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September 9, 2000
Kiel Canal
We've left Hamburg and now we're motoring up the Kiel Canal, which cuts across the Duchy of Saxe_Coburg in Germany right below Denmark. They dug about 96 kilometers by hand back around the 1870's, but it's nice and flat, so it wasn't much trouble. They have canals and locks all over the place here in Europe because barge transport is so prevalent. It adds to the laid back, Old World ambiance.
As we tootle along, we can watch the sheep and cattle in the fields, see the swans and coot along the river reeds, smell the unaccustomed scent of fertilizer, or wave to the genial Burgers as they sip their leibfraumilch beneath the linden trees. Amid the bucolic splendor, an occasional tanker or container ship passes the other way and towers over the countryside fully filling his side of the canal
Even though the canal is a straight shot and gentle as a mill pond, German law requires us to carry a pilot the whole way. They change pilots midway, and that's when we picked up Christian Plaas.
As usual, he had his videocam to his eye when we first made him out on the pilot boat, recording our every move for posterity. We loaded our new pilot, Christian, and Emma, his assistant, and his camera ("Careful!"), and a huge trunk of attachments he never opened. Christian is quite well known in these parts for his documentaries, and he expects to sell this one to a lot of public TV stations across Europe, spreading Pride II's message of goodwill farther than we could ever hope to by ourselves.
Without counting the TV shows or Jan's and Lee's logs (and this one), so far we've touched 43,083 lives this season. "Touching lives" is schoonerese for holding open houses. When you step on the boat, a crewmember at the gangway clicks a little adding machine in the palm of his/her hand, welcomes you, makes sure you don't fall, and you become a statistic. If you show up at all, we've touched your life, and if you buy a tote bag or T-shirt, why, we've changed your life forever. We answer the same questions over and over (there are 13 crew, the masts are Douglas Fir), and the little children always call down the cowl ventilators. Occasionally, we squirt them with a water pistol, which makes them laugh delightedly.
For a deeper touch, sometimes corporations charter the boat for dockside receptions. Then they get half the crew all dressed up in ties and blazers to schmooze with the guests (13, Douglas Fir) and share our youthful idealistic perspective.
This, as far as I can tell, is when Pride does her real business. The Port of Baltimore will fly some executives out and they will talk to the local executives about using our harbor to ship their goods to America. I suppose million dollar deals are closed on our quarterdeck unbeknownst to the crew who are, let's face it, window dressing.
But the next, and best, level of lifetouching, is the guest crew who actually work and live with us as we go from port to port and see us without our party faces on. They stand watch, steer, and even do dishes. They experience when the boat is bumpy or when there is no wind at all as we grimly motor to our next stop. These are the lives we really do touch. It can be extraordinary to see how five days at sea can affect some people.
Which brings us back to Christian Plaas. From Bremerhaven to Hamburg, he would stalk the boat, poke his camera into everybody's faces, and ask questions over and over ("Douglas Fir, Christian"). When it got bumpy going into the Elbe river, he got sick, puked over the side, and kept right on filming. He just popped back here on the canal for some finishing touches and to drop us off a rough cut. When he shook hands and wished us good winds, darned if he didn't have tears in his eyes. We make jokes about touching lives, but our own lives are touched as much as anybody else's.
As a cook, I rely on shore people to help me find food. Sometimes it's a ship's agent whom we pay, sometimes a volunteer liaison representing whatever festival we're attending, sometimes it's just somebody who likes windjammers and saw our masts when we came in. Sometimes, somebody will come out of nowhere, go drinking with us, perhaps cut our hair, and leave a lasting impression. Go figure.
Now, Jon Mitchell, AKA Super-Tuff, has finished his hitch and is going back to the states to sail Spirit of Massachusetts. In a day or two, Jesse will be gone, and after him Sinker.
Crew life is comparable to family life in that we all live together, eat together, hear each other snoring at night, and sometimes have to make an effort to get along. But then, a crewmember's contract will expire, and the next day he/she is half a world away. In a few months, we'll make our grand entrance to Baltimore, take off the spars, put up the greenhouse, and go our separate ways.
But let's not get maudlin. I picked up some bright orange physalis in Hamburg. They come from Columbia and seem to be related to cherry tomatoes but much sweeter, with a berrylike finish. Also, I got some kiwis from New Zealand, little smooth skinned ones that can be eaten like grapes. Then there's the eerily beautiful green cauliflower, which tastes just like a normal cauliflower. I think I've got a picture of them someplace.
That's it for now, see you next week!
Andy the Cook
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