For nearly 6 months I worked with script and storytelling coaches to develop my story, and I was very pleased with the final result.
From Left to Right: Storytellers Toby, Ghassan, Meghna, Chanpone, and The Immigrant Story Founder, Sankar.
Looking back, it is hard to believe I was terribly sick right up to a day before the performance. My throat had been so sore I could barely swallow water, much less food, and lost over 5 pounds. With some good pharmaceuticals, excellent healing food, tender nursing care, and a big boost of adrenaline, one can hardly tell from the video that I had been so ill!
Here is a recording of my story, “Discovering My Story”
My fellow storytellers were so good, I was humbled to be included beside them, and I struggled to feel worthy. We developed a close bond during our journey together. I encourage you to watch their stories too!
“One Voice Brings a Big Change” – Meghna Damani
“I’m Not Supposed To Be Here” – Chanpone Sinlapasai
“Caught Between War and Paperwork” – Ghassan Bin Hammam
A podcast expanding on Ghassan’s extraordinary story can be heard by clicking here.
We made our way looping out of Kappeln east, south, then west back to the port of Eckernförde where our voyage began. I took the wheel for much of the trip, during the mild, gray day.
Taking the wheel one last time
Leaving the mouth of the Schlei (English: Sly Firth inlet) out of Kappeln, Germany
We carefully lowered the sails one last time and neatly secured them with practiced hands.
Folding the sails for the final time
Speaking of hands, I examined the neoprene gloves I had worn on the colder days and noted the damage they suffered protecting my digits from a similar fate.
After unloading all our baggage and leftover food, we had the challenge of fitting it all into the cars we had taken to Eckernförde.
Okay, now can the people fit in there?
Record of all our ports
Then we had to exchange our farewells.
Postlude:
Many people called it “the trip of a lifetime,” but I didn’t want to. I didn’t want to think I wouldn’t get to take a voyage like this again. And indeed, within weeks after the completion of this trip, everyone who had taken it wanted to do it again — and so we will! In August 2024, the Abel Tasman will set sail from Rostock, the same former East German city where I attended university in 1989!
Thank you for reading this series! If you wish to view the other posts, here they are:
The weather in Sønderborg was sunny and mild, and we enjoyed walking around the city. We were moored next to the drawbridge. It would open and we watched a steady stream of yachts, ships, and powerboats arriving and departing.
With the nice weather and lovely harbor town to visit, I expected a smaller audience, but when things started, I was happy to see every passenger and crew member sitting and ready to hear what I had to say.
I began by saying I think it’s human nature to ignore or gloss over stories and experiences that reflect poorly on ourselves, our families, and our country, but we must shine a light on these darker sides if we hope to improve and to avoid repeating the mistakes of the past. I asked for a show of hands who had heard anything about this history, and out of about 17, just 3 hands were raised. Frank (of course), Moritz, who was a Rotary exchange high school exchange student in Texas, and the captain, who remembered a brief mention from a book on U.S. history.
I had to do some serious simplification to keep the presentation under 45 minutes. I again used Deepl.com to help me translate the text, then tweaked it to make it more personal and natural. Although I welcomed interruptions, no one posed a question during the talk, although there were occasional exclamations during some moments.
At the end I received another round of spirited applause, and then the questions. Between the fatigue of thinking in German and expressing more complex thoughts than I’m accustomed to speaking in a foreign language, I was a bit tired. The questions were thoughtful and challenging. A few that I remember:
What happened to your uncles who served? What was their experience after coming home?
What do you feel about the immigration policy along the US-Mexico border?
How could your grandparents and mom forgive the US for their mistreatment?
How and when did the discrimination against Japanese Americans subside?
Did you (Toby) experience discrimination or persecution?
I finally gave up and had to answer some of the questions in English. They all understand and speak English, but I tried to stick with German, dropping an English word here or there when I couldn’t find or was too tired to find a way to describe what I meant only in German.
It’s funny. At moments when I would search for a German word, I gave up and tried to find it in English. But my brain would feel like it was grinding gears switching between German and English. Finding words and synonyms in English usually comes very quickly to me, but during the trip I found it almost impossible to find words in English without a long meditation.
Day 7: Returning to Germany
We set out around 10, with sun, cool wind, and seemingly favorable conditions. Sails were hoisted quickly with familiarity and skill honed through a week of practice. Tons of sailboats accompanied us out of harbor. Rotating 360 degrees and peering to the horizon I could probably count at least 50 vessels, mostly nice sailing yachts, with an occasional sailing ship.
Given the gentle rocking and rolling and relaxed pace, my insufficient previous night’s sleep caught up with me, and I decided to lie down on one of the padded benches in the galley and got a good hour of sleep. When I woke up in time for the lunchtime meal, I was teased that my snoring had been recorded and posted to Instagram. I protested that people might mistake which sounds were the creaking ropes, groaning masts, and me.
I went up to the wheel and saw the captain steering alone, which is rare. Usually there are at least a couple people watching, chatting with him, and angling to take the wheel (like me). I decided to try singing him a funny song in German I’d seen on Facebook about a man with a dog attending a burial of two coffins. That description doesn’t sound auspicious, but the captain laughed as the song progressed and predicted the final line of the rhyming song.
Letztens auf ‘nem Friedhof ist was seltsames gescheh’n, Beerdigung mit zwei Särgen hab’ich so noch nie geseh’n Ein Mann mit einem Hund führt die Trauergäste an dahinter marschierten vierhundert Mann.
Neugierisch bin ich zu dem Mann dann hin, und hab’ ihn gefragt “Wer liegt in der ersten Holzbox drin?” Da seet er: “Meine Frau…” ich sag’ “Oh je, was war der Grund?” Da meint’er “ein Biss von diesem Hund!”
Ich sag’: “Dat tut ma’leid, und in der and’ren Kist?” Da seet’er: “Ihre Mutter, och’ wegen’nem Biss!” So stand et’ geschrieben, im Autopsie-Befund: “Täter war auch hier wieder der Hund!”
Ich hab dem Mann den Arm dann auf de’ Schulter gelegt, ‘ne Frage formuliert, die mich spontan bewegt: “Ist es möglich, dat man sich den Hund mal leihen kann?” Da seet’er: “Klar Jung’, dann stell’ dich hinten an!”
Recently at a Cemetery By Martin Schopps
Recently at a ceremony something strange happened I’ve never seen a funeral with two coffins before A man with dog led the mourners Behind them marched 400 men
Curious, I went up to the man And asked him, “who lies in the first wooden box?” He answered, “my wife.” I said, “Oh gosh, what was the cause?” Then he said, “a bite from this dog.”
I said, “I’m very sorry. And in the other casket?” He said, “her mother — also because from a bite.” In the autopsy was written “The perpetrator, again, was the dog”
Then I put my hand on his shoulder A question formulated spontaneously and I was moved to ask: “Is it possible for one to borrow your dog?” He answered, “sure, kid, go to the back of the line!”
We arrived at Kappeln, our first German port in a week after sailing 47km/29 miles southeast.
There was some festival going on, and as we made our way through the narrow channel marked by red and green buoys, a score or more of sailboats trailed, led, and passed us by. A kitschy sternwheeler, complete with a paddlewheel (turning just for show, not for locomotion) full of partying Germans joined the steady flow of watercraft making their way through the channel. We ended up maneuvering against the pier directly in front of the sternwheeler.
Feline prepares to toss the sternline
The waterfront was covered with booths selling soft ice cream, crepes, and sausages, as well as attempting to lure people in to throw darts at balloons, throw balls into baskets, and so on. A sound stage upstream projected a constant stream of rock music. Closing the doors and windows, one still heard and sometimes felt the constant thrum and incessant beat. We hoped it wouldn’t continue past our late bedtimes.
Windmill at dusk in Kappeln, Germany
Realizing this was our last dinner on the ship, I didn’t notice anyone else making any kind of speech or toast, so I stood up and shakily expressed how I knew I’d love sailing but had no idea how much more I would love it.
Sharing drinks on our last night of the voyage
I knew only Frank but knew his friends would be great. But I had no idea just how wonderful they would be and how much I would enjoy talking with them and getting to know them. I have made a bunch more lifelong friends, and cannot wait to see them again in Germany, the U.S., or anywhere.
Standing on solid ground at Marstal, Denmark was a welcome after the exciting winds and waves that brought us there.
Entering the Seafaring Museum in Marstal, Denmark
We toured a seafaring museum which contained much more than we had time to view.
One room was full of ships in a bottle. I wondered aloud whether the sailors had trouble consuming sufficient amounts of rum to keep the makers supplied with enough empty bottles:
Model of a Dutch flat-bottomed sailing ship“Do you see what I see?”
After the previous exciting day of seafaring, we made languorous progress under mild winds to the tiny island of Avernakø, about 31km/19 miles northwest of Marstal. Having no harbor with space big enough for our schooner, the captain dropped anchor offshore.
Piloting a Zodiac, the captain ferried a portion of us passengers to shore, where we walked past sleepy farms, grazing cattle, and beautiful rolling hills of yellow rapeseed used to make canola cooking oil and biodiesel.
The rocky beach of AvernakøPassing fields of rapeseed with Robert and SebastianAbel Tasman moored offshore from Avernakø, Denmark
After returning to ship, we all got dressed up for the “Captain’s Dinner.” Frank and I agreed before the trip to bring our shiny purple jackets — the same ones we had worn 38 years to a Sadie Hawkins dance. These jackets came from a dance band my father led back in the 50s and 60s.
Day 7: Becalmed Again
On this day we expected mild winds again but hoped to make a longer trip to Sonderborg. In the morning the wind was indeed light, barely enough to nudge us forward at a mere 0.6 knots.
People took the opportunity to jump into the frigid waters – briefly – and some took advantage of the stand-up paddle board. They could not convince me to get in the water. Several of these Germans regularly go swimming first thing every morning and are used to cold water. Watching their faces grow red and how quickly they exited the water assured me there was no way I was going in without a neoprene suit.
Klara takes the plunge in the frigid Baltic
I decided instead to climb the first mast. This time, I sat on the crossbeam for a long time, taking in the sights, as well as shooting a bunch of true bird’s-eye-view photos.
View from atop the foremast
We spied porpoises in the distance. They were too distant and too fast to catch in photos, but we enjoyed watching them through a pair of binoculars we passed around.
The German word for porpoise is Schweinswale, literally “pig whale,” which seems rather unkind to these sleek and intelligent creatures. On the other hand, pigs are very intelligent creatures too, so who am I to judge?
The expected afternoon wind never came, so we powered up the diesel engine and motored for a couple of hours into Sønderborg, completing a distance of 38km/23 miles.
Frank had invited me to prepare a talk about my experience studying in East Germany. Since rain and storms were expected in the evening, he thought few people would want to disembark and this would be a good evening for my lecture.
I had written out my talk using excerpts from my East German Blog, and then run it through deepl.com, an excellent online translation tool (I never use Google Translate anymore). I knew I’d make too many little mistakes (noun gender, verb declensions, adjective endings, etc.) and didn’t want those errors to distract from the body of my presentation.
I was excited to give my talk but didn’t know what the reaction would be. Would they be polite and listen to me, but bored by my reading aloud instead of speaking freely using only notes? Would a lot of my info be old news to many? I wasn’t sure.
I connected my laptop to a big-screen TV in the mess hall to show pictures.
I gave my introduction: how would a dumb American find himself studying in East Germany, and shared seven stories from my blog. I had to concentrate hard to read my German text carefully and sound out some of the tongue-tangling long nouns, so I couldn’t make as much eye contact as I prefer. But when I did, it appeared the audience was rapt, fascinated, and really engaged. They laughed at my self-effacing jokes about stumbling through cultural misunderstandings and language challenges.
When I was done, I received a rousing applause. Frank asked each person to tell the rest if they’d visited East Germany and for how long. Most had only spent days, a weekend, or a week either visiting relatives or sightseeing. Three of our 17 had lived in East Germany. I asked them if they had any corrections or comments on what I had shared. They had a few. Mostly they thought I had been too kind and looked on some of my experiences with rose-colored glasses.
After the talk, I was humbled by how many people came up to compliment me on the presentation. They said they had no idea about most of the stuff I talked about and were filled with wonder at my experience. There was a poignancy and irony that some American kid had seen and experienced more of the former East Germany than they had. I knew more about the experience of their brethren and sistren living next door from my one semester. They also complimented me on how easy my presentation was to follow, the humor, and just how enthralled they had been. That, I didn’t expect.
About six stayed after, and a spirited discussion about East vs. West Germany ensued. My brain was tired from the exertion, so I wasn’t able to follow it quite so closely. One thing I found interesting was the fact they find current German politics continue to follow former east-west lines, 34 years after the fall of the Berlin Wall.
Day 5: A New Speed Record En Route to Marstal
The weather forecast again threatened rain on this day, but it also promised strong and favorable winds.
The captain let me take the wheel for the first couple of hours, and we hit 9.5 knots, a full knot faster than our previous top speed.
The wind grew stronger, and the captain took the helm while I joined others in pulling lines to adjust the sails. The deck was rolling and sometimes you lost your footing while trying to pull on the taut ropes.
With adjusted sails, stronger winds, and the captain at the helm, we achieved 10.4 knots, which would be our top speed for the whole trip.
The ship listed far to the side, and waves sometimes splashed over the lower deck. A container ship going in the opposite direction gave us some pretty exciting wakes and splashes. The great ship pitched and rolled over the waves. A few people susceptible to seasickness didn’t enjoy this day the way I did.
During this leg it became clear why the portholes were fixed shut. The rushing and roiling water made each porthole look like the window of a front-loading washing machine.
Although it remained mostly sunny all day, it was definitely colder than the previous day. Many people stayed inside the galley for long stretches. It was funny to see people walking tilted to one side. I suggested all the women should be renamed either Eileen, or Patsy InKline.
After a long day of high, favorable winds, we set a distance record to reach Marstal, Denmark, a trip of 101km/62 miles, nearly twice the previous day.
The weak, unfavorable winds of the prior day meant that to circumnavigate Fyn we’d have to motor 40 miles north. And even then, we’d be dependent upon favorable winds for our return. We decided to scrap that plan and on the third day chose to sail due east to Svendborg, Denmark, a trip of just 30km/18 miles.
During our gentle sail, I took a nice nap in the bowsprit netting.
This relaxing stretch also gave my German friends time to teach me “Doppelkopf” (“double head”) which is a very complex, very German card game:
Weird collection of cards: 10 through Ace, twice
Different card order, point-wise: A = 11 points, 10 = 10, K = 4, Q/D = 3, J/B = 2
Different order of card strength (in descending order): 10 of hearts, Q/D (clubs, spades, hearts, diamonds, respectively), J/B (clubs, spades, hearts, diamonds, respectively), A, 10, K of diamonds
Everything listed above is trump
Everything else (A, 10, K except the above) is not trump
You play with a partner, but in each hand you don’t know who your partner is. Whichever two people hold a Queen of Clubs become partners — and of course if you have both Queens of Clubs, there’s a whole different rule ….
Anyway, I had learned and really enjoyed Skat 34 years ago when I studied in Germany. Doppelkopf is more complex, but fortunately some of the rules from Skat helped me learn this crazy game. I grew to love it and played it many times during the rest of the trip.
As we approached Svendborg, we had to pass under a bridge. Although our captain assured us there was plenty of clearance above our masts, it sure looked like we would hit the span.
Approaching the bridge before SvendborgPassing under the bridge
After docking in Svendborg, we enjoyed some Danish ice cream, then walked around the city to take in the sights.
Abel Tasman docked in Svendborg, DenmarkStreets of SvendborgBob mans the grill
Day 4: Flying to Nyborg, Denmark
I think it worked out great that our first few days were mild and calm as we got used to the lines, sails, and routines. On this day we had strong, favorable winds and set a new distance record.
Raising the sails departing Svendborg
Sailing out of Svendborg, we had to sail through several S-turns between red and green buoys. I let the captain know I wanted to steer and was surprised when he put me on the tiller immediately. Not only did I have to steer the ship through the turns, but there was also a current that caused the ship to slide to the side. Winds were weak and intermittent at this point as tall trees on nearby tiny islands blocked nice, consistent winds, and I struggled as the ship would swing left and right with the changing winds and currents.
When we neared the final, sharp turn to the north up the big channel between the big island of Fyn and the long skinny island of Langeland, the winds and shifting currents were insufficient for us to complete a clockwise 270-degree turn. The captain fired up the diesel engines. He let me steer the big rotation of the ship, and then we caught the wind.
So strong was the wind that we didn’t even raise our main sail, and the secondary sail was hoisted only to about 85%. Our three foresails were opened, and man did we cook! Previous days we achieved maybe 5 knots at best. Today we hit 8.5, and it felt like we were flying.
Other sailboats were out, and one was trailing us. To my surprise it could not overtake us. She simply followed diagonally behind us. She had both her sails aloft, although, like us, her main sail wasn’t fully hoisted. Probably the winds would have been too strong for her to attempt to apply full power. We powered forward, enjoying the speed and relatively smooth and minor rocking and rolling. The winds eased us down to about 6-7 knots, and then the sailboat was able to overtake our lumbering mass.
We arrived in Nyborg ahead of schedule around 3pm having traveled a record 51km/32 miles. Although the forecast threatened rain between 2-4pm, we only got a couple drops.
In Nyborg, I saw a self-service kayak rental. In a grocery store, I also spied Aviation Gin, produced in my home city of Portland, Oregon. It was selling for 299 Danish Kroner, which is about US$42. I also saw a special discount alcohol display selling Bombay Sapphire Gin for half that price.
Each day after breakfast, the captain would gather us and show us where we were, and what the forecast was — specifically, the wind strength and direction. He would then tell us which destinations he thought were reachable and offer his recommendation. He loves sailing the Baltic Sea and is familiar with many of the ports, so we always accepted his recommendation.
Captain Fabian presents his recommendations for the day
Originally, we had hoped to circumnavigate the Danish island of Fyn, which is right in the middle of Denmark. But that trip would require favorable winds, and we were to learn that the winds don’t always heed the forecast.
All the ports we visited during this voyage
Instead, we sailed around the southern side of Fyn, visiting several quaint small ports and islands in the area. Heading into port, we’d lower and secure sails, and the captain fired up the 318hp diesel motor to bring us into dock. The following morning we’d motor out of port before hoisting sails and catching the wind.
The first two days were lovely and sunny, with mild winds. Our big ship cruised smoothly along at about 4-8 knots.
Day 1: Sailing to Maasholm
Our first day we headed north, sailing about 5 hours and 38km/23 miles to the German port of Maasholm. So small was the port that three tall ships had to tie up side by side like a whale sandwich.
Our ship sandwiched between two others in Maasholm, Germany
The captain pointed out some Dutch flat-bottomed sailing ships. They are easily recognized by the large leeboards, or pivoting keels. Like a centerboard, the keel can be hiked up in shallow waters. Raised, it looks a wing affixed to the side of the hull.
Dutch flat-bottomed sailing ship with its distinctive leeboard
Walking around the historic fishing town, I admired the lovely, thatched roofs and found a cute little bakery. Despite the excellent breakfast I knew was waiting for me on board, I couldn’t resist buying a couple of sweet baked goods.
Thatched roofs in Maasholm, Germany
Day 2 we continued northward. I asked to take the wheel, and the captain immediately turned it over to me.
My first of many times at the wheel
Steering a 132-foot-long, 21-foot-wide sailing ship takes quite some getting used to. Imagine steering a semi-truck with at least two trailers. Every time you turn the wheel even slightly, it takes about 30 seconds before the truck starts to turn. By then, you are already turning the wheel back, anticipating an overcorrection.
So you turn left, and 30 seconds later the ship starts turning, and you are already turning the wheel right to prevent the ship from turning too far to the left. Then repeat on the opposite side. It is like steering a whale along a never-ending slow-motion serpentine course.
We made decent progress most of the morning, but the wind was weak and not in a favorable direction. Finally, the wind died down. I then decided to ask for something else I really wanted to do: to climb the mast.
Beginning my ascent
Again, the captain readily agreed, and within minutes I was in a full harness, clipped in, and scaling the rope ladder up the main mast, which is about 29 meters/95 feet tall.
The rope ladder consisted of two taut steel cables with rope rungs strung between them. The higher I climbed, the narrower the two cables became, to the point that the rope rungs were maybe 5 inches wide.
It was strenuous, and I was huffing and puffing by the time I reached the steel crossbeam, upon which I sat for a moment, taking in the beautiful panorama before coming down.
POV video of my climb to the top (7:40 long)
Once I was down, several of my companions decided to follow in my vertical footsteps, taking advantage of the calm waters, blue skies, and beautiful views.
The captain also decided this would be a good time to do a man-overboard drill, which turned out to be a good exercise because everything went wrong. A floating ring was thrown overboard, a warning bell sounded, and all the passengers assembled. I was assigned to keep an eye on the ring (the “man overboard”) while the captain, a couple passengers, and a crew were supposed to rescue the ring.
Lowering the dinghy — just before the spill
First, as the inflatable dinghy was lowered with one of the crew in it, the small boat suddenly dropped one side, spilling the gas canister overboard and nearly sending the crew member swimming. The boat was lowered onto the water and righted itself, but the gas can promptly disappeared under the boat, and although our forward movement was slow, the crew couldn’t pull it back out. After several machinations, the gas can was finally dislodged by pushing an oar under the dinghy. By this time, the captain was certain that the gas was fouled with water, so the dinghy couldn’t be motored to rescue the ring that was slowly shrinking in the distance.
That meant we’d have to steer the whole 132-foot ship close to the ring and let the crew in the dinghy use a long gaff to get it. Even on smooth water with almost no wind, motoring a 132-foot ship close enough to a floating ring is like trying to park an elephant between motorcycles, and it took a couple circles to finally complete the task.
Klara and Sebastian finally complete the rescue mission
After a close inspection, it was determined that the initial spill of the dinghy was caused by one small bolt that completely broke and dumped one side of the boat.
The winds never came back, so we opted to motor over to the small Danish island of Lyø, completing a trip of about 55km/34 miles.
Thatched roofs on Lyø, Denmark
Walking the island we admired many more old buildings with thatched roofs, farms and fields, and an ancient windmill with no sails. We saw large jackrabbits chasing each other, domesticated ducks, and raptors patrolling the skies.
We encountered the neolithic Klokkenstenen (“Bell Stone”), dating back to the 4th millennium BC. These boulders were stacked in such a way that striking the Bell Stone with a hand-held stone sounds remarkably like a tolling bell.
Last May I took part in a wonderful sailing voyage on the Abel Tasman, a twin masted schooner.
The Abel Tasman
My friend of 38 years, Frank, invited me to join 16 of his closest friends. He had been a guest on the same tall ship the previous year and decided for his birthday he wanted to invite his friends to sail.
It had been decades since I’d gone sailing. In high school, I sailed a Pelican sailboat in front of my home frequently. I can’t remember sailing since.
The small sailboat I sailed in high school
I’ve often imagined how fun it would be to go on a multi-day sailing cruise, perhaps up the Oregon and Washington coast to the Queen Charlotte Islands in British Columbia. But I have neither the skills, crew, nor craft to do it. So, when Frank invited me, I leapt at the opportunity!
Our Ship
Abel Tasman, Dutch seafarer and explorer
The Abel Tasman is named after the 17th century Dutch seafarer and explorer who reached Tasmania and New Zealand. It is from him the name Tasmania originates. The ship is 110 years old and 40.5 meters/132 feet long. It can sleep up to 30 passengers, although we were just 17.
The ship was run by only a captain and two young women as crew. We provided the muscle to raise and lower sails, prepare and serve meals, and clean. We were welcome to take the wheel, which I did many times.
We met the ship in Eckernförde, Germany, about 30 miles from the border of Denmark.
Our cabins were small as expected. Each had a sink, but to my surprise, also a small private shower stall.
My cabin
The galley (kitchen) was well appointed, at least to my eyes.
Up a tight spiral staircase was the mess. This was where we ate our meals, relaxed indoors, played cards, and socialized.
Here is a video walk-through of the ship:
We had developed a meal plan in the preceding months, and at the dock we loaded crates of fresh produce, dry goods, and everything we planned to cook and eat. There was a large refrigerator, freezer, and pantry below deck, and on deck were several large storage containers for all the food.
Loading flats of food and provisions
The Passengers
I was the only American in the group. The majority were German, of course, friends from throughout Frank’s life going back to childhood. Many were from Berlin and Hamburg. One family was from Bavaria, and one individual was Swiss.
Frank (far left), and friends from the UK, Germany, and Switzerland
The captain was a 29-year-old Swiss man. He’d been sailing professionally for a decade, and the two women crew were German.
Captain Fabian and his crew: Feline and Klara
Everyone spoke German and English, although I endeavored to speak only German during the trip. I pride myself on my accent, but I have forgotten so many words and my grammar has gotten really rusty in the decades since I studied in Germany.
Blatant Calm 