We walk (we have time, we still don't know why we should be there 5 hours before departure) to the check-in with a stack of papers. We get everything back and a few more pieces of paper.
At some point it rumbles, the first cars are allowed on the ferry, we are among them. By now we are ferry professionals, we are briefed, take all our stuff and hope for the best.
Instead of booking a cabin, we hope for cheap last-minute outside cabins at better prices. Because this is what we have learned: booking on the spot is much cheaper. Or you're unlucky and don't get one and spend the night curled up on an armchair somewhere.
Once again we are lucky, get an outside cabin and move with all our stuff (sleeping bags, picnic, laptops etc.) into our flat for 27 hours. After a short walk around the ship (nothing going on, not many people on it, majority truck drivers) we retire, eat fresh ciabatta with the best pesto and fall tired into our bunks.
Gerd does what you do: sleep. I lie awake. The swell is heavy, in my mind I go over the short way to the toilet several times and hope that there are no things in the way that will make me stumble and "lie down". Then I listen to the neighbours. As if they were sitting in our cubicle. I don't understand a word, it's loud and probably Arabic. And they have a lot to say to each other, a lot.
At some point, one after the other takes a shower. Through the ventilation, the noise of conversation is joined by the scents of various shower baths. Later, the scents of deodorants.
The cabin on the other side also seems to be lively, with singing and laughing. The party there is joined by the smell of cigarettes, which finds its way to us through the same ventilation pipes. And I lie awake. And think time and again how nice it would be in Felix, standing on deck D, all alone and without all the sleep-disturbing influences.
Once again I admire Gerd for his semi-functional nose. And for his good sleep.
It's now half past two, and I'm thinking of just "pulling through" and reading until the sun appears over the sea. But I don't really want to do that. In the meantime, it's as hot in the cabin as in a sauna, the windows don't open and my mood is more than questionable.
Then at some point - I don't know when, of course - my mind quiets down and my ears and nose stop sending signals to my brain. I sleep.
Late in the morning we join the men's group in the bistro. Plastic cups filled with a mixture of water and butts decorate the tables. But the coffee is good, we wake up very quickly with it and start the day in the best sunshine, strong swells and men watching football. And sure enough, Switzerland wins against Cameroon! Gerd doesn't quite dare to cheer heartily. So it remains a "hidden" victory in a crowd of Cameroon fans.
Sometime in the late afternoon, the ship rattles briefly (reverse gear?) and an announcement resounds to our ears in Italian, French and Arabic. We learn from the rustling crackling announcement that we will soon be landing. We look out of the window: land in sight! But more about that another time.
Merci for "travelling with us
These weeks we are travelling through Iran. It's possible that we won't be writing posts or that they will be delayed. We first have to see whether we have enough internet or reception and whether it is suitable for us to publish from the country. And whether we will even manage to write down all the fantastic impressions in time.
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