringing his family along, believing that America offered a better life for them.

With his wife and daughter safely residing in Seattle, Washington, Cholakov based himself in Kodiak, Alaska, and put out to sea on different trawlers. As it turned out, none of his crewmembers were American, but mostly Russian, whose language he had studied at school. He soon became good friends with one of them, Sasha, an engineer from Khabarovsk.

On board they would use sonar to locate shoals of salmon, herring or halibut, then trawl them in using enormous nets. If they were lucky, they would meet their quota within two weeks and sail home. Often they would search for up to a month, when their provisions — and endurance — ran out.

And despite an illustrious career at sea, Cholakov now experienced chronic seasickness. Used to large, stable ships, even in rough waters, his fishing vessels would continuously sway and jostle, making even mundane tasks nauseating. In addition the living and sleeping quarters (which amounted to the same thing) had barely enough space to manoeuvre, the place of honour being reserved for sardines. By comparison, his officers' quarters on ships seemed like palaces.

Originally planning to fish in Alaska for 10 years, then retire a tsar, a year and a half later he transferred back to his beloved tankers.

Cholakov's new assignment had him sailing to Brazil, where he transported crude and soy oil, "sometimes using the same hull alternatively", he reveals casually. And once again he fell in love. "When I'm through playing captain, I'll settle in Rio!"

In the end, Diana, newly graduated from UCLA, had grown so homesick, she overcome objections from her parents, still subscribing to the American dream, and returned to Varna. They reluctantly followed suit; thus ending their five year odyssey.

Of his life as a sailor, Cholakov says: "I travelled the whole world, visiting distant, exotic places and people — but ultimately home is here."