Life on board a sailing yacht and in the harbours offers many a bizarre encounter. Author Steffi von Wolff tells us in her commentary"Wolff's territory" regularly talks about her experiences as an on-board woman. Not always meant seriously, often satirically exaggerated, but always with a lot of heart and a wink.
Off to a very special Christmas market!
"I just remembered a very true saying," says my husband as he stands hunched over and holds on to me. I roll my eyes every year at a moment like this because it's always followed by something highly theatrical.
"Well, which one?"
"'Everything has its time. There is a time for joy, a time for silence, a time for pain, a time for mourning and a time for grateful remembrance. I once read that in an obituary."
He takes a handkerchief out of his nose and blows into it so loudly that you would think an elephant with a built-in amplifier was standing in front of you.
Yes, yes. It's that time again. Our ship, which transported us around the region from February to November this year, has come out of the water today. Today. It's the end of November. Normal people sail from May to September, abnormal people with a slight hump from April to October, quite disturbed people from March to the beginning of November, and we from February to the end of November. They're already laughing at us in the Kappeln winter camp, I know it. Once we were in the water so early that there was ice again and you could skate on the pontoons. What's more, the water was so high that the pulpit was out of reach for me.
"Why don't you go over the side bridge," my husband said. Yes, thank you very much. It's about twenty centimetres wide and had also mutated into an ice rink.
A nice man from the shipyard came and pushed me one of those trolleys that have four wheels and a ladder and on which you can polish your boat or stroke it or whatever in the winter hall. My hands almost froze to the railing and I crawled towards the boat on all fours because I didn't feel like falling into the water. As far as I'm concerned, I'm soft. Sure. Everyone should plunge into the Schlei in sub-zero temperatures, it teaches you something for life and think about the Vikings, what they went through.
I really, really like being on our boat, it's nice and cosy, but I think at some point it's enough and the months - oh, what am I talking about, it's only weeks for us - of winter storage definitely have their raison d'être. I really like being at home too.
"Oh, so the boat isnot your home?", I like to be asked.
Yes, but everything has its time, as we know.
The time of the winter holidays can be a challenge for marriages. Those who both grieve can call themselves happy, but often one always finds it worse than the other or vice versa.
I'm one of those people who really appreciate the winter months in a flat.
There's something about a weekend at home when it's raining and stormy, especially when you know that you don't have to go out and sail or motor back to your home harbour.
And on this first weekend I'm going to prepare a braised beef roast, with homemade red cabbage and ...
"What do you say we go to a Christmas market, you like them so much." Oops. What's wrong with him?
Of course, I'd love to. Now that's a nice surprise.
I love Christmas markets. There are potato pancakes and mushroom fritters, knitted gloves, bread, spices, honey and kebabs. Oh, how happy I am!
"Which one are we going to?"
"To Eckernförde."
With pleasure!
After driving past Eckernförde, I realise that I've been taken in by a coldly smiling fraudster.
"You're going to Kappeln."
"Of course, there's probably a Christmas market there too."
"Wait a minute, you said we were going to Eckernförde."
"No, I said in the direction of Eckernförde. Now stop it. There's bound to be one in Kappeln too."
"Are you sure? So you don't even know if there is one?" I don't believe it.
"Please don't behave like that."
"You just want to get to the boat!"
"Yeah, sure."
He simply says "yes, of course".
"That's the last straw. You lured me here like ... like Hannibal Lecter lured his victims!"
"Did he lure them to Kappeln? Well, I don't eat you. But you could make liver again, you like it so much."
I won't say anything more. It's the end of November and cold as arse. I wanted to make a roast.
The rain claps against the windows.
"You could have driven on your own."
"But I think it's nicer with you. Besides, you have to help me with something."
I see.
Well, I'll keep it short.
The harbour, harbour office and jetties are of course deserted when we arrive. Nobody else would voluntarily go to winter storage on a Saturday when it's pouring and storming.
"Oh look, they've put up a little Christmas tree on the jetty. With fairy lights. You've got your Christmas market there." He is delighted.
I'm about to go for his throat.
"That's great. Now I can dance and sing around the tree on my own, it'll be great."
"Nah, you have to help me."
And then we are standing in the hall in front of our ship, which wefew days and he strokes the keel and the propeller, and he says "Well, how are you?" and I think again that he really, really has a sock shot.
But at the end of the day, I'm looking forward to summer again ... I mean February.
Fortunately, it only takes a few weeks. Then everything will be fine again.
"They've pushed them quite far into the dark," I hear. "She doesn't take it well."
No, it's going to get to her. She'll cry for hours.
'Oh no,' I say. "She can take it. You know, there's a time for everything." Then I look at the ship. "'It's dark around you now, from this hour we carry your light. I once read that in an obituary."
"Well then," says my husband reassuringly. "Let's get going then. There's a lot to do ..."
Unfortunately, I still don't know whether there was a Christmas market in Kappeln.
Instead, I now have blocked sinuses and a high temperature.
Happy festive season!
