A Summer in the Baltic

Nicholas Hill

Westward Ho!

I returned ten days later, flying with Ryanair from Stanstead, and encountering some fairly ludicrous airport security. The relative costs of the UK and Poland were shown when I had to take a train from Surrey to Waterloo, the tube to Liverpool Street Station, then a train to Stanstead. Total &#pound;30. On arrival at Gdansk, I took a bus to Gdynia – 3.50zl – and a train to Wladyslawowo for 8.50zl (second class this time). Total 12zl or &#pound;2!

I arrived back to a gale – the local forecast had been for Beaufort 8 to 10! Things had quietened down somewhat a day or two later, and I set off westwards for Leba, which was dead to windward. It was uncomfortable. Lumpy, brisk, and with the boat heeled over. I sailed almost twice the direct distance. To crown things, I met another thunderstorm about two miles from the harbour entrance, with visibility down to 100m in the heavy rain. I had to stop until the rain had eased before making my way into the harbour.

The entrance is long and narrow. At the entrance to the marina, it reverts to being a river, and all the fishing boats are moored down here. The marina is relatively new, and sports almost all the facilities. The pilot books give depths of 3m, but my shallow depth alarm, set for 2m [although there is a 1m offset], began beeping almost immediately. By the time I was on a berth in the middle of the marina, there were fewer than 10cm of water below the keel. The marina appears to be silting up – one reason may be the sand blowing off the beach, which is only a few yards away.

The next day saw a stiff F6/7 blowing onshore, with a swell rolling down the channel despite the new curving breakwater. Even in the marina there was some surge: I had to tighten the springs to stop the boat snatching at the lines. The day after, the wind had moderated somewhat, and I saw a German boat setting out, pitching severely in the channel. I only hoped they were going east, otherwise they would have a very uncomfortable time of it.

I set off the day after, when it was still blowing NW 4 to 5. Again it was a long and uncomfortable beat to Ustka, although the wind was moderating by the time I go there. I was a little worried that the harbour would be uncomfortable in the swell which was still evident, Ustka being quite open to the Baltic.

As it was, there was hardly any movement at all. I tied up on the quayside, right in the heart of the harbour. Holiday makers strolled along feet from the boat. One old gentleman, on seeing the Red Ensign, leaned over and said, 'Welcome to Poland'! The lady from Port Control came round: mooring on the quay was free (although there were no facilities. You could have electricity for a small fee – I didn't bother). She hoped that, in two or three years time, there would be a marina in the basin opposite. A good idea, but again, the trouble was that it would be a long way from anywhere. The town was quite attractive, with an impressive nineteenth century lighthouse, and there was a good shopping area and supermarket not far away. As a place to stop, I found it very pleasant.

After Ustka, a long haul to Kolobrzeg. There was a reasonable breeze to begin with, enough to make respectable progress under sail, although the wind fell light at one stage, meaning I had to motor. But, later on in the afternoon, there was sufficient breeze to make 4+ knots under sail. The sun was shining in a cloudless sky, and it was one of the best sails of the summer.

Kolobrzeg entrance was interesting, as it was narrow, and further complicated by works being carried out on the breakwater. Further down in the river I was hailed by Border Guards, but after a brief shouted conversation, they waved me on. The marina is some way down the river, well sheltered, and part of the moat of an old fort. It has reasonable ablutions, electricity, and water. At 36zl, it was relatively expensive by standards further east. The town is quite pleasant, but nothing spectacular.

From Kolobrzeg to Dziwnow, a small fishing town. There is a very small marina on the starboard side just after entry, in a tiny basin which must suffer from swell in an onshore wind. A little further down is the fishing harbour, and, a little uncertain, I tied up on an empty section of the quayside. No one objected or took any notice of me at all. The bosman was not in his office, which was unusual. I strolled into the town – a very sleepy place – and found an internet cafe. Using Windows 98 to browse the internet can be interesting.

Fishing harbour at Dziwnow.

The bosman was around when I got back, and was quite happy for me to stay there. It would have been very quiet except for a boat a little further down, obviously making preparations to go out fishing. In the morning, the bosman charged me 8zl! - less than &#pound;1.50. In addition, there was an excellent, obviously new, ablution block, and no one guarding it ready to take your money. For value, it couldn't have been beaten. I intended to go through the bridge to the lagoon further down, but the bridge did not open at the time I thought it would, and, calling Port Control, I found it wouldn't open for another hour. So, Swinoujscie instead.

I thought I would be lazy, and go down just under jib, as the wind was directly behind. The breeze seemed light enough, but started to come up, so that by the time I arrived at Swinoujscie it was around F5 or more, and I was grateful for my idleness. The Border Guard insisted on seeing me when I radioed in, and so I came round to the quayside, and held another shouted conversation. He was again happy to wave me on, but insisted on knowing which marina I was going to. I didn't know myself, but told him Swinoujscie marina, to keep him happy. As it was, I couldn't find the other marina mentioned in the pilot book, and so turned back to Swinoujscie marina.

This is at one end of an enormous basin: what the original purpose of the basin was, I'd no idea, since it didn't seem to have many buildings or warehouses around, and was surrounded by woods of mature trees. It seemed almost rural, in amongst what was obviously a busy commercial port. The marina itself was almost empty when I arrived, although it would fill up later. It was obviously popular with weekending Germans. And now follows a tale which, if you object to stereotypes, you must avert your eyes.

We all have impressions of people from other countries, most of which are gross generalisations, and most of the people who you meet are perfectly ordinary. However. My experience of the Poles is that they are generally fairly reserved; if they get drunk, they do not make a lot of noise, or shout, or scream, unlike many British youngsters on a Friday night. It seems that the Polish idea of a celebration on board is to pluck at the strings of a guitar and sing folk songs. All fairly low key stuff.

I had had encounters with German boats earlier in the Baltic: all long distance cruisers, and pleasant enough to chat with. On my arrival at Swinoujscie, there was quite a strong wind blowing off the pontoon. I almost made it first time, but wasn't quite quick enough with the lines. I had to reverse out and try again. A couple of people from a Berlin registered boat came out and took my lines, which was very helpful.

On the Saturday, three boats arrived, all from Ueckermunde. They began their revelries. One hulking chap held a conversation from the pontoon with the crew of another boat. He was perhaps two yards away from them; he spoke as if he were two hundred yards away. His vocal carrying power was, in a way, quite impressive. He didn't yell, but his volume was extremely substantial. The entire marina would have had no problem in hearing what he had to say.

Later in the evening, I was sitting in the cockpit with a cup of coffee, when another of them came over. He stared at my Red Ensign, then at me. He began a conversation, and I invited him on board. He sat down in the cockpit, then gestured to me: 'Please, sit down.' Since it was actually my boat, I smiled and remained standing. A line from John Cleese and Fawlty Towers went through my mind: 'Don't mention the war,' as we began talking. But it was he who raised the subject first.

He was from Dresden, and had been invited up by some friends to go sailing. Dresden was in the south, and it had been a fair way to come. Sailing was new to him. He had two conversational tics which became very irritating. The first was a rather drawn-out 'Wah!' sound. This would be used to fill in gaps in the conversation. The other, to be delivered after some pronouncement, was: 'I think so'. His conversation was rather rambling [he'd had a bit to drink], although he seemed a pleasant enough chap. The snag was I couldn't get rid of him, so eventually suggested we went up to the bar for a drink. Several others were there too, in an otherwise empty room, and that one table made sufficient noise for an entire crowded bar. I was introduced round. Another young chap, as broad as he was tall, also started on about the war. 'War is shit!' he would repeat from time to time.

Eventually they went to bed, as did I. But in the morning I found a half litre bottle of very good German beer left on the side of the boat – which was a kind thought.

I had been thinking of going down to Szczeczin, but looking at the pilot books, there seemed to be a lack of good harbours – or perhaps, by now, I was tired of Poland. Ueckermunde, well, I could try it. I looked it up. In the Stettiner Haff, and the pilot book had some polite things to say about it. My companions of the previous night had told me how wonderful it was – but then, they would. There was also the possibility of winterlager – winter storage – there, and much cheaper than Kroeslin, which I had in mind at the time. So Ueckermunde it would be.

I set off down the canal to the Haff, which is long, straight, wooded; very pleasant, but you have to watch for the commercial traffic. I came out into a rather murky light green lake. It was blowing about F3, and I ambled towards the Polish guard boat under jib alone. As I came closer, I wound away the jib and started the engine, pulling up close alongside. Someone appeared on deck. Where was I going? Ueckermunde. Where had I come from? Swinoujcie. Had I had Port Inspection that day? I was puzzled. Port Inspection? No, I shouted. This was a bad move. I should have had Port Inspection, I was told. Okay. From what he was saying, I thought he wanted to come aboard, and started putting fenders over the side, ready to tie onto him. No, he shouted. I must follow him to harbour. To harbour? Yes. At this point we were two or three miles from any land.

Behind the guard boat was a RIB. He jumped into this, and waved. 'Follow me'. At this point, I was not a happy bunny. Follow him ashore? But other than make a run for it, which I thought would have been a bad move, I had little choice. I revved up to five knots, and followed.

It was a narrow and shallow channel. The depth sounder kept on beeping alerts. I suppose it was about four miles in all, until we came to the town of Neumark. This is now in Poland, and the border runs down the lagoon separating it from its German neighbour on the other side, Altmark. A ferry runs from one to the other, and so there are Border Guards at Neumark. I tied up against a formidable collection of tyres, and the man came on board. Various Border Guards came out to see the excitement, and to gawp at the sight of a British yacht.

He carried a clipboard in a purposeful manner. I was told to sit down (on my own boat! Second time in two days!) before he started. I wasn't sure what 'Port Inspection' would entail – certainly, I had had nothing like this when leaving Gorki for Klaipeda. There they were interested only in my passport.

It was a very long form to be filled out. Name, address, and so on. Some questions were baffling – father's given name? Very useful. I was handed a carbon copy. Another form. My passport was taken away for checking. Eventually, after twenty minutes or so, he was done.

'You must learn to do things properly when you cross borders,' he told me sternly. I nodded. His was my fifth border crossing this summer. But then I was free to go. Back along four miles of narrow winding channels. I had to go past the guard boat again, and the man came out on deck and irritably waved me on. At the same time, three or four German yachts were passing by, and being waved on. Had they had their 'Port Inspection'? Been asked their father's given name? Somehow, I doubted it.

It was the sort of event where it wasn't worth making a fuss: annoy them, and things will become all the more difficult. Smile and say yes. That way, there's the least bother.

But now I had to find Ueckermunde in a rather featureless landscape. I hadn't charts for the German side, and was relying on a sketch map in the pilot book. Not the best idea. Basically, I followed the horde of yachts returning from their weekend sail. The buoyage outside the harbour is a little confusing (charts do help), and the entrance to the river is quite narrow. There was a sign at the harbour entrance which rather amused me: two way traffic to boats of more than 10 metres was forbidden. I can just imagine coming to the entrance with a gale of wind behind you, and seeing another boat in the entry. 'Excuse me – are you more than 10 metres?' At 9.1m, I was exempt, anyway.

Just beyond the entrance was a new marina/hotel/apartment development, but, according to the pilot book, it was a long way from anywhere. They were box moorings, although with so many empty, and so little wind, I could have give it a go. I carried on down the river instead, and met more and more moorings. I could certainly see the advantage of the box system now – you could fit far more in to a river such as this, but many of the empty ones looked far too narrow for me.

And for the first time in my entire time in the Baltic, I was seeing row after row of boats. Klaipeda had a few – very few – local boats in its Yacht Club. In Latvia – certainly the Baltic coast – there seemed to be almost none at all ... which made the mooted 'marina' at Pavilosta all the more absurd.

Obviously people were keen on sailing in Poland, but there was as yet no affluent middle class who could afford the Bavarias and Beneteaux. Instead, there were a lot of small – 20 to 25 foot – yachts, with outboard motors, tired sails, and a lot of enthusiasm. The lakes at ?? were apparently more popular, but there again, the size of the boats would be limited. The saddest thing of all was to see the beached yachts at places like Gorki – projects never finished, boats simply abandoned. And a lot of these were very substantial. In many cases they were obviously of home design and home construction, and perhaps somewhat 'idiosyncratic' – but not always the worse for that. Someone with time on their hands could find a bargain here to rebuild. But Ueckermunde – here was a reminder we were now in the more affluent Germany – even if recovering from its own Communist past.

Further on down, the river widened out to the ferry berths, and the quayside here was obviously brand new. I stopped to check in with the German authorities – someone took my passport away for five minutes, came back, and wished me a good stay. Mooring on the quayside here was verboten, but was possible further down.

And there was a town quay, just before the lifting bridge. I tied alongside – there was electricity, but no loos or showers. There was a tap, but too big for my hose.

Ueckermunde Stadthafen

Ueckermunde was an old market town, relatively untouched. One of the few advantages of the old regime was that had obviously been very little 'development'; what development there was now was more sensitive to the nature of the town. And I found a Lidl supermarket on the outskirts, close enough to stock up on the basics.

I went to the boatyard for a quote for winterlager, but all the indoor spaces were booked up. The outdoor quote was very reasonable, at just over €500 (which is what I ended up paying in Stralsund).

But I was getting itchy feet again, and set off on a misty, murky morning. Visibility was poor, and I cleared the harbour entrance and set off very slowly under jib alone. After a few minutes, though, I ground to a halt. The depth was okay, so ...? Starting the engine, I gently put it into gear. Bad idea. It stalled almost immediately. I fished around at the stern with a boathook, and brought up a taut line, complete with net. I thought I was clear of the nets, but there was a solitary stake about 25 yards away. With mental apologies to the fisherman, I reached for the breadknife. With the rope cut, I started moving away again.

Having no charts made again for interesting navigation, particularly with visibility not much more than a mile or so, but soon I picked up a buoy in the middle of the Haff, and could just see the next. The channel leads to the Peene Strom, which is shallow, with narrow channels. Fortunately for me, the authorities were busy marking all the channels and laying buoys – the whole system needing more than 140 buoys! Before this, you navigated from channel to channel by leading lines. Sometimes these were very good, but others I failed entirely to pick up.

There is a lifting bridge at Zecherin, and I'd got the opening times from the harbourmaster at Ueckermunder. As I came up to the Peenestrom I could see a bridge structure, and thought: good, I've arrived with plenty of time. As I ambled closer, I thought the bridge looked odd – then looking at the pilot book, realised that this was something completely different: it was the ruins of the prewar bridge at Karnin, blown up in 1945, and with only two columns left standing. The bridge I wanted was another three or so miles away, and instead of having arrived early, I was going to have to push on at a good speed if I was to make opening time.

But fortunately I arrived in good time, and made my way through into what looked like a wonderful lagoon for sailing – until you looked at the depths on the chart. The navigable channel was about 50m wide, and once I strayed a few yards outside it, to find myself plowing through deep and sticky mud. To my surprise, I also met a couple of quite large barges coming the other way. Not a voyage to have undertaken lightly before the channel was buoyed.

The channel eventually opened into a larger lake – again fairly shallow, but with rather more room to spare. My destination was Wolgast – I couldn't have gone on any further since there was another lifting bridge there. There is a marina with box mooring beyond the bridge; to the south, there is only the quayside, which has obviously been renovated recently. The trouble with this quayside was that there were no tyres, and it wasn't smooth. The indentations – they looked rather as if there had been pilings into which the cement had been poured, then removed afterwards – were about the size of a fender, so keeping the boat away from the quayside was trickier than it looked. The other drawback was a ship unloading sand – directly upward. Guess where all the dust ended up ...

The quay at Wolgast did boast the first chandlers I'd seen since Gdynia. I was okay for most things, but I discovered I'd lost the green shade over the starboard steaming light. I asked the owner if he'd got another, but he hadn't. Instead he offered to fit a new light. He did make rather a hash of things, managing to crunch the old bulb underfoot and leaving the broken glass to fall into the anchor well. But at the end of it, I had a working steaming light.

I also knew that trying to sail in these channels without charts was not a good idea. The trouble had been getting hold of them. It was then I discovered the NV Sportschiffahrtskarten [something of a mouthful for English speakers]. At 60 euros a pack, I thought these expensive, but began to change my mind when I realised what goodies lay inside. Not only did it have coastal and passage charts for the area, it also had a guide for all the harbours of the area, with large scale drawings – in effect, a pilot book [but unfortunately for me, in German]. But the piece de resistance was a CDROM, with a chart programme, and all the charts in digital form. Installing this was a slight hassle, as it needed an activation code, and I wasn't connected to the Internet. But the man in the chandlery rang up, and was able to get a code by phone. The programme interfaced quite happily to the GPS, and so I could check my progress on both paper and screen.

The 'Neinland'.

I walked up into the town, which wasn't far away. It looked a little run down, although there was also a lot of redevelopment and refurbishment going on. The trouble with this part of the world was that no one, but no one, seemed to speak English. I don't know whether there was a lingering heritage from the former Communist days, but the answer to the question 'Sprechen Sie English', was always 'Nein' [in general conversation, the negative seemed to be 'Nay' rather than 'Nein']. Well, fair enough, but the trouble was that whoever I was talking to seemed to think that was the end of the conversation. I'd asked a question, got an answer, and that was the end of it. Perhaps it was just me, but I seemed to come across this attitude a fair amount over the next week or two. The most irritating was in Stralsund, when I wanted a new gas cylinder. One look at it: 'Nein'. Well, I thought, perhaps one of the others, and a new adapter. I tried to get this over. Nein. Okay then, anywhere else in Stralsund? Nein. Could I get it refilled? Guess the answer. I stomped away thinking that the conversation, such as it had been, was distinctly unhelpful.

My next destination was Kroeslin, which I had been thinking about for winter storage. I'd got a quote at Ueckermunde, but they were already fairly full. Kroeslin was only a few more miles up the channel, but I had to wait for Wolgast bridge opening at 1230. It was quite a brisk day, albeit bright and sunny, and rather than tack down the channel I resorted to motor sailing as my track came further into wind.

What I hadn't quite realised up to then was that Kroeslin is just across the channel from the wartime V2 development establishment at Peenemunde. I diverted a little to look at the harbour there, but there was only a very small boxtype marina, and I wasn't sure about the depths. Kroeslin, on the other hand, is a purpose built modern marina with all the mod cons [and prices to go with it]. There is quite a good system of red and green tags on berths: green means the berth is free and visitors can use it.

Mental note for the future: I really must reconnoitre marinas more thoroughly before choosing a berth. I made the same mistake at Stralsund, by picking the first empty berth I came across, thus giving me a much longer walk than I need have done. I'm lazy when it comes to walking. On the other hand, being a few hundred yards from the loos and showers isn't convenient.

The next day, I took a ferry across to Peenemunde. Peenemunde lies on the island of Usedom, which is now split between Poland and Germany, Poland having taken the former German port of Swinemunde. There are bridges across, but there are also small ferry boats which take people across, this one running principally between Freest and Peenemunde, but also stopping in at Kroeslin.

Peenemunde harbour, with Russian submarine and East German patrol boat. In the background is the powerstation built for the V2 site.

There is little of the old V2 base left now, except the power station which was kept running until fairly recently, and the liquid oxygen [Sauerstoff] plant. This latter is an almost cathedral like building, constructed with robust Germanic efficiency in brick. It was built in the 1930s, bombed by the RAF, blown up by the Russians, yet still stands, almost as impressively as when it was first constructed. If anything will destroy it, it will be the roots of the trees that are growing in the ruins.

In the open space around the power station is a display of mainly East German aircraft and missiles from the Communist era, and inside there are various exhibits, with the obligatory warnings against war. I was reminded of the very loud German lad from Swinoujscie crying in a very loud voice, 'War is shit!'. There is the schizophrenia between fairly honest pride in the work that was done at Peenemunde in the 1930s – and every nation has museums such as this [the Imperial War Museum, for example] – and the knowledge that slave labour was used to manufacture the weapons. And not just slave labour, but labour treated in the most appalling fashion. It is a conflict which I don't think has fully resolved itself in the German mind, and I don't think it ever will. None of it helped, of course, by the way Germany was defeated: the Allied bombing campaign and the barbarity of the Russian conquest. I sometimes think that a lot of EU money going to Eastern Europe is German conscience money.

But enough of politics.

After only a couple of days at Kroslin, I was getting itchy feet again. Another problem was lack of provisions. There was a 'supermarket' in the town, but it sold almost everything apart from food. So where next? I looked at my new harbour guide, and Neuhof seemed to have a nice new marina. Neuhof was up near Stralsund, and to get there I had to get out of the Peenestrom into the Greifswalder Bodden – a 'bodden' being a lake, but open to the sea. The Greifswalder lay between the mainland and the island of Rugen. My journey, however, was to have its excitements.

The day I went aground three times.

Yes, three. I'm not afraid to admit it! The first was my own carelessness. I had just cast off from my berth, then set the boat on autohelm, gently pottering forward, whilst I took in the ropes and fenders. The lagoon in which the marina had been created looked quite large, but had obviously been dredged out to give sufficient depth for yachts. I managed to hit the edge of the dredged area. There was obviously a shelf where the depth went from about 3m depth to 1m. I went from 3knots to 0 in a fraction of a second. [When the boat was later hauled out, I could see where some of the antifouling had been scraped off. The keel had embedded itself to about half a metre depth, and had wedged itself in about 1 metre.]

I tired all the tricks: engine hard reverse, rocking the boat side to side, and so on. Nothing. I put the engine on tickover, and gazed around. Everything was very peaceful and scenic, and there wasn't a soul around. The marina didn't have VHF, and the battery in my mobile was dead.

After about five or ten minutes, a small motor boat came out from the pontoons, obviously going out for a day's fishing. I waved. They ignored me. I waved again. The boat was only about fifty yards away. It disappeared out of the marina. I muttered to myself rather viciously. Fortunately, another boat appeared about ten minutes after that. They came over when I waved, and I threw them a line. They tried pulling me off directly astern, and revved up, but with no success. They then tried pulling at an angle, and again pulling hard. I began to move. The twisting action had broken the suction of the mud. They threw the line back, and I shouted my thanks. Taking more care, I made my way out into the channel.

At the top of the island of Usedom, where the Peene Strom exits into the Greifswalder Bodden, the channel is again very narrow and shallow. At on point there is a right angled turn, and I made my way round. Suddenly the boat began slowing, and the sounder started bleeping. Looking astern at the nearest buoy, I could have sworn I was still into the channel. Fortunately I hadn't touched that hard (and it was thick mud), so I was able to get back into the channel without getting stuck fast.

Once out into the Griefswalder Bodden, things were a lot easier. The sky was blue, the breeze fresh. I set course for the Strelasund, the channel leading up to the city of Stralsund.

Near the entrance to the Strelasund, I saw another yacht heading the same way. I decided to start my own private race. Once in the sound, the channel narrowed again, and turned, so I was now hard on the wind. I know I'd have to tack soon, and ahead was a small headland, behind which was a ferry terminal – the ferry crossed from one side of the sound to the other. I got closer to the headland. The depth alarm sounded. I tacked. What I hadn't allowed for was the underwater spit curving from the headland – curving round so that I was embayed. And, yes, I went aground for the third time that day!

I had just tacked, but even with the wind trying to blow me off, I had to resort to the engine to get clear. Great humiliation.

After that, it was a fairly straightforward journey down the sound, and I stopped to take down the sails as I approached Neuhof. I motored gingerly towards it to check it out. It seemed very tight on space. There might have been a free berth down one of the pontoons but, being singlehanded, I was a little reluctant to go in and investigate. There didn't seem to be an awful lot of room to manoeuvre, and the wind was quite brisk. So, if not here, then where? Another option was to go on further down to Stralsund, and it was still only early afternoon. There was, apparently, a new marina there, one with pontoons [I'd successfully avoided box moorings to date]. The only snag was the lifting bridge – there was a few hours yet to go before it opened.

I motored slowly back into the sound. The wind was blowing straight down, and I had time to kill. I stopped the motor and decided to head down under bare poles, making about two knots. Even so, I arrived by the bridge with almost an hour to spare. One or two other boats jilling about became four or five, which became more than a dozen by the time opening time arrived. One was a large – well, you wouldn't really call it a yacht, more a cross between a sail training boat and a trawler, albeit quite elegant – boat under sail, tacking back and forward, and obviously making the rest of us, sitting there with engines on tickover, rather nervous. She was certainly been well handled, although by now there wasn't a lot of space left for her manoeuvring.

Finally the bridge opened, and we had to wait while a coaster came through. Then the lights stayed red, while all the people on the other side came through. Finally, the lights went green, and it was every man for himself. The large sailing boat had no problem – no one was going to mess with someone that size. For once, I opened up the engine, keeping up with everyone else, just in case we were going to be fighting for the last few places in the marina.

Which turned out to be only about half full. Even so, rather than do a careful recce first, I dived in to a empty slot, which was a mistake. The wind was blowing me off the large finger onto one of the skinny ones – indeed, almost all the fingers along here were of the skinny variety, and they don't really support your weight – as I discovered when I stepped off. The finger sagged down, and all the fenders popped up. The wind was blowing the boat hard onto the metal finger. I struggled to hold it off, and lower some fenders. After a good fight, I got the fenders down, and climbed back on board. The finger rose up again. Now all the fenders were trapped below.

Eventually I sorted things out, but if I'd have thought things through properly, I'd have gone ashore over the bow, fixed the bow lines, and gone from there. As it was, I was perhaps too concerned with the hull rubbing against bare metal, and acted too hastily.

Citymarina Stralsund is well located for the heart of the old city, although there is the usual problem that all the supermarkets are on the outskirts, not easily reached by foot. There are no grocers or delicatessens in the city – perhaps the occasional upmarket pastry shop, but not much more.

There is also a novel – to me, anyway – of paying for all your 'extras', such as shore power, showers and laundry. You get a RFID card from the marina office, and hand over, say, 20 euros. You plug in for shore power. There is a touch sensitive screen on the post with the sockets, which first asks you which your socket is, then how many kilowatt hours you'd like to buy (half a euro per kilowatt hour, by the way). You type in the number, hold your card to the screen, and the card is correspondingly debited (you can reclaim any unspent kilowatt hours on departure). You go into the showers, type the number of the shower stall, how many minutes you want, hold your card up, then dash for the shower, as it starts immediately! In the laundry ... well, you get the idea. I used the laundry quite a bit, as this was to be my last stop, and I didn't really want to leave dirty washing in the boat all over the winter.

My gas bottle, the original from commissioning, ran out soon after arrival. I asked at the marina office where I could get another – they pointed me to a nearby chandlers. I walked over clutching the empty bottle. 'Sprechen sie English?' I asked. She shook her head. 'Nein.' I held up the gas bottle. 'Ein andere?' She shook her head again. 'Nein.' She pointed over to the corner, and I went to have a look. They all had a different fitting. Well, perhaps, they might have an adaptor. I picked one up, mimed screwing on an adaptor, and raised my eyebrows. 'Nein.' Okay then. 'Im Stralsund?' Yes, you guessed it – 'Nein in Stralsund.' I did my best to smile as I walked out.

To be honest, I really only used the gas to boil a kettle, and an idea struck me. Why not buy an electric kettle? Again I trudged the streets of Stralsund, this time trying to find a shop selling electrical appliances. I was on the point of giving up, when, lo and behold, I found one. I went in. 'Sprechen Sie English?' 'Nein.' End of conversation. And I had no idea what the German for kettle was. [Babelfish tells me it's 'kessel'.] I rooted around the shelves while the middle aged lady stood by her counter, hands demurely together, ignoring me. Finally I saw what I wanted, and handed over some notes.

It had a moulded on Continental plug, and the sockets on Prospero were UK type. But – I had had the foresight to bring a UK plug with me, so was able to cut off the Continental one and wire the British one on [Health & Safety?]. Now I could have coffee again.

And it was time again to look at where I was to leave the boat for the winter. Although the people in the marina office had limited English, they were helpful, and suggested a firm about a kilometre away, by the big bridge across the sound. I walked down there, and yes, they could store the boat, and quoted me a very reasonable price. A day or so later, I motored over, and was hoisted out. Then it was a taxi to the railway station, and back home via Hamburg, Brussels and London Waterloo.