At this time of year, I always think of Gedser in Denmark, where we were stranded a few years ago: It was supposed to be a beautiful autumn trip. But then a storm hits like I've never experienced before. Our poor "old lady" is tossed to and fro, and I thank God that we have kept ourselves on a lead. As we enter Gedser, I see that several boats are already moored alongside on a jetty; otherwise the harbour is empty. "What weather!" says a nice man who helps us moor. "You want to go sailing with your wife once a year, and then this." He introduces himself as Norbi from Salzgitter, his wife behind him looks annoyed.
"If you want, you can come over," he invites us in a friendly manner. "That's really nice! We'll just put on something dry," I reply. Norbi is delighted: "I've got elderberry juice. It's full of vitamins. We can drink to the storm."
"I don't feel like talking to other people right now," my husband says shortly afterwards in the saloon. He'd rather sit on the boat in peace and quiet and get worked up about the weather. "And then some elderberry juice. Lots of vitamins. Pah!" he continues to grumble. I, on the other hand, feel like company. "They're nice, aren't they? Come on, let's go over there." No sooner said than done. Several people are already gathered on Norbi's boat, apparently also stranded here. "Hello, I'm Heinz, but everyone calls me Rübe," an older gentleman with an Elbe sailing boat and pipe introduces himself. Rübe looks a bit like Hans Albers. An oddball, but likeable. Sitting next to him are Hilke and Senta, twin sisters and retired professors of forensic medicine. There is also a young couple in scratchy-looking Norwegian jumpers: Anne and Frederik from Hamburg, students of sociology and philosophy. Last but not least, Leif and Beppo from Greifswald, a newlywed couple who have just obtained their sailing licence and are not yet very good with their "glitter barbie". "We are passionate mushroom pickers. In this area, there is supposedly the blood-leaved skullcap, which is poisonous. Hopefully we'll find one!"
I look at my husband. He sits there stiffly and makes a face that matches the weather. "What do you want with a poisonous mushroom?" he asks with a hint of sarcasm in his voice. Before the others can answer, Anne interjects: "You can't ask such a generalised question." It could be that Leif and Beppo were looking for this mushroom for certain reasons, that it all has a meaning. Maybe "something went wrong in their childhood". My husband just stares at Anne. "I see, and that's why you pick poisonous mushrooms," he says dryly. Frederik jumps to his wife's defence: "It's just one possibility. The mushroom can be a symbol." "Anyone else want elderberry juice?" Norbi tries to steer the conversation in a different direction. No one answers. "My childhood was okay," says Beppo, slightly soured. "The mushrooms have nothing to do with it. You don't have to be so poisonous." Beppo is offended, which doesn't bother my husband: "I'm not poisonous!" He emphasises each word individually. "That was a joke!" Beppo shouts and is interrupted by Rübe: "Is there anything other than elderberry juice?"
"Oh, that would be nice," says Hilke or Senta. "When we were still working, we also liked to have a liqueur during the day," adds the other. "In the section room?" asks Anne in astonishment. The two nod. "Sometimes you have to have good nerves. A liqueur helps, it's good for the soul." Norbi, meanwhile, shakes his head regretfully: "Unfortunately, I don't have any alcohol on board. But I do have rice cakes. Would anyone like some?"
Oh my goodness!" says my husband later, as we sit on the "Alte". "What a bunch! I'll check the weather. I want to get out of here as soon as possible. I can't stand it for long." But the weather doesn't promise any improvement. It's supposed to storm for a few more days. And as it happens in times of need, we very different people gradually grow into a community. "Shall we play cards?" or "Who's going for a walk in the forest?" we soon hear.
Norbi turns out to be an expert forest rascal. He knows all about pests. "I'm a tree surgeon," he tells us as we trudge through the branches. "I'm particularly fond of the woolly cup scale." Norbi also explains that beech weevils cause pitting, that the oak processionary moth is a nerve-wracking pest and that there are quite a few species of louse. Cave scale insects, smallpox lice, mealybugs, mealybugs and I don't know what else. Strangely enough, or perhaps because we have nothing else to do, we listen to others with interest and ask questions. Only my husband doesn't say anything.
Fortunately, Rübe has an almost inexhaustible supply of white and red wine on board. He is happy to provide us with plenty. That's why we usually sit with him in the saloon and often talk late into the evening. It is day six when we tell each other anecdotes from our lives once again: "We had one on the table once, a heart attack," Hilke begins, or was it her sister? "We knew him!" Norbi's wife Lena turns pale: "Oh God! Wasn't that terrible for you?" she says sympathetically. But: "No, we knew he was coming. He thought he'd get away. But not with us!" Hilke probably raises her hand and clenches it into a fist: "We really showed him!"
"Excuse me, you killed him? Why did you do that?" asks my husband for the first time with real interest. 'Nonsense,' says Hilke. "He had a normal heart attack the day before. I admit that he was a bit upset about us just before that. But you don't just drive into the back of our 'Käthe' like that and then think you can just get away." The sister nods: "He won't do any more damage with his boat!"
In times of need, we grow together as a community - and become accomplices to truly sinister stories."
Silence. Finally, my husband asks: "And nobody said anything?" One of them replies: "Well, he couldn't himself. And nobody else knew about it. Only you now." Silence again.
At some point, Norbi clears his throat. "I never actually wanted to get married," he suddenly blurts out. "Lena lied to me back then, said she was pregnant." Lena blushes. "I was too!" But Norbi doesn't leave it at that: "Yes," he counters, "three months later. Thank you very much!" - "Then we'll just get divorced," Lena says a little too quickly. "It shouldn't be up to me." Leif intervenes: "Well, I wouldn't just let a woman as attractive as Lena go." But then his husband Beppo asks: "What do you know about women?" Leif: "I was married to one once."
The silence is short-lived this time. "And why are you married to me now?" Beppo, who froze for a moment, is visibly angry at the confession. Leif's answer doesn't make it any better: "Yes, sometimes I don't know either."
"Please stop!" noses Frederik in his Norwegian jumper. "It's not healthy for the psyche." But: "Well, as I said, I find you very attractive, Lena," Leif explains again. Norbi gets up and walks over to him. "Leave my wife alone!" Now Anne tries to mediate: "Stop, stop, peace!" And Lena says: "It's often the case in stressful situations that you freak out, I read that once." We should all calm down again, please.
But it's something completely different that calms down. Suddenly everything has changed. The conversation falls silent. We put our glasses down on the coffee table. Pause for a moment. Raise our heads. And listen: There is nothing more. Nothing at all. The wind. It's gone. The storm. Gone. A week of deafening howling in the rigs of our ships has suddenly come to an end. Calm instead. Something is almost missing. We go on deck and can't quite come to terms with the situation. "We can go," says one of us, almost in disbelief. It takes us a while to compose ourselves. And decide to set sail tomorrow after breakfast.
"Strange people, all together," says my husband. "They might say the same about us," I think aloud. But he doesn't accept that: "Well, I haven't taken anyone to the forensic centre just because they hit my 'old lady'. Although ..." The next morning, the big farewell. Yes, we will definitely meet again, the Baltic Sea is a puddle after all.
We sail back to Sonderborg. Our week's holiday is over. "Christ, I'll be glad when we have normal dock neighbours again!" my husband says happily. "I can't tell you how much. No one to bother us with their relationship dramas without being asked. No one who talks about poisonous mushrooms and pests."
Michi helps us dock. "Was it nice?" We look at each other. Just no more big chit-chat. So we just say: "Everything was wonderful!" And as casually as possible: "How about you?" "I'm in a bad mood," says Michi. Then he starts: "The woolly cup bug has taken up residence in the trees at my house. I now have to deal intensively with pests. I'll tell you all about it later in peace."
