Day 1

Air / Water temperature: 21°C (14°C at night) / 19°C

Wind direction / Bft: West-northwest / 1-2

Area: WENKENPARK RIEHEN (Weeping willows and jubilant cheer) – Nautical chart showing the route

Combuse: Walking catfish (400 g) remove intestines and fillet. Soak 20 g dried morels according to advise on package, rinse and halve larger specimens. Melt 1 heaped tablespoon of butter in a skillet, add 3 tablespoons flour and briefly. Wisk in 4 dl chicken stock, 1 tablespoon lemon juice and a little lemon zest. On medium heat leave to thicken to make a sauce, stirring all the time with a whisk. Season carefully with 3 tablespoons dry white wine, ½ teaspoon white pepper, 1 pinch salt and additional lemon juice – the sauce needs a accurate balance of acidity, bitterness and tannin. Add morels to the sauce and warm up. Lightly salt and pepper the catfish fillets, fry in a little oil until crispy and add to the sauce. Distribute the sauce into four warmed vol-au-vent puff pastry cases. Serve with broccoli rosettes. (More recipes from the Chief cook of «PS Narina»)

We are now on our way. There’s none of the fanfare that had famously marked the setting sail of ships such as «Normandie» or the «Titanic» – no fireworks during the departure and no brass band, not so much as the ritual release of paper-streamers or showering of confetti. The casting off was an unceremonious affair – at any rate, it was no conscious act, nothing with form or design; rather, it happened quite naturally. Quite like when we are born: a hefty push and we are on the road. Only, in our case the push was so hard that all the plates and glasses came crashing down from the cupboard. That seldom happens during a birth. The glasses are of plastic, fortunately, but most of the plates are not, only a few have therefore survived the event. One can naturally ask oneself then if an individual requires more than one plate – especially on a ship, where unexpected guests are not quite the norm.

When I write «we» although I am the sole passenger on this paperboat, I do so because I am not quite alone. Shortly after casting off, namely, even as I was picking up the shards from the floor, it marched first through the thick hair of my left armpit: a big black ant that had probably crawled on board by accident. Then it appeared casually on my right hand – if it was the same creature, that is. After all, to the human eye, ants have no individual identity. Be that as it may, as long as I don’t see two ants at the same time, I assume that only one has climbed aboard with me. I pondered for a crawling all over my body could possibly turn an «I» into a «we». But then I named the ant Oscar – and that answered the question. My own name I do not need to reveal here, «I» am simply «I» (I have often wanted to do that in the past and now nothing hinders me from doing so). The danger of Oscar addressing me by my name is relatively small, and I normally do not address myself, I simply speak. Moreover, does a guy travelling on his own need a name?

Next day (2)

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