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.
Look at him, look at him! Another brainiac." The season has been over for a while, we're in a DIY store to get some hooks or fittings or something else for the "old one". Because the new season is coming. I want to seize the opportunity to buy some nice terracotta pots for the plastic plants on the balcony, because sometimes we are at home in the summer. So every now and then. A few days, if at all. So it's not really worth buying these pots, but I want to anyway.
My husband nods to show me who he means. There's a good-looking young man wearing a sweatshirt with the words "Tell mum her boy is sailing" printed large on the back. I never understand the meaning of such sentences and I always wonder what motivates someone to buy clothes with such stupid prints. After all, the boy whose mum wants to know about his sailing trip isn't the only one who wants to share his plans with you. There are many T-shirts, jackets and jumpers with similar prints. Quite a few of them even have nautical puns that make you look a bit like the Horst in the harbour.
"I'm telling you, that guy's never been on a boat," my husband continues in the DIY store. "What a load of bollocks. If it was at least creative, but it's not. I'd wear a top that said 'seasonal' or something. You know, because of the double entendre. Where does it come from that it has to say something stupid everywhere?"
That's right. Where does that come from? Women wear jumpers that say "Wonderwoman", men wear aprons that say "Daddy is the barbecue master". And once, which was at least a little different, I saw a young woman whose jacket had the words "Want trouble? Then talk to me!" was flocked on the back. The woman was small, curly blonde and as delicate as an elf.
What is the label "sail ears" supposed to tell us?
Once we were moored in Flensburg's city harbour, next to us on a boat was a group of late-pubescent youths, all wearing T-shirts with the words "sail ears" on them. Was this perhaps an excursion by budding plastic surgeons? "What nonsense you always think, I wouldn't think of anything like that in my life," my husband got upset when I told him about my thoughts. "However, a motorboat would suit them better," said my husband. "Just look at them. The loudmouth there, that's Dad's son, he's lent him the boat and Bubi has his claqueurs with him. I'm telling you, it's about to fizz because the first beers are being opened - and then good night, Marie! I've got the pump going again. I hope you've brought earplugs to sleep with."
Of course I hadn't. My husband was right. The sailors' ears bawled half the night. I wanted to call over, but was forbidden to do so by my husband, who was raging around below deck like a jack-in-the-box, because: "Do you want them to pee on the 'old lady'? Do you want them to throw paint bombs at the 'old lady'? Do you want them to hire an orca to eat our keel?"
We lay awake half the night. At least the harbour master woke us up at half past six in the morning and we made some noise when we cast off at around nine, which made me very cheerful because two heads with tousled hair and overtired eyes were sticking out of the companionway and looking angry. "It's their own fault for wearing T-shirts like that," my husband justified our malice.
"A person without dreams is like a boat without sails - who on earth comes up with something like that? And who wears it voluntarily?"
In Sønderborg, a bad-tempered couple once moored, who had certainly completed a highly intellectual course of study, or so I thought. Everything, really everything, that we saw was labelled with a slogan. A shower towel hanging over the railing read: "A person without dreams is like a boat without sails." The shirt of the grim-faced woman read: "Humour is the ability to sail against the wind in life." And on the man's shirt: "In a rocking ship, it's those who stand still who fall over, not those who move." Well, after three glasses of rum and coke, Ulf, as he was called, stumbled and banged his head every time he took a step, and at some point he just stopped.
His wife Gundula then told us in detail that Ulf was basically a wimp and couldn't even cook an egg. She, Gundula, worked in the prison system and would much rather have studied sociology. But as he really wanted the "Kieloben" back then, Gundula had to give up everything. Her favourite phrases were: "Maybe he'll go overboard at some point. I won't help him out. Then it's my turn! Do you still have any gin?" She held out the glass she had brought with her, which read "And when the sea is over, we'll take a turn". She noticed my look and said: "A gift for the ship's christening. I hope it breaks soon. I don't like meaningless sayings like that."
Self-printed branded shirts
Another morning, we help a boat to moor, whose crew behave as if they've never been on the water before. "Look at them, those paint monkeys," my husband comments. "They're even worse than the ones with the stupid slogans on their clothes. The most expensive oilskins, the most expensive lifejackets, and do you see the caps? Do you see them? They're caps from the Royal Danish Yacht Club. You'd think they'd know their stuff, and now look at the way they're moored. That'll make my head spin again!"
He shouts loudly to the new arrivals: "Watch out, you monkey heads! If you so much as scratch my boat, clap, but don't applaud!" Of course, this makes me uncomfortable and I smile at the people in a friendly manner. My husband, on the other hand, continues to bleat: "Do they think that just because they're wearing clothes costing 5,000 euros, they're any good? The one there also has long hair. Have fun when they get tangled up in the winch. And the other one has bright red painted fingernails."
In a very nice red colour. I've only been looking at my nail varnish bottles since we got the "old one". "What are we supposed to do now?" we hear a crew member shout in panic shortly afterwards. "I can't manage the rudder!" The others on board are obviously not much more competent. The one with the beautiful nail varnish shouts: "I don't know, Klausi, I don't know!"
My husband can hardly breathe. "I'm sure they're wearing the first layer for 500 euros, but Klausi can't cope with the rudder! With the rudder! Not even a beginner says that, nobody says that, only tourists say that!" He climbs forwards and stops at the height of the shrouds. "Why don't you steer the boat straight into the box?" he shouts at Klausi. "How?" Klausi shouts back, overwhelmed, and the others on the boat stare helplessly at my husband. To make matters worse, one of them, who has a camera hanging around his neck, leans over the railing and vomits into the harbour basin.
After what feels like an eternity, the boat is finally moored. "Can we start now?" asks the photographer, still pale from seasickness. "Start with what?" my husband asks curiously. "Well, with the session!" The photographer goes downstairs, comes back with a box, opens it and pulls out a load of T-shirts. "Get changed," he says to the crew, who are obviously not a crew at all. Oh right, they're doing a photo production here. That's why they can't cope with the ship.
We look curiously at the T-shirts. "No turnaround is the end" it says. "Better an arm on than a keel off". And: "Better adultery twice than breaking the mast once". It's unbearable. "And on expensive Musto shirts," gasps my husband. "What an outrage! You're not quite right to spoil the shirts like that," he bleats at the neighbouring boat. A young man who had just been snapped at by my husband while mooring now grins at him and hands him a shirt: "Here, this is for you!"
I read: "He doesn't bite, he just wants to sail!" Never has a saying been more fitting.
Steffi von Wolff
