"We're not going to Dyvig Bay tomorrow!" says my husband. It's Thursday evening and he's staring at his laptop. "I see, and why suddenly not now?" I ask curiously. "Because Horst is here. With a strange woman who's always cackling. Ingeborg or something." I don't even know Horst. But my husband doesn't accept that. "I used to sail with him. A really arrogant guy. Knew everything better. Terrible. And he didn't let anything get to him. I even got into a fight with him once over a woman."
"Oh!" I didn't know anything about that. "Yes, you're grinning. I have honour in my body too. Her name was Leilani and she was from Hawaii. She was a true-blooded woman." Now my interest is piqued. "Who won?" I ask. Answer: "I don't even remember. I think we made up and drank beer. But it's also possible that I won. Or he did."
"Oh!" I don't have the words. Not him. "Anyway, she looked great. And she didn't speak. Not at all. The ideal woman, actually." Excuse me? "Leilani was a figurehead. She was for sale at a nautical antiques dealer. Wonderfully pretty. Long black hair. We both wanted her!"
New hobby: stalking boats
I roll my eyes and summarise: "So that means we can't sail to Dyvig because of Horst and Leilani." He nods. "Besides, there's one of them, you know, the one with the black jumper, I don't fancy him either." Black jumper? I have no idea who he's talking about again. Which doesn't matter to my husband. "He's talking out of his ear."
It goes on like this for a while. My husband has a new hobby: he stalks boats. Whether it's Marine Traffic, AIS or "Where is?", no digital service is safe from him. He looks at where you can and can't sail to. Depending on your mood.
"Then we'll drive on to Genner Bay," I suggest. But: "Ha! That's where Klaus and Caro want to go." "So what?" I think. "Are you going to listen to them all the time about how great a vegan life is? Klaus told me that they also eat grass when they're hungry. Like Stone Age people. Nah, I don't fancy that. But we can't stay here either, because Bobo and Albert will be in Sønderborg tomorrow, and they've already written to me that they're going to our jetty."
"They're nice," I interject. My husband thinks so too, but: "All they talk about is their new teak deck and the different teak oils and why a teak deck is the ultimate and everything." I cautiously point out: "You've been thinking the same thing since we got the teak deck." He: "Yes, but I don't talk about it all the time." Me, now more undiplomatic: "Yes, you do. You once spent three hours telling Bobo and Albert about 'Only a wooden deck is good enough for a boat'. You even gave them a special sponge."
The "maritime spirit" had to be smoked out
It bounces off him. And he continues to stare at the plotter. "Oh, Berni and Susi are on their way to Kappeln. That's nice." I'm pleased too. We make some progress. "Great, then we'll sail to Kappeln. I'm looking forward to seeing them again." But I rejoiced too soon. "Hang on a minute. No, the wind isn't right. Besides, there's Ralle and his yoga aunt, who only drinks herbal tea and talks about her ongoing hangover."
The yoga aunt is called Melanie and is very nice. And the yoga exercise is called downward-facing dog," I correct him. "Fine by me. In any case, I don't feel like letting them text me." I come up with a solution: "We don't have to meet them all, we can go to a jetty that's very far away from the others," I suggest. But: "You're funny. Then I sit there all the time and my ticker goes because I think they're coming round the corner and want to smoke something out below deck. Just like once before."
Yes, he's right. Melli and Ralle are nice, but very esoteric. Melli once had the feeling that our "old lady" was inhabited by a maritime spirit who didn't mean well with us. She then came with sage and some drops and started to light a fire below deck, which almost gave my husband a stroke. The "old lady" stank for weeks, as if a herbal witch was living in it.
My husband keeps looking at the plotter. "We can't go to Maasholm either, Björn is moored there, you know, the one with the long keeler. I got into a fight with him once." Aha, with him too. I don't ask any more questions. Instead, it's my fault again. "So, let's put our money where our mouth is. We're not going to get anywhere like this," says my husband. "You have to make up your mind too."
Is anchoring the way out?
"What do you say we drop anchor?" I ask. Now he checks Marine Traffic to see if anyone he doesn't like is on their way to the anchorage at Barsø - and he's in a good mood. "They're all on their way to the harbours," he says happily. "A good plan!"
The next morning at breakfast, I check the situation. I haven't finished my sandwich yet when he jumps up. "Here we go! Bobo and Albert are already on their way to us! There's no time to lose!" I jump up too and almost throw the breakfast things down the companionway when he shouts: "Stop! They're turning off. They're turning off!"
"Yes, what now?" I stand there with the butter. My husband is horrified: "They're not coming to Sønderborg. That's the last straw! They can't say they're coming here and then not turn up. You can just say it's not right today, we want our peace and quiet, I'm the last person who wouldn't understand. We are civilised people."
We anchor opposite the Dyvig. It's nice there. And there's never anyone else there. According to marine traffic, the others are all on their way to the harbours"
Well, yes. But now I've had enough: "Can we go now, or do we stay here, or do we sail and if so, where to?" I go downstairs and tidy up. Upstairs, the grumbling continues. How nice life was without all these systems. Finally he explains: "We're anchoring opposite the Dyvig. There's never anyone else there. It's nice there." After we've sailed out and set sail, his mood improves. It really is a beautiful day of sailing, and we arrive at the anchorage sometime around midday. "See," he says happily, "not a soul around. How good that there's this AIS."
I actually always find it nice to meet people. They often turn into fun evenings. And if you don't want to see anyone, you just stay on board. You don't need any electronic help. But please. We moor the "Alte" to the buoy and lower the bathing platform. Then I mix us two drinks and we dangle our feet in the still reasonably warm water. Suddenly we hear the sound of an engine. We stand up and look, and there really is a boat approaching.
"How do they know we're here?"
"Oh, look, it's Bobo and Albert," says my husband. "How do they know we're here? Ha! They must have been stalking us! That's impossible! We wanted some peace and quiet." He waves to Bobo and Albert, and they slow down. Something is wrong. They stand seriously in the cockpit.
Bobo opens the conversation and looks at my husband: "We have to tell you something, we want to be honest. The last few times with you have been pretty exhausting. You talk us into the ground. How can you talk about a special sponge for an hour! We actually travelled here because we wanted some peace and quiet. And now you're lying there at the buoy. We didn't even see that on Marine Traffic. Have you switched off your AIS?"
"Your peace and quiet?" my husband asks, stunned. "From me?" I can tell he's running out of steam. "Exactly," Albert now says kindly. "A break never hurt anyone. Have a nice weekend!" With that, they take off.
'You too,' I say. My husband, on the other hand, just stands there and stares. "What's wrong?" I ask cheerfully, "You're the last person who wouldn't understand something like that. You're a civilised person!" He then just went downstairs. Looking for real friends.
Steffi von Wolff
