The wind carries fine dust, not from here. The sun casts long shadows on the hills. Volcanic ash, lava gravel, sparse shrubs clinging where nothing else will grow. The Atlantic rolls onto the shore in long waves.
The wind carries fine dust, not from here. The sun casts long shadows on the hills. Volcanic ash, lava gravel, sparse shrubs clinging where nothing else will grow. The Atlantic rolls onto the shore in long waves.
We were eight men on a ship no one wanted.
The Captain Tarek sat in the port of Hodeidah, motionless like a rusty coffin. The war was everywhere. You could hear it in the distance, sometimes see it. Explosions, smoke, sparks on the horizon. We stopped listening.
The captain had been gone for months. No diesel, no supplies. We shared rice that tasted of salt and water that smelled of oil. The cook did his best, but it wasn’t much. No one spoke of tomorrow. There was no plan, just waiting.
Ever since I did research for my reportage "Rearguard action in Gdansk" at Stocznia Gdanska in 1996, I have written again and again about the connection between men and sea. Reasons are simple. The ocean breeze, the wide horizon, seagull cries, fish, salt water. All that does me good in every respect. I don't have any romantic idea about working in the maritime logistic complex. Navegare necesse est - seafaring is a must, but it is most beautiful if you can do it for pleasure. Unfortunately, it is one of the pleasures I cannot afford as often as I would like to. Far too seldom I manage to spend my vacations on the coast, at sea and on islands. So what can I do? I just have to find some suitable work ...
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| Mit der Gaffelketsch »Albin Köbis« auf der Unterwarnow, Juli 2010 |
| Wismar, die Nummer fünf unter den deutschen Osteehäfen. Dreieinhalb Millionen Tonnen gehen hier jährlich über die Kaikante |
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| Fährstation La Habana Vieja |