the picture of a small boat, and a beardy captain who is peeling a grapefruit from the bird's view. The sky is grey and seems threatening, meanwhile it is raining. I don't like having to pee in this situation, but even more I don't like to let it flow. Sometimes, though not very often, a question pops up in my head: "What the hell are you doing there?" During the last 17 miles, I had to get of my clothes five times to get rid of the pressure. The waves seem to have fun with this and they always catch me right in the moment I've already taken off my jacket.
Filled with malicious joy, its tips seem to dance in the wind, after having caught my fleece clothing just in


My jalopy in Carino

the right moment. In a fury, I scream: "You like that, right ... you like that? I'v done nothing to you ... NOTHING!!" My throat feels rough and I know it was too much again. After an eternity, at the entry of a bay, I pass the huge offshore cliffs, where one can see the water convulsing in an impressive way. I head towards South, entering the bay, but it's hardly getting calm. I manage the water in an eight, when a new pressure arises… this can't be true! My boat is in a perfect course, every move has to fit now… For peeing, I have to get rid of my safety rope, and the life vest. I kneel down with my legs apart… the boat follows its


600 meters high - it blows my mat away!

course ... "Roooooosh" I'm soaking! I get even angrier, so now my jalopy gets its just deserts: "You know what I always wanted to tell you? Sometimes you really are a piece of shit. A real PIECE OF SHIT!" I scream about 37 octaves higher than before. "I am wet and cold. It's enough!" Without a smile, I pass the last two miles of the quay wall and think about cutting the shitty buoys. Till I reach the green container, my head is filled with shit and fuck and blood and all kind of cursing.
Being cold to my bones, every meter of searching for a safe spot in the harbor is one meter too much. The pontoon is filled with fishing boats ... I move between the mooring to the quay wall - for now. Shaking hands at the concrete edge, before I change my wet clothes. Everybody laughs, while I am naked in front of them. My laughter returns. Everything is forgotten. I love the sear… every day a little more! You know what? I am crazy!


My friend Santiago, the fisher

The morning after ...
Santiago and me have moved my boat to the mooring last night. My sleeping site in his fishing hall was pure luxury, regarding the weather. I can even find a restroom with a hot shower and a toilet, though I wouldn't have the power to hold the shower head properly. For the first time during this voyage I feel like I'm getting sick. My voice is broken and this wet sleeping bag in the drafty hall B9 was a bit too much of a good thing. This young fisher hardly speaks English, so we talk in his apartment with the help of a computer translation program. I tell my story, until his head is filled and he can't listen any longer. We have lunch together, eating everything he caught: calamari in all kind of variety.


I had to eat one of it ...

I especially like the sea fruit in bread crumbs. Great!
I try to miss the not disemboweled variation that still swims in its own ink, but I don't succeed finally. What a nice guy! He goes grocery shopping for me: food, petrol, oil ... we change the oil of my Portuguese fighting boat together, take pictures of the highest cliff of Europe, and spend a really great evening in his flat, when I also meet his girlfriend Cristina.
The weather changes. It's getting harder. I'm losing power. I think about a break… now? I don't know. I'm not getting tired of this European dream. My body does, but not my mind. I should be more careful, taking good care of my body - I should listen to it. I've made some experience that my mind is a machine that is hard to stop. Though my body has not been made for it.


What a gorgeous view


... one more


... and another one . . .

A lot of things cross my mind here at one of the most beautiful landscapes during my journey. At the table between old-established fishers in their local. I meet them in the morning of 22nd, when I haven't washed myself and my hair has not been combed. I don't decide for the last vacant table - I decide to join them. THIS is my journey. It's just a small gesture - showing the people that we belong together. It's a sight, a smile, shaking hands. After my first coffee, it's getting silent at the table and the melody of a beautiful Spanish song comes to my mind, which has been sung to me in the South very impressively. We are laughing and together we sing the rest of the song. This is it, guys. This is it.


Meeting new friends constantly during the journey

I don't believe I'm the only one who feels this way. I believe the idea of this boat, and the grown up, but still funny wood gnome can merge a millionaire's Europe to a cent coin. I wish we could all meet again someday.
Thanks Europe for showing me every day that I belong to you. Thanks!

Carino, 20th September 2012

I'll probably hardly make it through the Eider barrier this year. Too much has happened that turned my schedule up and down. But I tell you in my highest captain quality: I don't give a fucking damn!
Maybe this story is not meant for an end!


That's a picture of a European topic