Voyage beyond Time E-Book

Almuth Keck

• Herausgeber: novum publishing
• Kategorie: Gesellschafts- und Liebesromane
• Sprache: Englisch

Seitenzahl: 685

Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2024

Beschreibung

All her life, Almuth dreamed of sailing around the world. Until she retired, however, she had never set foot on a sailing boat. When she met Edi, a passionate sailor, she jumped in at the deep end and followed him onto his boat. And so it was that a landlubber with no sailing experience embarked on a journey across the world's oceans with a grumpy skipper she didn't know, a journey that changed her life and opened up completely new worlds for her. Almuth's lively travel stories - supplemented by her original drawings and historical facts - provide a variety of insights into the lives of two nautical globetrotters: from the everyday challenges on board to unforgettable encounters in foreign cultures and adventures in fascinating natural surroundings.

Leseprobe

Voyage beyond Time

Adventures of two seafaring Nomads

NAVIGARE NECESSE EST,

VIVERE NON EST NECESSE.

Pompeius Magnus, 56 BC

The Genesis of this Book

From the beginning of our journey together, Edi and I kept writing short reports about our travels, which I illustrated with my drawings. These reports we sent to family and friends, showed them to interested people we met, gave interviews and, over time, some texts were also published in magazines.

Never I would have dreamed of writing a book. But the more people read our reports, listened to our interviews and saw my drawings, the more often I was asked: "Why don't you make a book out of it?"

As we all know, constant dripping wears away the stone, and so began an adventure that was quite different from my numerous travel experiences. You are now holding the result of this adventure in your hands, and I hope you enjoy it.

Acknowledgments

My big thanks go to Kai Petra Stich, with whose help I revised the manuscript of my book. As I had hoped, she helped me a lot with the language, questioned activities, that had become so commonplace for me as a sailor, that I no longer thought, they were worth mentioning and therefore hadn't described them, corrected all sorts of inconsistencies and just did what you would expect from a good editor.

What I hadn't expected, however, was that she helped me to add another dimension to the book. Initially, I had described our experiences neutrally, included interesting historical and other facts and added my drawings. The whole thing was "emotionless" in the truest sense of the word, because I didn't want to reveal any of my feelings in the book.

After Kai Petra had made me understand, that a book becomes much more lively and interesting by describing one's own feelings, a challenging task began for both of us: she was allowed to elicit my feelings from times long past with a great deal of diplomacy and the patience of an angel. I was allowed to search within myself for feelings, that allowed me to relive my experiences in a completely new way. I am deeply grateful for that.

In my opinion, this work has gained a lot from Kai Petra's tireless work, and I am very glad that she has spent so much time, diplomacy and patience in bringing this book to publication with me.

I would like to express my heartfelt thanks to my great partner Eduard (Edi) Keck, who during the 25 years we have spent together on the SINGLE MALT has gone from stranger to valued sailing companion, then to life partner and, after 24 years at sea, to my husband.

Thanks to him, I was able to fulfill my lifelong dream of sailing around the world. Hardly anyone would have taken me on board for long voyages as a landlubber. Hardly anyone would have kept me on board after I overzealously tried to do everything better and got us into dicey situations several times as a result.

But Edi not only took me on board without much discussion, he also taught me everything I needed to know about cruising: what to consider, when living on board, how to navigate and, of course, how to sail. And with his extensive knowledge and cool head, he got me safely through all the adversities - be it the weather, the sea, the authorities or life in general.

With him as a role model, I also learned to grow beyond my limits, to persevere in difficult situations and to just keep going, even when I thought I was at the end of my tether. Edi later described the mishaps he overcame with his fine sense of humor, so that we could joke about them in the end.

The book and I owe Edi's interest to countless visits to places steeped in history, following in the footsteps of ancient seafarers, getting to know so many cultures and countries and so much more. Without him, this book would never have existed.

However, when it came to actually writing a book about our experiences, he made it unmistakably clear to me, that he wanted nothing to do with it. He had "better things" to do. I am all the more grateful to him for his tireless support with this book project, which had become a matter close to my heart. He spent hour after hour patiently listening to me read the texts aloud, giving me tips, improving things and eliminating mistakes. And this despite the fact, that he didn’t come off well in some of my descriptions

Edi, you are the most wonderful companion and partner I can imagine. Thank you so much for being there, for going through life with me and for supporting me more than energetically even when I go astray - as with this book.

Part I

Landlubber meets Sailor

March 1998

1. Chance encounter in Bern with unforeseeable Consequences

For several decades I worked in a job, that I liked. When I (and many other colleagues) was offered early retirement for company reasons, I doubted it for a long time, because I liked working. I had also heard, that you would "fall into a deep hole", be bored to death and feel useless.

In addition I lived alone, which made early retirement seem even more threatening from this point of view. On the other hand, the pain I had been suffering from for some time, which the doctors couldn't do anything about, made continuing to work a torture, and I had plenty of hobbies. So I decided to accept the offer.

I didn't just accept my health problems. As Western medicine seemed to be at a loss, I went to acupuncture, a naturopath and a chiropractor and did my exercises every day despite the pain - and lo and behold, after a few years I was pain-free!

Meanwhile, many interests kept me busy - I "suffered" from a healthy amount of leisure stress. Nevertheless, something I was missing. My entrepreneurial spirit awoke and I simply wanted to get out of my everyday life. I was already a pensioner, had all the time in the world and didn't want to "waste" it on everyday things. I decided to gradually get to know some of the European capitals. Some of them I had already visited. Now Bern caught my attention, because the city seemed so cozy and down-to-earth, not at all like a big capital.

At the beginning of 1998, the Internet and all its possibilities did not yet exist, which is, why I only obtained information from travel agency brochures. I decided to travel to Bern and took the night train to save on hotel costs.

In March, on a Saturday morning, I arrived in Bern, market day, and deposited my suitcase in a locker. I strolled happily through the streets with their picturesque arcades and across the Bundesplatz with its colourful market stalls.

Rainy, uncomfortable weather soon had me looking for a café. I remembered my mother's advice: if you're traveling alone and want company, go to a beach in summer or to a ski resort in winter, where you can meet up at the chairlifts, or go to a crowded restaurant. As a single person, you would find a free seat and inevitably strike up a conversation with the people sitting next to you.

A tiny little café, the "Batzen", which I could see into through the large window, was well frequented. I entered and asked, if the one chair here was still free. The pleasing, albeit brief, answer was "yes", so I sat down and ordered a cappuccino.

As expected, my counterpart and I got into a conversation. The gentleman told me, that although from Bern, he was mostly abroad, as he had been living on his sailing boat for several years. "Ohhhh!" I gasped, remembering my teenage years when it came to my career choice and I told my father, that I wanted to go to sea.

"With your training," he had explained matter-of-factly, "you can only go as a stewardess. If someone is seasick and throws up, you have to clean it up!" Whoa! The idea disgusted me and I realized, that I didn't want to do that, let alone be able to. So I pushed this career aspiration to the back of my mind. But now the door to this little chamber had opened again.

In the course of the conversation, the gentleman told me, that his wife had died a few years ago. He quoted Schubert's song: „Allein seyn ist öde, wer kann sich da freun!“ (Being alone is dull, who can then be happy!) His sailing boat was currently in Turkey and he would fly there in the next few days and get it ready to set sail soon.

Shyly I expressed an interest in sailing. As if I had flipped a switch, the gentleman described to me in the darkest colours that, once underway, first his sailboat, then ... his sailboat, then ... his sailboat again was the most important thing and only then would it be my turn. Sailing also involves a lot of work.

And yet he seemed to be interested in my company, because we exchanged our interests and preferences: Who likes to eat what; whether I ate fish, a lot or little meat, and whether I smoked. Finally, the question came up as to whether I could sail. "No, I've never done it!" was my honest answer. Nevertheless, Edi (we were now on a first-name basis, as people are on first-name terms among sailors) seemed interested in my coming and gave me the address of the marina in Turkey, where his boat was moored.

The following day, despite the rainy weather, we went for a walk along the Aare. This raging river reminded me of the Drau, a river in Austria, that you could cross using a cable ferry, which had made a big impression on me at the time. Without saying anything on the subject, we walked on until ... we reached such a cable ferry.

Edi rang a bell to call the ferry, and after a while a ferryman appeared on the other bank, climbed into his boat and drifted over to us. We crossed over and found a small restaurant on the other bank, the "Fähre Beizli". Edi remarked, that it was just eleven o'clock, 6 bells. A Bernese man was having an apéro at this time; would I join him? What a question! I was happy to take a little break and to enjoy a „Dreierli“ (a measure of 3dl) of white wine with him, served in a small glass jug.

Together qe spent a pleasant time, but soon the departure of my night train was approaching. We agreed, that I would soon follow Edi to Turkey. "It would be good, if you came as soon as possible, so that you can see, what kind of work is waiting for you. Then you can decide, whether you really want to join." Satisfied with my experience and the prospect of going sailing soon, I drove back to Bremen.

2. Into the Unknown

Only my closest circle of friends I told about my plans, and that I would probably be away for a while. At the end of our phone call, one of these acquaintances asked indignantly: "If something happens to your old mother, you won't be there. And if something happens to your disabled brother, you won't be able to help! Have you really thought this through?"

In fact, I suddenly felt bad. Such emergencies I hadn't given a second thought. I didn't want to be a bad daughter or a bad sister. So I called Edi, who was still in Switzerland, immediately and canceled. All I got from him were curt responses like "Yes" and "Hm, hm". He didn't say, that it was a shame I wasn't coming or, that he would have been happy to have company. So close? That was a bit disappointing.

As soon as I hung up the phone, I realized, that it had been a mistake to cancel. I had waited many years for an opportunity like this. Now it was within my grasp and I hadn't taken it! Stupid me! But now I couldn't just call back like a flag in the wind and undo, what I had said. What could I do?

Perplexed, I visited my mother and told her over a cup of coffee about my trip to Switzerland at the weekend, my encounter with the sailor and the missed opportunity to go sailing with him. After a moment's thought, she asked me: "Do you remember our long walks along the Werdersee ten years ago? We reached the Weser and - pointing to the sails of small sailing boats - you prophesied to me back then: 'One day I will sail around the world on a sailing boatz!' Have you forgotten that? - You have to go!" A stone fell from my heart. The thought of being a bad daughter or sister was blown away.

Relieved and as quickly as possible, I went to the nearest travel agency. They could only offer me a flight, that was far too expensive for me. So I checked all the travel agencies nearby and asked for a flight to Izmir. A Turkish company offered a flight at short notice, that even suited my wallet, which I booked immediately - just the outward flight, because I was sure I wouldn't see any more of home for about ten years and would instead be at sea and in foreign lands.

Edi had traveled to Turkey in the meantime and had probably already written me off, but we had exchanged addresses as a precaution. So I sent him a telegram to the marina in Kuşadasi: "Desire for adventure prevails, arriving 20.03.1998, 23:55. Almuth." The very next day I received a call from Edi, who told me matter-of-factly, that he would pick me up from the airport in Izmir.

As I hadn't yet thought about, how I could get from Izmir to Kuşadasi, I was happy about this solution and flew into uncertainty just a few days later. Would Edi and I get on at all? What would life be like on a sailing boat? I remembered pictures of "sailors" sitting comfortably together in the cockpit and having a drink.

When I landed in Izmir, Edi was waiting for me as promised, and I expected a normal and friendly greeting. But what did I hear? "You landed two hours late! I've been waiting so long in the cold, I'm freezing miserably and in addition I have to pay the taxi driver!"

Shocked by these reproachful words, I looked around for an airplane, that would take me back. Only black night - not a single plane far and wide. So I turned back to Edi. I was speechless. I was at his mercy.

How did this situation come about? The plane was an hour late and the travel agency had given me the arrival time in German time instead of the local Turkish time. Hence the two-hour difference. After Edi had vented his anger, he introduced me to the taxi driver, who was apparently a good acquaintance of his, and off we went to Kuşadasi.

During our drive, Edi told me, that he would take me to a hotel and, that there would be an excursion with some sailors that same day - it was already about three o'clock in the morning - with sightseeing and other activities. Would I like to take part? I briefly thought to myself, that I could sleep when I was dead and agreed. We arrived at the hotel at four o'clock in the morning and I moved into my room, while Edi went on to his boat.

The night was very short. After barely three hours' sleep, I was ready for the trip at eight o'clock. I felt like a sleepwalker, as I greeted the many sailors, who - unlike Edi - were all very friendly and sympathetic to my over-nighting. We set off straight away and I had a really interesting day.

We visited a silk factory, where we were shown how the threads of silkworm cocoons were unwound, twisted into a solid thread and woven into fabric. In another place, ropes were made according to ancient tradition. We visited antiquities such as columns, temples and theaters that were built around 500 BC. Of course, we also had a good meal. In between, I was given lidded snails, i.e. my eyes fell shut, but I was woken up for every further attraction.

In the late afternoon our group returned to Kuşadasi. After all this sightseeing and talking to my fellow travelers, I was dead tired and just wanted to sleep. But my curiosity got the better of me and before I finally fell into bed, I wanted to see the boat, that would probably become my home for the next few years.

3. Tour of the SINGLE MALT

When people talk about boats or ships, they refer to them in the female form. The SINGLE MALT - the name of this beauty, in front of which I was now standing - was on dry land, held upright by wooden supports, because there was work to be done on her hull. The part of the hull, that lies in the water, has to be treated differently on boats, than the part above water, and it usually has a different colour. These things I should learn soon.

To get on board, I had to climb up a ladder with about eleven widely spaced rungs. "Can I manage that? Can I climb rungs that high? Won't I fall down? Won't I get dizzy up there? If so, can Edi catch me? He's climbing up the ladder behind me!"

These questions flashed through my mind, as I dared to climb the ladder. Afraid of falling, I gripped tightly, pulled myself up from rung to rung, actually made it to the top and was finally completely out of breath. But at least I made it!

Now there was one more hurdle: The railing, a solid handrail, that went around the whole boat and over which I also had to climb. I was just swinging a leg over, having to be very careful indeed not to lose my balance and fall into the depth, when I heard a stern tone: "Take your shoes off immediately!" before I even touched the deck. No, that too! Now it took even more concentration not to lose my balance.

I didn't look very ladylike. But at least I managed to take off one shoe after the other and put them down on deck without falling into the depth. Finally I stood on deck in my socks and quickly climbed into the cockpit, where I wasn't so magically drawn to the depth.

The cockpit was of little interest to me, as I had no idea about instruments or sailing. I was also cold, so I was drawn to the cabin, which was sheltered from the wind. From the cockpit, I climbed down two steps into the ship's interior and Edi showed me the main cabin, forward cabin, aft cabin and the tiny toilet cabin. Everything was quite small, but cozy.

The walls, the table and the cupboards made of solid mahogany wood, were polished to a high gloss, the edges of the walls were embellished with exquisitely shaped wooden strips, old-fashioned kerosene lamps hung on the walls and the ceiling was covered with bright, elaborately embossed imitation leather - very cozy!

"Here I could feel at home," I thought happily. Cupboards and doors had no door handles as I knew them. Beautifully polished, rounded wooden wedges had to be turned to block a door. Wow, I'd never seen anything like it!

Everything was different from a house. The corridors were so narrow, that you could only just get past each other. There was a bulkhead between the main and forward cabins, i.e. a passageway, that can be closed with a door, if water enters the boat to reduce the risk of sinking. I had to bend down slightly to go through it (I'm quite tall at 1.76 m).

Behind this passageway to the front (i.e. towards the bow, as I later learned) was a small room on the left behind a less thick-walled door, which housed a washbasin and the toilet. On the right, concealed by the heavy door of the bulkhead, was a closet. One passageway further on was the forward cabin, with a bunk (bed) to the left and right, and above it small cupboards with sliding doors; all in beautiful, polished mahogany wood.

To get into the aft cabin (the rearmost in the ship, also called the owner's cabin), I also had to duck a little and go through a passage about 1.5 m long. There was a bunk on each side wall. Between the berths, a carefully crafted table top with two hinges was attached to the rear wall, which could be folded down if necessary to form a table between the berths. Alternatively, another bed could be inserted there.

I was amazed at how practical so much of the furniture was. I didn't even notice the small kitchen and the charttable, because so many new impressions were coming at me, that I couldn't take everything in. It was only later, that I realized, how small the kitchen was: only one person could actually work in it.

There was a small sink right next to the companionway (the two steps from the cockpit down into the interior of the ship). Next to it, across the hull, was a work surface measuring about 60 cm x 60 cm, which was edged with wooden slats, so that nothing could fall down, if the boat was tilted. Under this worktop was the refrigerator, which could only be opened from above. This meant, that the worktop had to be lifted first to open the fridge.

There was another smaller work surface next to the first one in the corner, and next to it, around the corner and against the side of the boat, was the three-burner gas stove. Oops, it was moving! "It gimbals," Edi explained to me. "It is suspended fore and aft in the ship and swings back and forth as seen from the cook, when the sea is rough." Above the hob, rods connected to the stove could be moved sideways to clamp pots, so that they would not slip or jump off the stove. Right next to the kitchen, the space was limited by the seating area.

I was overwhelmed by all the new things and didn't know, if I would ever manage to settle in. Edi took me back to the hotel, where I fell into bed completely exhausted and slept dreamlessly.

4. All Beginnings are difficult

Edi had invited me to sleep in the next morning and then come to the boatyard. When I woke up, I saw the reddened morning sky from my bed, opened the balcony door, enjoyed the beautiful view of the sea ... and fell asleep again. Finally awake again, I enjoyed a hearty breakfast from the buffet with its extensive selection of everything my heart could desire.

Well fortified, I walked to the marina, where Edi was already sanding the lower part of the hull with a jet of water and suitable tools, cheerfully calling out to me, that he had been at work since 6am. „Oh dear,“ I thought, „does he need so much less sleep than me?“ I wonder, if I should have arrived a little earlier? Well, there was nothing I could do about it now.

Edi gave me various jobs over the next few days, such as sanding and painting the anchor. In one of his next jobs, he repeatedly waxed small areas of the hull above the waterline and then polished them to a high gloss. It fell to me to prove myself as a handyman and to draw his attention to areas, that had been left out and were still dull, where he had been "on vacation", as he said.

Fortunately, I was familiar with tool names such as "Englishman", "screw clamp", "Allen key" etc., so I felt quite useful. On the other hand, the work was very serious. There was no fun, no laughter to lighten the mood, and so I wrote to a friend, that I would prefer to travel home again, but that I was determined not to decide, whether I would stay on board until after the first sailing trip.

On Wednesdays, a market was held in the center of Kuşadasi. The marina provided a tractor and a trailer equipped with hard benches to transport the sailors there. After an adventurous ride on this "market express", we reached our shopping destination.

A wide variety of vegetables, fruit and flowers, spices, live poultry and even animal heads and offal were neatly lined up for sale at numerous stalls. There were other stalls selling pastries and snacks, including a kind of pancake.

Edi was obviously familiar with even the strangest offers, even haggling with the traders in Turkish, buying wild asparagus and artichokes, which were sold as whole plants with lots of little buds on the branches. "Can you eat all that? And does it taste good at all?" I asked myself.

In the evening, Edi showed me how to prepare the wild asparagus. He did the same with the artichokes, a vegetable I had never eaten before. He cut off the hard parts along the stems and left me to do the fine work of cutting off the last hard fibers. The stems are not just edible, they taste delicious.

Edi was responsible for cooking and washing up; my tasks included preparing, drying and packing the dishes in cloth bags, so that they wouldn't rattle at sea, and finally putting them away in the cupboards. After a hard day's work, he accompanied me to the hotel, where I tiredly went to my room and Edi went to the bar for a nightcap in the form of a raki or something similar before heading back to the boatyard.

After about 14 days, the SINGLE MALT was ready to be launched. A gantry crane, built in a U-shape because of the masts, drove over the boat. Two strong straps were placed around the hull, pulled tight and the boat was carefully lifted. The crane slowly rolled with its cargo to a basin of sufficient width. The SINGLE MALT was carefully lowered, initially hovering high above the water, until it floated.

Edi and I climbed on board and drove to our berth, where some sailors were waiting for us to help us moor the boat. Now I felt like having a coffee in the cockpit, but no, first the power and water connections had to be installed on the boat and other work had to be done. So it was evening without a coffee and we set about cooking.

After a leisurely dinner, Edi informed me, that the bow cabin was ready for me and that I could move onto the boat the next day. So it happened, and almost, as if in a trance, I moved into the bow cabin; I didn't know, whether I should be happy or not. Uncertainty overwhelmed me and all I could do, was wait and carry on as before, let the new things come to me and learn, learn, learn by doing.

5. What do you actually do all Day long?

Apparently Edi had been asked by friends: "What do you actually do all daylong?" So he wrote a letter to his friends, in which he told them about his work on board. In it, he mentioned electrical and electronic devices such as the autohelm, autopilot, Koden and GPS, which were still a closed book to me. He told me about new spare parts, that failed to work again and again, about a new sail and, last but not least, about problems with the toilet.

Edi also told me all the details of his anger and gave free rein to his rage, so that I felt almost guilty and listened quietly. Edi claimed, that he had to get rid of his anger this way, that it had nothing to do with me.

In time, I would get to know the functions of the devices, but for the time being, I probably didn't look at Edi and the devices very intelligently. Although Edi himself certainly couldn't laugh about it, I couldn't help but smile, when he described his health in one of his letters:

Quote:

"In principle, I'm fine. Even my wrist (sports accident at a young age) doesn't cause me much concern, despite the work on the ship. But while the ship was still on land, I suffered from a very unpleasant stomach flu for two weeks, which I eventually had to fight with antibiotics. The on-board toilet was unusable, because the ship was on dry land. As if that wasn't bad enough, to top off my problem, so to speak, the toilet facilities in the marina had just been rebuilt and emergency toilets were installed, to which the walk was three times as long as before ..."

My smile widened as I read on:

Quote:

"I am now also able to give a first-hand account of foot-and-mouth disease! Recently I woke up with a terrible pain: had I bitten my tongue? My whole mouth hurt as if I had drunk at least 2.5 liters of boiling water. It took me ten to fifteen minutes to eat half a banana and I had caused myself enough pain for the time being.

It didn't get any better! In pain, I saw the fire in Alsace [meaning: painful as hell; probably goes back to the war, when Alsace was bombed and the fire could be seen as far as Switzerland], so I sought the advice of a well-known pharmacist. She gave me a remedy with which I had to brush my mouth regularly.

I remembered the python snake, that I had once brought Peter [author's note: Edi's former schoolmate, who became a biology teacher] from Ghana for his school. It lived there peacefully until it suddenly contracted mouth rot. Despite intensive care by the pupils under Peter's expert guidance, the python died.

A similar fate I feared for myself, especially when, in addition to the pain, my mouth began to burn, as if I was constantly drinking hydrochloric acid. So I went to see a doctor. Supplied with lots of medication, a new appointment and some good advice (don't eat hot or cold food or drink, don't drink alcohol, gargle with a medicine after brushing your teeth), I went back to my boat.

The doctor's advice was actually superfluous, as my "hydrochloric acid" was already enough for me. I wouldn't have gone anywhere near my mouth with a toothbrush for anything in the world. My daily two half bananas were enough for me.

A few days later, the pain had still not subsided. So I went to see Dr. Mustafa again, who then took me to a private hospital to see a specialist. Today, Sunday, I was able to eat two (!) bananas.

My foot-in-mouth disease, which I only recommend to people who are determined to lose weight, seems to be slowly improving. That's why I'm writing now. That's more than I've been able to do in the last few days. My teeth have darkened from gargling, and I hope you'll still recognize me one day."

Edi had hidden this kind of humor from me until now. Was it the tension of getting the boat ready for the trip? Did so many repairs have to be carried out or instruments retrofitted? I would find out in time.

6. Floating with Happiness

During his "nightcap" a few days earlier, Edi had been told at the bar in the hotel, that the evening after I had moved onto his boat, there would be an event for Turkish lady teachers, including belly dancing, and that we were invited too.

Due to the rainy and cold weather, we made our way there in thick, warm clothing. The women welcomed us and kindly assigned us seats. After a few speeches in Turkish, the festive part began. The music began to play and a young belly dancer in a pretty costume entered, moving to the rhythm of the music.

I was thrilled to be able to experience something like this, fidgeting back and forth on the chair with excitement and stretching my neck, so that I could see this beautiful woman. She danced towards us and Edi was sweating blood and water for fear she might ask him to dance. It was customary to ask an awkward guest to dance along for the fun of the audience and he couldn't dance at all, he confessed to me later.

Instead, the young lady asked me to follow her to the musicians. There she swayed her hips, showed me some movements and encouraged me to dance them, which I managed to do effortlessly. After a few exercises, she seemed to be at a loss, so I showed her another move. At the end the pretty belly dancer put a finger to her mouth in shock, breathed a horrified "Ohh" and floated out of the room.

How could she have known, that I had already taken belly dancing lessons and had performed a few times in festivities? I was so excited with joy, that I didn't even realize at that moment, that I had not only stolen this belly dancer's show, but also her earnings, as it is customary to slip the dancers banknotes, while they are dancing. Today I feel sorry for having acted so rashly.

I was repeatedly encouraged by the teachers to dance with them, which I was only too happy to do. At the end of the evening, each of the women was given a rose and, to my astonishment, I was also asked to come forward and received a Baccara rose. Happy about this unexpected gesture, I returned to Edi, who took the opportunity to give me another rose. An acquaintance of Edi's, who had just entered the room, did the same. With three roses I returned to the SINGLE MALT, floating with happiness.

7. Edi gives me a Belly Dance Costume as a Present

One day, after we had done our shopping, it started to rain heavily, so we sought shelter with Mehmed, a carpet dealer and good old friend of Edi. Music happened to be playing from one of the neighbouring stores, and Edi encouraged Mehmed to invite the musicians into his store. Sure enough, they came and started to play.

Edi didn't need much persuasion to get me to dance and I was soon moving my hips and arms to the beat of the music. A passer-by, who had been watching the action, asked Edi, if I was a belly dancing teacher. "No, just an enthusiastic dancer," he replied. Mehmed and Edi whispered to each other, but their secrets remained hidden from me.

A few days later, we went to a belly dance costume store, where I was allowed to choose a suitable outfit, which was adapted and completed according to my wishes. On this occasion, I was surprised to learn, that Mehmed had ordered three musicians for an evening in his small store in the marina and that I was to perform there. So that's, what they had been whispering about!

That evening came, and after a hearty meal of lamb under a large, 800-year-old plane tree, we found ourselves in Mehmed's store. Some potential buyers were looking at carpets, when the musicians, Mehmed had ordered, came into the store and started playing.

I put on my new belly dance costume with glittering sequins and began to dance - tentatively at first, but then I looked into the eyes of the audience and the musicians and saw surprise and joy. A spark of enthusiasm jumped from the musicians and guests to me. Edi laughed with joy, Mehmed clapped his hands to the beat, sang exuberantly to the music, and the Turkish women also seemed to be happy about the unexpected performance.

After a few dances, the drummer motioned for me to lean back and get down on the floor. Slowly, swaying my hips and with charming arm movements, I got down on my knees and leaned back, so far, that my shoulders touched the floor. The drummer placed his instrument on my stomach and drummed like crazy.

From this position, lying on my knees and shoulders, it was not easy to rise elegantly. To cover up my sluggishness I was waving my arms around with soft movements. When I was standing again, the guests slipped me banknotes, careful not to touch my skin with their hands. At the end of the performance, I handed the money to the musicians, who apparently worked as shoeshine boys during the day.

Well, that really was a special experience for me, that I will probably never forget and that almost made me burst with joy. What's more, I finally got to see Edi laugh out loud, something I'd never been able to do before. That finally made me really like him.

8. Getting together

My days as a henchman were monotonous. If we talked at all, it was only about the necessary things, and the conversations were exclusively factual. I was used to getting little attention as a child, because my disabled brother needed a lot of attention, but I didn't like Edi's matter-of-factness and sobriety, which he always displayed except during the belly dance performance. I felt like a functional tool.

Is this, what sailing life with Edi should be like? Disappointment crept more and more into my feelings. Nevertheless, I resolved to grit my teeth and persevere until we had sailed at least once. Then I would finally decide, whether to stay or fly home.

As I was now living on Edi's boat, we were together almost all the time. Once Edi spent an afternoon alone visiting his sailing friends Ella and Helmut. On his return, he apologized for his long absence and told me about his conversation with them. They had asked him, if he had told me, that he was happy to have my company on board, and that he appreciated my cooperation.

He hadn't, of course, and that's, why I felt like a neutral on board. At least this is how I found out, that I was welcome. In his opinion, Edi had probably told me enough, because he didn't say anything more about it and didn't become more talkative. That wouldn't happen until many months later.

We came together over time, slowly and through long discussions. First of all, we had to learn to communicate, because High German and Swiss German are two different languages. In fact, there isn't even a standardized Swiss German. Instead, there are different types of "Swiss German", e.g. Berndeutsch, Basler- and Züridütsch, just as there are dialects from region to region in Germany.

Edi always spoke High German to me, but his pronunciation of High German was of course unmistakably tinged with Bernese German, so for a long time I thought, Edi was talking to me in his native language.

It wasn't until I visited him in Switzerland after a long time and was introduced to his circle of friends there, that I realized that Bernese German really is a completely different language that I didn't understand. It took me a long time to learn to understand it, partly because we rarely flew to Switzerland and only ever for a short time. What's more, the Swiss are so polite, that they immediately switch to the language of the other person as soon as they hear, that they come from Germany or France.

A good example of both our linguistic and other communication difficulties is our understanding of the word 'pan': for me it was a frying pan, or perhaps a bedpan. Edi not only used this word for frying pans, but also said pan, when he meant a pot.

He also told me, that the word "pot" made him think of flower pots, chamber pots or the pot collection at church. It wasn't until much later, that I noticed a mischievous twinkle in his eyes when I looked closely; that's how hidden his humor was.

Over time, I learned to better distinguish between Edi's serious and humorous comments. Especially in the early years, however, I took many of the funny comments seriously, because I simply didn't recognize them as such. On more than one occasion, I would have gladly left Edi in the dust, because of his hair-raising statements. But more on that later.

In any case, it was and still is a real problem for me, when Edi asks me to get out a pan. There were (and still are) moments, when I felt stupid and wasn't exactly overjoyed. However, I smile about these "worries" today.

Many years later, we were asked when - after our initial difficulties - we had finally fallen in love. Wasn't there a sudden recognition of great love and a melting away with an intimate embrace? No, that didn't happen. Edi was happy to have company; I was happy to realize my lifelong dream of sailing and had to get used to the cramped life on board, get to know Edi better and gain his trust.

It took some time before I felt, that I could fully trust and rely on him. I was actually the center of his attention (besides the SINGLE MALT, of course)! It was only with time, that I realized, what a great companion I had at my side and what a wealth of knowledge he had.

I was always surprised, that he didn't want to come first, but sent me ahead to scout, ask questions, clear in and out. A former general staff officer, after all. But I didn't know the duties of such an officer (such as delegating), not even the term. So I didn't understand it straight away.

He also discussed everything with me: "Where are we sailing to?" "Which places and countries are we sailing to next?" "Which of the next bays would you most like to visit?" And he explained, which ones he would recommend and why they were safer. He obviously saw (and still sees!) me as an equal partner, and I feel the same way about him. At some point, we had grown together like a team, content with each other's company, and one day we simply found ourselves as a couple.

9. "Potatoes make you fat and stupid"

During our many days and weeks together on board, whether at anchor or underway, we considered every day, which vegetables from our stock needed to be cooked. Dinner was and is our main meal, so that we have more time for other things at lunchtime, and so that the stomach is well filled for the person, who takes over the night watch, which also boosts mood.

After deciding, which vegetables should be cooked, the question naturally arose: "And what do you serve with it?" Coming from Bremen, where potatoes are eaten with every meal, I naturally suggested potatoes. "Potatoes make you fat and stupid!" I heard Edi say, emphasizing the "F" and „S“ of "fat" and "stupid" with relish.

Did I hear correctly? Was that right? Well, I'm really not fat! And stupid? My father had once told me I was stupid. Him being an authority figure, who didn't tolerate any contradiction or criticism was one thing. But now here? Maybe I was stupid to listen to all this and go along with it. I always had to be understanding and calm towards my disabled brother. But here? I was at a loss and mute.

I thought about it: we were on our way; I couldn't get off; besides, I actually liked life on board. Edi took great pleasure in repeating this saying: "Potatoes make you fat and stupid!" That was new to me and I no longer understood the world. I had grown up with potatoes in the post-war period. The saying back then was: "Eat your fill of potatoes." I felt like crying.

Why did he ask me first and then cook something else? Instead of potatoes, he served either rice, bulgur, couscous or pasta. Offended, I resolved never to suggest potatoes as a side dish again. I was too offended to think, that Edi could have been joking. I was even less able to notice the mischievous twinkle in his eyes.

’Noodles’ was the next topic Edi made fun of. He explained: "‘Noodles’ are one of many forms of 'pasta'!" Again, I felt stupid. I knew cake dough, puff pastry, shortcrust pastry and bread dough - that was pasta to me. What Edi called "a special form of pasta" was ’noodles’ to me. As was customary in Bremen, I divided them into spirals, spaghetti, stars, shells and whatever other pasta shapes there were.

Only people, who came from somewhere else and felt they were better (that was my impression) might talk about ’pasta’. Well, I was capable of learning. How happy I was, when I met North German sailors who, like me, used the term ’noodles’ for all types of pasta, which I of course triumphantly pointed out to Edi!

There were other issues, that we had difficulties with. For example, Edi didn't understand, that one could get divorced. He had known his wife since kindergarten and his marriage was very happy. He would never have divorced. On the contrary, he even condemned divorce.

My marriage hadn't worked out, so my then husband and I divorced after 18 years. To explain, why my marriage had gone wrong, I tried to describe to him the situations, that had led to the separation.

Edi then praised his wife every time, listing all the things she could do and had done; speaking several languages fluently, taking notes in the respective language, being an excellent hostess ... the list of praiseworthy skills and qualities was almost endless. It didn't exactly boost my self-esteem. At some point, I couldn't listen to these songs of praise any longer and left the subject.

Over time, I learned to recognize Edi's provocative "jokes" as such and to come to terms with them. It took a long time, but at some point I even enjoyed his puns. Today we play around with all kinds of words and word twists and have a great time doing it.

In return, Edi had to live with the idea, that I was divorced and take me as I was. Apparently he was able to do that, because I'm still on board!

10. Excursion into Antiquity

The maintenance work on the SINGLE MALT had been completed and we could actually have sailed off. However, Edi suggested we hire a car and see the surrounding area. As a passenger, I should have read the road map and navigated Edi through the area, but I started to feel motion sick doing this.

So I took the wheel and drove us to the ruins of Ephesus, a city, that had experienced its heyday around 500 BC. Back then, it was a rich port city with numerous stores, large markets and the impressive Temple of Artemis (the largest temple of antiquity and one of the “Seven Wonders of the World“). Today, the ruins lie around 20 km from the sea - the harbour and bay have long since silted up.

We started with a walk through the ruins of the Temple of Artemis and continued to a theatre enjoying the historical atmosphere - despite the almost unimaginable heat of over 30°C, which I could barely stand. The arena of this theatre looked tidy and the rows of seats were arranged in a large semicircle like terraces. Between the seats, consisting of simple stone blocks, grasses and herbs grew so high, that the stones seemed to sink into them.

At the very bottom of the first row of the seats, I noticed a kind of throne. "It must have been for a very important person," I thought to myself, because it had a backrest and two decorated armrests. I really wanted a photo of it, with me sitting on it of course. So I asked Edi to take one. "How did such a highly honored person feel sitting on this seat back then?" I wondered.

With this thought, I dropped onto the seat and jumped up again almost at the same moment as if stung by a tarantula. My long drawn-out "Ooooooo!" sounded almost like a dog howling at the moon. The sun had heated the stone so much, that one could have fried eggs on it. If I hadn't jumped up again in a flash, I would have burnt my buttocks and thighs. Startled, I rubbed them both to get rid of the feeling, that I had just sat on a hot frying pan. Under these circumstances, I could definitely do without such an honor!

Edi looked at me uncomprehendingly and asked me with a gruff "Come on, we don't want to put down roots here!". Without further ado, I dug a scarf out of my bag, folded it several times, placed it on the front edge of the seat, sat down carefully and tried to smile relaxedly into the lens. With moderate success, as I realized a few days later when the photo was developed.

What a great advantage today's digital cameras have, which show the photos immediately! Back then, the photo film first had to be taken to a photo shop, where it was developed, and from the negatives you could have made photos on photographic paper. It took several days before I could see the result. Of course, there was nothing I could do about it anymore. Time had passed. "Well, better an unrelaxed photo than no photo at all," I consoled myself.

But back to our historical excursion. We left the theatre and strolled through the ruined city. Somewhere I discovered an ancient toilet facility: a long marble slab with a series of increasingly large, round cut-outs. At first I was surprised, but then I realized their purpose: they were adapted to the age of the users or the size of their buttocks. And not only that: I was told that the seats were used to be warmed by their slaves before they went to the toilet.

When we had had enough of Ephesus, we drove on to the ruins of the former Magnesia, which lie on the Meander River (Turkish: Menderes). Here we were accompanied on our sightseeing walk by the scent of flowering herbs, the likes of which I had never experienced before. Sheep grazed between ancient column fragments on which lizards scurried around; frogs croaked in a pond; a real idyll, albeit with lots of thistles that scratched my legs badly - I was stupidly wearing shorts.

A guard in uniform emerged from the shade of a large tree and took our entrance fee. When we wanted to say goodbye to him after the tour, he was lying on a wooden plank bed in a deep sleep, snoring loudly. Above him hung a full basket with a bottle of wine sticking out of it and a bulging sack containing his meal.

I was particularly interested in the beetles that we came across. Two beetles at a time were laboriously rolling a ball together with an unknown destination and changing direction. They climbed onto the ball, which began to roll, and tumbled onto their backs. With wriggling legs, they got themselves back into the right position and tirelessly set to work again with inexplicable zeal.

It was not clear to me, what these balls were made of - goat droppings? There was plenty of it lying around. I made an effort not to crush any of these balls, the purpose of which remained unknown to me.

(Note: When these little guys rolled across my path, there was no internet yet. So I was in the dark about this for a long time. Today I know, that the balls are actually made of dung and, depending on the type of beetle, either serve as food for their offspring or for the adults themselves. Hence the name of this group of animals: dung beetles).

Our destination for the next day was Labranda - another place with ancient columns, but we didn't get to see them. The last part of the road led steeply uphill in serpentines and became a single-lane gravel road. Due to the dryness, the wheels of our car kicked up a lot of dust. Unexpectedly, a large, deep hole appeared in the road in front of us, so that we could no longer continue with our small car.

Right at this point, two construction vehicles approached behind us, which had no problems with the poor road conditions due to their size. I felt quite queasy. What to do? Fortunately, there was a passing bay a little below us, where the friendly drivers were waiting with their heavy trucks, so that we could turn around and drive back in peace.

With so much dust in the air and the scorching heat, we had become thirsty and wanted to refresh ourselves with an ayran (yoghurt seasoned with salt and mixed with water). In a small village I got out of the car to find out, if there was a restaurant here. As I walked up the steep turn-off to the village, a voice echoed down from above in English: "Can I help you? What are you looking for?" A teacher with noisy children was obviously on break.

"We're looking for a restaurant to drink ayran," was my reply. "Well, there's no restaurant, but you can get ayran here. Your husband should park the car in the schoolyard and come up too.“ For the sake of simplicity, I let the gentleman believe, that we were married, as it seemed completely unimportant to me.

The teacher instructed two of his students to bring yogurt, salt, water, glasses and a fork and personally prepared the drink for us, while we sat in the shade of an old tree.

The girls surrounded us all excited about this unexpected visit and tried out their English skills on us by asking: "How are you?", "My name is ..." and "What is your name?" They were quite happy, that I understood them and could answer their questions. One girl read to me from her reading book about Atatürk. Although I didn't understand any of it, I praised it anyway. Others had picked bouquets of poppies and chamomile, which they gave me - I was touched.

After our refreshments, we were shown around the school, which consisted of just one classroom. All the children from first to fifth grade were taught here at the same time. In the middle of the room was an old cast-iron stove with a long pipe to the outside wall.

On the walls were a picture of Atatürk and self-made time charts for history lessons. The year zero was placed in the middle, and time spans of 100 years were marked on either side. Important events were marked with simple handicrafts, such as Magellan's voyages with a ship folded out of paper.

In the anteroom, there was a cart made of cardboard, that the children had built themselves. They learned about history in this way. I was impressed by the simple means the teacher used to impart knowledge and organize the lessons. When we finally said goodbye, the teacher's eyes were moist, the children waved happily and I waved my many pretty bouquets of flowers. It was a special experience for all of us.

Part II

Mediterranean Sea

From Turkey to Gibraltar

May to August 1998

11. Off we go, we set Sail

May 1998

Finally: the day came in May, when we started the engine, let go the lines and headed out to sea. I wanted to enjoy the trip, which I imagined would be romantic, looking back wistfully on Kuşadasi and sing the song in my head: "Goodbye, goodbye, don't stay away too long ...". But things turned out differently: the fenders had to be stowed away, lines folded into babilis (see nautical terms) and stored in one of the boxes at the bow.

Fully occupied with my duties and focused on not falling down on the swaying deck, I walked around the deck, taking every opportunity to hold on, and when the boat was lifted by a wave, it either brought me to my knees or - even worse - I unexpectedly found myself sitting on my backside. How embarrassing! Once everything was done as ordered, I went into the cockpit, satisfied.

Now I wanted to recover from work, but I was given another task: setting sail! I only took a moment to take a closer look at the deck and sails of the SINGLE MALT. The boat was a ketch, so it had two masts, with the front one, called the "main mast", being 14 m, higher than the rear one, called the mizzen mast. Our cockpit was called the center cockpit, because it was located in the center of the boat, in our case in front of the mizzen mast.

In the cockpit of this type of boat, you sit well protected under a solid roof with a small, sturdy window at the top, through which you can see the position of the genoa, the mainsail and the wind indicator at the top of the mast. The cockpit is equipped with two solid windows at the front, which extend across almost the entire width of the boat and are firmly attached to the roof.

Flexible plastic windows with press studs can be attached to the sides in case the weather becomes too uncomfortable. All in all, you are very well protected from the sun, wind, rain and spray in this cockpit. That's a great thing, the importance of which only became fully clear to me over time.

Now to the sails. I was amazed at how easy it was to unfurl the front sail, the genoa. It was stored at its full height on a pole, the lower end of which was attached to the bow and the other end to the top of the main mast. At the lower end of this pole was a motor, that turned the pole and could be operated from the cockpit.

Now, when needed, all I had to do was, push a small rubber lever in the cockpit and the pole would turn, unwinding the genoa. It worked! A line, a so-called sheet, was attached to the tip of the sail that was unwound first, the clew, with a secure knot.

Edi pulled on the free end of this line, so that the sail did not flap like a loose sheet, but stood taut in the wind. He wrapped this end of the line around a drum-like structure, a winch, and secured it, so that it didn't come loose, so that it didn't "rush out", as he called it.

Thanks to the set sails, the boat was now running a little more smoothly. Until then, the electric self-steering had kept the course. Now, in the Strait of Samos, the wind had become gustier. Now I had to take over the helm manually and steer a specific course using the compass. I sat behind the steering wheel, which is used to steer the boat in a similar way to a car, and made a real effort to steer a straight course.