As so often in life, it starts harmlessly: A couple in love stroll along the jetty eating ice cream. After a while, the man gets the idea to take a few photos of his sweetheart in front of one of the boats. More precisely: in front of Hanno's boat. She readily agrees and lets him direct her in front of the pulpit. Then disaster strikes. Before the mobile phone is even pulled out, the ice cream cone falls out of her hand - and lands with a "splash!" on the teak deck. The woman is visibly upset. Not because she messed up Hanno's wood, but because she dropped the delicious ice cream.
More from Steffi von Wolff:
I'm sitting on our boat and see Hanno, who has been watching the scene from his cockpit, get up and walk forwards. My husband, who is sitting next to me, does the same. That means war!
"Dear me!" moans the woman in the meantime. "I was so looking forward to my ice cream!" Her lover rushes over and wants to be a gentleman. He hands her his ice cream cone. "Here, take it from me." How endearing - if the cone didn't slip out of his hand when he hands it to her, just like it did before. "Splat!" it makes again. In addition to the chocolate and brittle ice cream that is already melting in the sun, the flavours liquorice and mango are now spreading unsightly on Hanno's teak. The two walkers are inconsolable. The husband gives his wife a reassuring hug.
But then Hanno reaches the forecastle. "There's ice on my deck!" he says in a voice that would make any foreign legionnaire sink into the dust.
My husband, still on our boat, also stands at the front and watches, but is ready to intervene in an emergency and stand by Hanno's side. In the meantime, the woman is smearing the ice with her fingers. She is probably trying to pick it up. With moderate success. "Don't do that!" Hanno is already shouting at her. "Who authorised you to touch my boat?"
"My goodness, that's not so bad!" says the man, brushing his hair back dandily. "It's only ice cream." And his partner adds: "A little chlorine cleaner and everything will be fine again." Before Hanno, who is visibly struggling for words, can come up with a suitable reply, the two of them turn round and leave.
Hanno comes over to us indignantly. "Did you see that?" That's the start of it. Hanno and my husband get so involved that it's pointless asking them to change the subject. Later, Michi, Jan and Heiner join them. Together we think about what to do. "I've always said that who knows what will happen to our ships if we're not on board." Heiner raises his index finger threateningly. "They're probably dancing a drunken polka. I've been thinking about doing something with surveillance for a while."
"You already have a camera," says Michi. That's right, replies Heiner, but it's only for the cabin below deck. I secretly wonder what that's good for. What's supposed to happen inside the boat if you're not there and everything is locked? But I don't want to start another discussion. "Do you remember Svendborg?" my husband asks, and everyone nods. I also remember. There was a sailing boat in the harbour with five surveillance cameras. One pointed to the foredeck, one to the companionway, two secured the cockpit corners and one - it seemed - tracked any unsuspecting traveller who dared to even look at the boat at an angle. The owner proudly told us that he would be informed immediately by text message if anyone came within two metres of the boat.
Back then, people smiled at that. Today, things are different. Anyone who spreads ice on a teak deck also saws off masts when no one is on board. They draw up lists of equipment that is absolutely essential for monitoring the boat. Then the men drive to the DIY store together. Hanno's wife Birte comes over, exasperated. "I'm going to lose it one day!" Over a coffee, we ask ourselves: what exactly are our men so afraid of? That someone will steal the gennaker? The old chart plotter from 2012? Or secretly taking the boat on a trip?
Of course things do get stolen. But we're not talking about a confusing harbour with 10,000 boats here, but a well-kept marina on the Baltic Sea, where the biggest threat is usually a seagull attack on a fish sandwich. In any case, the guys returned with cameras and motion detectors as well as some kind of mats into which you could stick nails so that strangers could drill the nails into their feet and then "see what they get out of it".
Of course safety is important, I don't question that at all. But, and unfortunately this is common practice among our men, it can also be taken to extremes. Once Heiner called us - we were on board - from home in the evening: "There's something wrong with our boat, why don't you have a look?" It turned out that a fly had been flying around in the cabin and had activated the motion detector. My goodness! How was this supposed to go on?
"Anyone who drops their ice on other people's teak decks is also sawing down masts at night!"
Michi now also has a new camera eye on the equipment carrier: "We can even keep an eye on the rear angle. If someone sneaks up on us at night - bang, an alarm on the mobile phone. It makes you sleep much more peacefully." Claudi rolls her eyes. "Don't make me laugh. You don't sleep anyway because you check every half hour to see if the boat is still there. What you're doing is disturbing."
My husband ignores the objection. "I've just ordered one of those systems that recognises whether someone has been near our boat for too long. With facial recognition! Then I'll show them the ropes!"
"From home?" I ask, and he mumbles something incomprehensible to himself. Birte giggles: "And then? Are you going to launch a drone or what? Relax, there were only people passing by with an ice cream. That wasn't a pirate attack!" Jan is irritated. "Good preparation is everything. If you don't take precautions today, you'll wake up tomorrow without an outboard motor!" he insists. "Or without a wife," says Mel just a little sarcastically.
"But safety first," my husband tries again. Everyone agrees on that. "If something happens, we'll see it straight away," says my husband. "By the way, has anyone seen my red cap? I almost think it fell into the water during all the assembly work."
Claudi doesn't go into it. "I'll tell you how it's going to be: Three weeks' holiday, four days sailing, bet? The rest? Testing WLAN antennas, software updates and so on ..." But she doesn't get any further.
"Guys, it's time! The enemy is approaching in the form of an elderly couple who I think might steal my plotter," Claudi is interrupted by my husband with a murmur. The two actually come closer - and nod in a friendly manner. "What do you want here? This is our jetty!" they are suddenly approached by my husband. The two old men stop, startled. "Well, we just wanted to ask if anyone was missing a red cap. We found it at the start of the jetty and thought it might belong to one of you." My husband quickly changes his tone. He jumps nimbly onto the jetty. "So what a nice thing, thank you very much, I'm very fond of this cap!"
At this moment, for some unknown reason, alarms and sirens suddenly go off on all the ships. The noise calls the harbour master to the scene. He doesn't hesitate for long. "The others have already said that you're crazy here. I'll tell you one thing, you're not scaring away my guests! This will all be dismantled. You must have gone mad!" I'm really happy, but I keep it to myself.
