The wonderful house we swapped with a German family in the
East near the Baltic Sea came with a boat house and a small craft that didn’t
need a license. Engines over 5 hp on Germany lakes etc. do.
My son and his
friend, strapping young lads that they are, had taken the rowing boat out to
begin with but hubby felt lazy and privileged to have a “motor boat’ at his
disposal .
On our last night, a beautiful warm evening, he got it
started and cleaned it from cobwebs. Normally, I’m not particularly seaworthy
but this I could do, I thought hopping into the vessel.
We went along the little canal that connected to the adjacent
lake where we had done a lot of constitutional walks, passing all these cute
little vacation or weekend houses; datschas - I presume they were called in
the ‘olden days’. Owners were out on their porches barbecuing, having a beer or just sitting out
enjoying the balmy evening. My friendly greetings and “Guten Appetit!” mostly
went unanswered; instead we got stares.
My family had commented on the fact before that the locals
seemed to be rather reserved, looking away or looking at us outright suspiciously.
Hubby had his theories about them being former communists who had lived in a
supervised state where neighbors spied on each other and were naturally
suspicious. Could that be the case almost a generation after the fall of the
Iron Curtain? I wonder. The difference in behavior to other parts of Germany
that I am familiar with was striking, however.
So here we were put-putting along. At a tight spot in the canal we had to slow
down from our snail space to make rooms for 2 canoeists. The engine died.”Not
to worry, there is a second battery. I just have to switch over to that one.”
To be on the safe side we decided not to continue our journey to the lake with
only one battery and turn around instead. But the second battery never started.
The canoeists enquired if we had paddles. I hadn’t yet spotted them, but
gracefully there was a pair on the floor of our boat.
(View from our boathouse onto canal)
(View from our boathouse onto canal)
So paddling it was, back past the houses and people we had
just passed. Their behavior and demeanor had miraculously changed. Some got up
form their seats to throw a funny remark, “Machine kaputt?” or “Need a push?”
Others interrupted their meal to get a good view of the spectacle. All of a sudden we encountered a lot of smiles
and laughter. We are not practiced paddlers…
One older guy, alone on his deck, pointed what looked like
an antique pistol at us, “Money or your life”. He was probably just lonely or
thought he was funny. I started to get peeved. Why had nobody bothered to
engage with us before? There is something about Schadenfreude that we Germans are verifiably good at. The
self-proclaimed pirate invited us to join him. “I’ll throw a couple of bratwurst on the Barbie for when you
return” not realizing that we were on our way back already and wouldn’t paddle
by again. Maybe he’s still standing there, waiting.
It was either that the batteries had not fully charged or
the connections had come loose. We made it back through the sweat of our own
hands. The behavior of our neighbors there remains a mystery, however. To do
the people form Meck Pomm justice, our exchange partners, some of their friends
and neighbor who we met were totally friendly; some even stepped out of their
way to give us a helping hand. It remains a mystery until I get some
enlightening comments from people in the know.
