Summary: The parallels between video poker and Facebook, how they manipulate engagement and perception, which is why I avoid both
I recently was in Las Vegas to celebrate a family member’s birthday.
I’ve never been lured to gamble, especially by any video poker machine.
If I’m with someone who really wants me to take part, I might insert a bill and play it until it is spent. I don’t expect to win anything and consider it just an expensive video arcade game. On the extremely rare moment where I win something more than my initial investment, I immediately cash out, even if it’s just a few bucks.
Tripoli game mate
When I was a kid, our family enjoyed playing Tripoli, and in the past I’ve enjoyed playing Texas Hold-em with friends (for chips, never for real money). I remember my parents playing Backgammon for years, getting a bit bored with the predictability of their games, but then being reenergized when they discovered the doubling cube (used for betting) and playing for pennies, nickels, and dimes.
I’ve imagined getting into Blackjack. The odds, if you are skilled, are less tilted against the gambler, and there is the human interaction with the dealer and other players. But I’ve never taken the time to really study the game. Furthermore, I’m intimidated to do anything beyond playing for chips with friends since I’m unlikely to find Blackjack games with a nickel or dime ante.
When I see video poker machines, the psychology major in me sees devices designed and programmed to play on the flaws in our brain and perceptions. Whether they are bugs, or evolutionary features that served us in prehistory (but not today), we are primed to be fooled.
For example, if you were to flip a coin, and by chance it landed heads 7 times in a row (a 1 in 128 chance; unlikely, but possible), many people would strongly expect the eighth coin toss to come up tails. But the chances of that individual toss would still be 50-50.
Magicians, too, utilize our perceptions and logic to amaze us with slight of hand and logic that confuses and confounds us.
So do video poker machines. They are programmed to play on our flawed logic and perception. Lose several games in a row, and many expect, “oh, the next game has to be a winner!” Every so often, the game may give you a win, giving you that spurt of adrenaline and dopamine. Win big, and lights flash and sounds blare, catching the attention of those around you, adding to their excitement (and anticipation of their own potential good fortune).
I remember Neil deGrasse Tyson telling a story about a large convention for physicists or some similar scientific discipline that took place in Las Vegas. He alleged that that week was one of Las Vegas’ worst weeks and that the convention was prohibited from coming to Las Vegas again. Apocryphal or not, the message was that people who understand math or human psychology are less likely to be lured by the siren call of video poker machines.
Okay, so what the heck does this have to do with Facebook?!?
For decades, Facebook (now Meta) has been one of the most popular social media platforms worldwide. One recent report claims there are 2.11 billion users who actively use it daily, and over 3 billion who use it monthly.
I remember holding out joining Facebook, but finally caving in late 2008. I became an active user for many years, but in 2019, decided to quit. I wrote my reasons why here. But I kept lurking, and I remained active in some private Facebook groups (for family, classmates, and my karaoke group).
Yes, but what has this to do with video poker?
Facebook/Meta needs people to engage, and has found the best way to grab and hold eyeballs and get people to engage is to provoke them. Its algorithms promote the posts most likely to arouse anger and frustration. That will get people to punch the like/anger reaction buttons, post comments in favor or against, and engage in back-and-forth debates. And Facebook has made the conscious decision to remove the last semblance of fact-checking.
So, video poker machines manipulate us, luring us with flashing lights, animated videos, and sound effects, ensnaring us into engaging with the enticement of possible winnings, whereas Facebook manipulates us into engaging by provoking our righteous anger and indignation, our desire to passionately defend our views and beliefs, and attack those who disagree with us.
I choose not to engage in either. I’ve long avoided video poker gambling, and am now completely removing myself from Facebook Meta. I believe there are better ways to communicate my views and to connect with friends and family, without my posts being manipulated and curated by a for-profit data-collecting entity.
Here is what I posted on 2-20-2025, my last public post on Facebook Meta:
In October 2019, I decided to quit Facebook. I stopped posting, commenting, and reacting publicly. I explained my reasons in a Facebook post (Oct 30, 2019) and in a linked blog post.
I broke my social media fast in 2020 for a couple months at the beginning of the pandemic, posting videos of music and hope during the start of that dark time. It was my valiant attempt to spread hope and light. That lasted only a few months and I went publicly silent again in June, 2020.
This is my first public post since June, 2020, and it will be my last on Meta.
I didn’t completely quit Facebook, however. I continued to host and post in private groups (family, classmate, my karaoke circle). And I continued to use FB Messenger, also used by so many of my friends all over the world.
I silently watched FB, sometimes reaching out privately to friends and family in response to something they posted. And of course I appreciated reminders of friends’ birthdays and other events. I also joined Instagram, enjoying sharing and viewing beautiful and funny images.
But now I am going to completely give up Facebook, Facebook Messenger, and Instagram. All the reasons that pushed me to go silent publicly five and a half years ago have only gotten worse — by a lot.
Meta algorithms continue to foment anger, division, and hatred by pushing and spreading posts that provoke. The previous systems to fact-check, as weak and imperfect as they were, have completely been removed. Posts by family and friends are buried amid advertisements and “promoted” posts, despite my regular hours-long efforts to block and reject unwanted advertisers and unrequested media outlets.
I cannot contribute to this system, which at best, shows my tacit acceptance and support, and at worse, contributes to, promotes, and legitimizes this system.
Socrates is supposed to have instructed us to ask ourselves these questions before speaking: “Is it true; is it kind; or is it necessary?” I try (and frequently fail) to follow this directive. But Facebook Meta, by design, promotes and pushes the exact opposite. This is why I am finally, completely quitting Facebook, FB Messenger, and Instagram.
If you want to follow me, you can read and bookmark my blogs link here:
If you want to communicate with me, contact me through my blog or LinkedIn (as well as email and SMS text). I have no plans to join an alternative social media platform.
Be safe, stay in touch, and be the change you want to see in the world.
Mom and I standing with Rep. Mari Watanabe on the floor of the Oregon State House of Representatives
Mom and I were invited to the Oregon state capitol yesterday as guests of State Representative Mari Watanabe, who represents the 34th district (Bethany, Cedar Mill, Rockcreek, Tanasbourne, etc.). Watanabe is the first Japanese American to serve in the Oregon Legislature.
Rep. Watanabe gives her speech on the floor of the Oregon State House
Representative Watanabe gave a brief speech on the house floor in acknowledgement of Day of Remembrance, which remembers the day when FDR signed Executive Order 9066, which precipitated the forced removal of 120,000 Japanese Americans from their homes and into concentration camps during WWII.
Watanabe’s parents and family were incarcerated in Manzanar, and she invited my mom as a survivor of the camps to bear witness.
After watching the entire session of the house, many house members and their staff greeted us and thanked us for coming. We then retired to Rep. Watanabe’s office and talked over lunch before the representative had to leave for committee meetings.
Watanabe’s chief of staff is the daughter of a classmate with whom I attended kindergarten through most of high school. I even played music for her wedding! She was a great host and tour guide for us.
My workplace hosted a chili and soup cookoff, and the soup I prepared won the soup category! The recipe is below, and it can easily be prepared gluten-free if desired.
Chicken with Wild Rice Soup
Ingredients: 2 quarts chicken stock (store bought or homemade) 1 head of garlic Olive oil Butter 1 cup wild rice cooked in 2 cups of water and 1/2 teaspoon of salt 2 cups cooked white rice 1 stalk celery 1 carrot 1/2 medium yellow onion 1 parsnip (optional) 1 teaspoon Marjoram (fresh or dry) 1 teaspoon Thyme (fresh or dry) 1 teaspoon Lemon Thyme (optional) 1/4 cup all-purpose or GF flour 1 cup heavy cream 2 Tablespoons fresh parsley chopped finely 2 cups shredded cooked chicken (carefully remove any bits of gristle or small bones) Salt Pepper
Directions: Pour 2 tablespoons olive oil into small oven-safe dish. Cut head of garlic across the middle/equator. Place cut side down of garlic halves into oil. Cover with foil. Bake at 325 degrees F for 30 minutes until garlic is soft. Set aside to cool. Remove garlic cloves from husk.
Chopping the veggies in the food processor
While garlic is baking, chop celery, carrot, medium onion, and optional parsnip finely, or process into small pieces in a food processor.
In large, heavy pot over medium heat, add 2 tablespoons of oil olive and 2 tablespoons of butter. Once butter is melted, add chopped vegetables and sauté stirring occasionally. Cook for 5-10 minutes until onions appear translucent. Add marjoram, thyme, optional lemon thyme, 2 teaspoons salt, 1/2 teaspoon fresh ground pepper and stir. Add flour and stir until you cannot see the flour anymore.
Add chicken stock. Stir well. Heat to a simmer (small bubbles), stirring occasionally. Add cooked white rice and stir. Bring back up to a simmer.
Blending garlic, cream, and soup in the blender
Ladle a cup of the soup into a blender. Add the roasted garlic cloves and heavy cream. Blend together until smooth. If you want your soup to be thicker, ladle more soup into the blender and blend until smooth. Pour blended mixture back into the pot.
Once desired thickness is achieved, add the cooked wild rice, chicken, and fresh parsley and mix well. Bring back to a simmer. Taste for seasoning and adjust if necessary.
Last weekend was filled joy, connection, and important messages.
We started our weekend with a visit to the PSU Farmers Market, the largest farmers market in Portland. It operates year-round. My 92-year-old mom had flown in from southern Oregon, and we enjoyed admiring, buying, and eating the beautiful fresh produce, baked goods, and savory entrées from multiple cuisines.
Saturday night I was one of four featured storytellers for The Immigrant Story. This non-profit organizes produces beautiful shows featuring live storytellers and musicians with the stated mission to “document, narrate and curate stories about immigrants in order to promote empathy and advance an inclusive community.”
I was humbled to share the stage with 3 other amazing storytellers from Laos, Afghanistan, and the Democratic Republic of Congo. The second half of the program featured the absolutely amazing music group Seffarine, headed by Moroccan Lamiae Naki and Dutch-American Nat Hulskamp. A recording of the event will eventually be posted on the Immigrant Story website and Facebook page.
I tell my story of struggling and finding peace with my identity as a multiracial AmericanWith fellow storytellers Jeanette, Mohsin, and TocMohsin tells about narrowly escaping the Taliban in AfghanistanJeannette describes escaping violence and shattered dreams, finding empowerment in the U.S.Toc tells of challenge and success growing up as an immigrant in CA and AK, SeffarineMulti-instrumentalist Bobak SalehiSeffarine founding members, Lamiae Naki and Nat Hulskamp
I highly recommend attending The Immigrant Story Live events which happen a couple times a year. They also have an excellent website with videos, podcasts, and more.
Sunday afternoon, mom and I gave a book talk at the Tigard Library to promote her recently published memoir, From Thorns To Blossoms. The crowd was large and included my high school librarian, retired musicians friends, and classmates. One attendee was a woman who was born at the Minidoka “Relocation Center.” Another was the son of a man who taught school at the Tule Lake “Relocation Center.”
The enthusiastic crowd lined up to purchase copies of mom’s book and to have them signed, and I quickly ran out of all the copies we had brought to sell.
If you are interested in purchasing mom’s book, we encourage you to inquire at your local independent bookstore. If you want to know about any upcoming book talks or how to order your own copy online, visit my website.
Finally, Saturday evening, I took mom and my fiancé to a dance party celebrating the 34 years my ballroom dance instructor has been teaching. Linda Springstead offers dance classes in both Aloha and Parkrose, and I recommend her highly for both novices and more advanced dance students.
Mom and I danced at least 3 foxtrots. Our height difference didn’t pose a challenge as she was used to it: my late father was 14 inches taller than she. Not bad for 92 years old! May I be as energetic and spry when I reach 70!
Despite the endless parade of racism, violence, and political ugliness in the current news, one can find examples of connection, gratitude, abundance, and love if one looks for it. Even better, even the smallest steps one can take toward peace, connection, justice, and love can start ripples that can lead to profound impacts. I encourage you to do your part.
Usually, we waited until after breakfast before getting underway, but the forecasted northwesterly winds were only supposed to last a while before turning directly westerly. Since we needed to go west to return to Rostock, we had to take advantage of the wind before it basically stopped us in our watery tracks.
So, on our last day, we set sale at 8am before breakfast.
As we neared Warnemünde, we saw the familiar green lighthouse, the tall Hotel Neptun and the distinctive curved roof of the Teepott Warnemünde restaurant.
Motoring up the Warnow river, we passed shipyards with huge pillars mostly likely destined to be giant wind turbine towers. I spoke with the captain and his first mate, who both were against wind turbines located in the seas. I asked them what their objections were.
They explained that these wind turbines have a lifespan of about 10-20 years. When they wear out, the turbines are removed, but the towers are left standing. Since they are often in international waters, no one feels responsible to remove or recycle them, and the remain, becoming useless obstacles and possible dangers to oceangoing traffic.
We passed massive cruise ships, and a sailing ship named the “J.R. Tolkien”
Finally, we found our mooring. When we had departed from Rostock, the docks and river were crowded with yachts and sailing vessels visiting for the “Hansa Fest.” It looked pretty subdued in comparison.
We tied up, unloaded our baggage and the not insubstantial amount of leftover food. And we said our goodbyes.
Postscript: It took at least a week before I didn’t feel the earth rocking and swaying beneath my feet. It was especially bad at night or in enclosed areas. I’d walk and feel like I was crossing a floating dock. One evening I was sitting in a restaurant and looking up, fully expected the lights hanging from the ceiling to start swinging.
The Abel Tasman will sail again next year, this time from Poland to Eckernförde, Germany. As tempting as it is to join the crew again, I suspect this will be my last voyage for now.
After a couple days on Hiddensee, the captain recommended we sail part way to Rostock and anchor offshore again. Although we’d had light and favorable winds today, he was doubtful about the winds on our final push back to Rostock. So we sailed 32 nautical miles west and anchored near Prerow Beach, around the corner from Wustrow, where we’d anchored the first night of our voyage.
Dinner was a delicious leg of lamb, potatoes, and sauerkraut.
Although I knew most of the passengers from last year’s voyage, I got to know several of them much more this year.
Annie and I had a really nice discussion with passenger who “sells trains” for his work. Really. A recent contract for a sale of trains in Middle East including building many modern trains, including high-speed trains in the desert. The biggest technical challenges will be for the high-speed trains to contend with desert winds, heat, and sand.
Fellow passengers enjoying one of our last sunsets on board
They do do business in the U.S. There is a large manufacturing plant on the West Coast, which uses all U.S. made parts and materials, which is great. On the other hand, he says that U.S. manufacturing requirements for trains are completely different, requiring unique all-steel construction and heavier-than-necessary gauges of steel. In his opinion, this greatly increases the cost and weight with no improvement in safety or efficiency. But trains are trains, and the more of them in service (instead of cars) will lessen the impact on the environment and increase overall safety.
Our friend told us about another friend of his who works in traffic safety. That guy and his small team can produce mathematical analyses about the safest roads and how to design roads, streets, signage, etc., to reduce risk. When his son asked him what he does for work, he answered, “I help save lives.” He was able to mathematically calculate the hundreds of thousands of lives his work saves every year.
Leg of lamb dinnerAnnie demonstrates how she sharpens a knife
After hearing about Annie’s work preparing meals for cancer patients, our friend wished aloud that he could tell his sons how many lives he saves through his work. He knows trains are safer, more efficient, and produce less pollution – even though he calls trains “19th century technology” – so the calculation is possible. In any case, he both loves and is proud of his work.
For our last dinner together, we were blessed with a beautiful sunset and calm seas and winds, perfect for group photos.
Vitte, Hiddensee Island, Germany Saturday, August 17, 2024, 6:30am
This was the next to last day we were aboard the Abel Tasman. The following day we would be returning to Rostock to disembark from our weeklong voyage around the Baltic. Our fate was literally tied to the weather, taking us up to Denmark and back to the northeastern coast of Germany.
Sunrise anchored off the northern tip of Hiddensee
I love this time of day. Barely anyone was stirring and the only sounds in the harbor were the literal early birds.
We’ve been here at Hiddensee Island for a couple days. Day before last we sailed south from Klintholm, Denmark and anchored off the north tip of this island.
Hiddensee is a narrow strip of an island running north to south and just west of the big German island of Rügen. I visited both during my time here in 1989. It is home to a big natural preserve, and I have vague memories and a couple black and white photos walking on this island and listening to a biologist talk about the avian wildlife here.
Originally, Hiddensee was a summer vacation site for powerful people in the party and government of East Germany, both for its beauty and its location. Any places near the former East German border were usually reserved for the “150% believers” in the former regime since they were less likely to try to escape – and more likely to report any others they saw attempting to do so. I was told there is a graveyard on at least one Danish island dedicated to former East Germans who tried to cross the Baltic to escape and perished.
These days, Germans from all over come to vacation, enjoying the car-free (except for maybe a repairman, fire engines, and a local bus) and protected island. People walk up and down the island, ride rented bikes or enjoy renting horse-drawn carriages. It is so small that finding a berth big enough for our ship. The captain said he’d called the harbormaster at Kloster, the nicest town on the island, and the latter was totally stressed out. Asked when we might find a berth, the beleaguered harbormaster grumbled, “next year!”
So, we anchored off the northern tip of the island, enjoying calm waters and almost no wind, and at night we could see Hiddensee’s northernmost lighthouse blink every 8 seconds. Before going to bed, I finally was able to play a game of Skat. After a couple small errors, my memory and skills returned (after years of neglect), and I handily won the game.
The Dornbusch lighthouse by day and at twilight
The previous day’s sail was thankfully smooth. We expected light winds, and after motoring for an hour, favorable winds pushed us to a respectable and consistent 7 knots – but gratefully with only tiny swells, maybe 1-2 feet high. All those people (including myself), who had suffered the previous two days, watched at first with skepticism and trepidation, waiting for the winds and waves to grow. But despite our decent speed, waves never came, and we made great time returning to German waters.
The small Danish flag flown high up next to the main mast was exchanged for a German one – it is customary to fly the flag of the country you are visiting. The large, main flag flown from the stern of the ship remains the flag of The Netherlands, the home of the ship. However, our flag has faded in the elements and the bottom wide blue strip has turned a very dark slate gray which has confused a few onlookers who have asked where we are from.
Enjoying smooth sailing to Hiddensee
Yesterday morning, having found no harbor on Hiddensee that could accommodate us, we motored just a little over an hour to the southern port of Neuendorf (“new village”). We anchored offshore, and one of the deckhands taxied us to the harbor, racing over the water in the dinghy. At times it felt like the only part of the boat that was touching water was the outboard motor’s propeller. I held fast to a rope and to my hat as we made our quick transit to shore.
We were told that Kloster, the northern most town was the nicest to see, 7 km away. Our ship would be mooring in the evening at Vitte, which was just a little closer at 5 km. One could rent a bike, but it would have to be returned to Neuendorf. There was a ferry, and a local bus, which was loading just as we got to land. Our captain had told us about horse-drawn carriages on the island, which sounded great, but we learned those were only available in Vitte and Kloster – and probably needed to be ordered ahead of time.
By the time we figured out a) the bus and ferry schedule, b) where to buy tickets for either (bus tickets bought on board, ferry tickets bought at a small office), both had departed, and we’d have to wait over an hour for the next ride.
Thatched roof houses in Neuendorf
So we walked around Neuendorf, then west over the narrow island, admiring the beautiful, thatched roofs and long green fields, and passed by a regular stream of rented bicycles. Thirsty, we found a little café and purchased some mineral water and a piece of raspberry meringue cake. After leisurely consuming our beverages and cake, we slowly made our way back to Neuendorf for the next ferry.
The nearly silent electric Hiddensee ferry
We purchased tickets (at the correct location) and waited on a bench for the ferry. I glanced at my watch and noted that the ferry was due in a few minutes, but I saw no ferry and heard nothing. I wondered if it was late, and I got up and walked to the pier, only to see the large ferry less than a minute away silently coasting to its destination. Only when it applied a reverse thrust to slow down was there any sound. It clearly has an electric motor because the typical regular rumble and rhythmic thrum of a diesel was completely absent. We boarded and enjoyed a quiet, smooth, 45-minute ride north to Kloster.
Kloster is indeed picturesque. We walked by some beautiful large, thatched buildings.
Minutes from the harbor we saw a gorgeous, large, timbered building, built in 1909, with the troubling-for-English-speakers-name, the Hitthim Hotel and Restaurant. We were getting hungry, so we sat down and enjoyed a big lunch of farfalle pasta with spinach and salmon in a cream sauce, and chicken with mushrooms and cheese with fried potatoes and speck (bacon). The meal cost nearly what we would pay in the U.S., which means it was expensive. Most meals we’ve enjoyed have been a third to half what we pay at home. Although the ice cream dishes looked sizable and delicious, we opted to walk a bit and to maybe pick up some later.
We strolled through Kloster, admiring the old buildings, many with thatched roofs. Along the main path that runs the length of the island you see many little serve-yourself stands selling painted stones and shells, homemade jams, fruit, simple jewelry, cards, and more. They may be no bigger than one to two feet square with a little container into which to drop your coins. We saw a couple of these at Klintholm, Denmark, but we probably spied at least a dozen here on Hiddensee during our afternoon walk.
We found a little shop selling homemade ice cream, which we of course had to buy. Still hoping to maybe find a horse carriage, we began to see piles of horse “exhaust” here and there on the path as well as empty parking spots reserved for the carriages. We saw a few carriages during our walk but no place obviously to reserve one. So we walked the 2 km path to Vitte.
To our right was a strip of land sometimes wide enough for homes, sometimes only a narrow sandy berm. Climbing up the dune, we took a brief glance at the ocean to the west, a rough chop with wind and waves and a long row of large rocks to protect against the seas. To the left, we saw verdant green fields. Here and there you’d see a small collection of horses, sometimes hear a bleating sheep, and birds landing and snatching grub. It is so relaxing to hear no automobiles or other man-made noises!
We avoided grass during our walk as ticks are pretty common. A couple people have had to remove these tiny annoyances. Fortunately, Lyme Disease is still mostly common in southern Germany, though climate change has broadened its dreaded reach in every direction. The captain had a special kit with a tool to remove the buggers and wipes to sterilize the bite, and then someone brought out a cool short wand with a metallic tip. This “Biteaway” device is pressed against the bite after the bug is removed and a brief, intense spot of heat is applied, just less than would burn the skin. The heat neutralizes the proteins injected by mosquitoes and other insects reducing the symptoms and limiting the risk. I suspect these devices are not available in the U.S. and I plan to buy one to bring home.
Note: I was able to find these for sale online in the U.S, which I immediately purchased
As we approached Vitte, we began to see shops, little art galleries, and more self-serve tables. We admired some drawings and paintings, then spied a tiny shop selling amber jewelry. I marveled at the prices, which I estimated to be at least half of what I would expect anywhere else, especially on a small island frequented by summer vacationers. A beautiful necklace was acquired, and after paying, the owner, who I suspect makes the jewelry, handed me a thin, short, leather thong with small amber beads affixed to each end. It was about 10” long. I couldn’t understand what he explained it was for until someone else said “für Bücher!” (“for books”), and then I realized it was a bookmark. He insisted on giving it to me for free, and after inserting it into a small envelope along with his business card, we happily departed.
Our ship was supposed to arrive and dock around 6pm. Although no regular berth was available that would fit the Abel Tasman, we were allowed to dock after the last ferry left so long as we left before the first ferry in the morning.
Sitting on a bench at the harbor, other passengers showed up and sat to wait with us. We watched ferries come and go, and we photographed a little fishing boat named, “Rambo” come in and tie up.
After the last ferry departed, our ship lumbered into the small harbor, and gently brushed up to and secured against the dock. Curious vacationers came up to take a closer look, and a family with small eager children were invited on board for a brief tour.
The Abel Tasman, led by the dinghy, lumbers into the harbor of Vitte
A German lady standing near me was admiring the ship and taking pictures. I smiled and indicated I was a passenger, and she started enthusiastically asking me questions. She complimented me on my German, which I appreciate but always am surprised by, and asked me how I learned to speak it. She was surprised to learn I studied a semester in the former East Germany. She was from Chemnitz, near Leipzig and Dresden, which I visited for a day back in 1989 when it was still called Karl Marx Stadt.
One of my only pictures from Karl Marx Stadt (in 1989), now named Chemnitz
Waiting for dinner, Simon, Ingo, Antje and I sat down and played Doppelkopf (aka “Doko”). I’d only played a couple hands so far on this cruise and was glad to get in several good hands of this very complicated German card game. Through a combination of good partners and excellent cards dealt me, I walked away with by far the most points before we had to break for dinner. No doubt had we played more hands my score would have eventually been eclipsed.
Annie turned in early, and I stayed up in the galley, hopeful to find others with whom to play Skat or Doppelkopf. Both complicated German card games, I learned Skat in my high school German language class and played it constantly the year I studied abroad (35 years ago). Doppelkopf (or “Doko”), which is twice as complicated, I learned aboard the Abel Tasman last year, and much to the amazement of my fellows, got to the level where I was able to hold my own.
A rousing game of Doppelkopf
There are many rules and variations to Doppelkopf. Here are a couple websites with instructions in English:
Although the rules are dizzyingly complex with countless variations, I love this game. One unique aspect of Doppelkopf is that you play with partners, but you don’t know who your partner is until well into the game! In regular play, whichever two players hold a Queen of Clubs (there are two in the deck) will play as partners against the other two. So, you have to guess who your partner is until each queen is eventually revealed.
I know no one in the U.S. who plays Doppelkopf. The only Skat players I know are a few who studied German.
Another hand of Doppelkopf
Here are couple websites with instructions for Skat in English.
Alas, the only people not already engaged in either game or chess didn’t know how to play, so we played a hilarious and simple game which so far lacks a name. I call it the Das Lügenspiel, (“the lying game”). I believe Robert learned it while studying in Singapore.
Basically, there are just enough cards to have threes-of-a-kind for each player, plus one Ace (e.g. 3 players, 10 cards). Cards shuffled and dealt, all players will have three cards, except one will have four.
You take turns asking the previous person for a specific card. They can give you any card, claim they don’t have one, etc. If you don’t trust the first card they offer you, you can ask for a second, or even a third. You have to take the third one.
Play continues until one person has a three-of-a-kind and no extra cards. Whoever is stuck with the Ace in their hand loses. Watching people’s faces as they try to determine whether they are being lied to is hilarious.
Playing the “lying game”
After several hands of the lying game, we played Oh Hell, which I think they knew as the “Wizard Game.” I was losing most of the game, only to squeak by and come in second by the end of the game. I suspect Annie would have wiped us all out.
The sun has now risen, and the harbor is awakening to the sounds of fisherman spraying down their decks and readying their crafts.
A severe muscle spasm in my right calf woke me early this morning. I get these occasionally after a strenuous hike or a lot of walking in bare feet. It’s a wonder I haven’t had one earlier. I cursed myself for having allowed myself to become dehydrated and/or not taking my calcium earlier. Oh well.
Sitting or standing, I feel the craft slightly bob and tip, although my eyes tell me the ship is stable. If the ship is actually moving, it is doing so much slower than my feet and butt would have me believe.
Our small cabin is pretty warm and humid.
All the portholes in our cabins are sealed. So, the only air in and out of our tiny rooms comes through the door. With stronger winds, portholes on the downwind side of the ship often dip below the water’s surface. Indeed, during the rougher parts of the previous two day’s journeys, those portholes looked like the doors of front-loading washing machines.
Each cabin has a sink and tiny shower and without ventilation the rooms can get pretty humid. Each door has a little hook to allow you to secure the door open a couple of inches which we do almost round the clock. Sometimes, if it gets too stuffy, I’ll get up and quickly open and nearly close my door, fanning the air and bringing in some from the hall and hopefully down the stairs from outside.
I climbed the tight spiral staircase up to the galley to stretch out, open the windows and enjoy some fresh, cool air.
It was quiet save for the birds greeting each other and seeking their morning food as well as the constant low hum of the refrigerator fans.
Quiet Klintholm harbor in the early morning
Last night at dinner we sat next to the captain and his first mate, Stein, who is his son. Bespectacled, his ruddy face daily splashed with sun and battered by wind sports a thick and closely cropped silver beard and mustache with splashes of light copper. His hair is curly and light copper only beginning to grey in front of his ears. I guess him to be around 50, but he is probably closer to 60. His son has similar hair and blue eyes, with a pointed nose, narrow pointed chin and a ready grin.
Sitting with the captain and his first mate and son, Stein
The whole crew is Dutch. The captain and son both speak excellent English and German. Crewmember “Moss” struggles with German so mostly communicates in heavily accented English. The daughter, when we see her, also prefers English. Since 95% of the people on board are German speakers, that’s what the captain speaks. But sitting next to us, I spoke with him in English, and he replied in turn fluently.
I had so many questions, I felt a little bad about preventing him from enjoying his meal, but he seemed happy to talk. His first time on a sailboat was around 3 months. His son was on a sailboat before he was born, and the captain got to see both his kids take their first steps aboard a sailing vessel. His wife does like to sail but suffers seasickness and therefore manages the not insignificant amount of computer and paperwork it takes to manage a large sailing vessel, its trips, and all the passengers.
The captain with his son and daughter
Both his kids are part of his crew on this voyage. We haven’t seen much of his daughter, who looks to be a recent high school graduate. She mostly stays inside at the bridge, venturing out to help to throw and secure ropes when we are mooring in port.
The third, “Moss,” is a young, energetic man who looks like a college-age surfer with a small man-bun. Moss was the one who climbed the mast while we were sailing at a decent clip through medium swells to secure the ropes for the aquatic swing we enjoyed a few days ago. Remembering how even the smallest movements on deck are magnified once you are 90 feet up the mast, those of us who had climbed to that height marveled how unflappable he was to scale the swinging rope ladder, straddle the crossbeam, and complete his task with aplomb. I asked Stein if he had drawn the short straw and had to do the task, but he answered, no, Moss had volunteered.
Moss and Alex lifting the gangplank. The captain’s daughter can be seen on the leftMoss climbing the main mast under full sail and high seas to secure the rope for the water swing
The captain started sailing as a full-time profession around age 30. Before, he sold wholesale vegetables at auction and was doing okay. But inevitably, his industry consolidated more and more, and as firms got bigger and fewer, he had to fire good people. He’d see his former colleagues later in the grocery store, struggling, and he felt responsible and terrible about it.
He turned to captain for-rent sailing and has never looked back. He loves it. I believe he said he’s owned the Abel Tasman for 16 years.
There’s no shortage of work. During the winter, there is a lot of upkeep and maintenance to do. They completely remodeled the galley, repositioning the bar and making more efficient use of the space. That left him too tired to sail at the beginning of the season. So, he’s really happy to be back in the captain’s chair for our voyage.
Relaxing in the remodeled galley
The Abel Tasman sails the entire Baltic Sea and the rougher North Sea as far north as Bergen, Norway, the British Isles, and south to Brest, France. He’s never sailed her to Iceland or to the Caribbean. He could, but it would be expensive, and the required time would eat into his passenger sailing season.
Abel Tasman masts sandwiched between two neighboring sailing vessels
Harbor fees are also much more expensive depending on the location. In Germany, it can cost just $100 or so to moor for a night. Farther north in Scandinavia, that cost can rise two to four times as much. In the Caribbean, it can cost $1000.
Asked what the most difficult part of the job is, he answered, the people, both crew and passengers. The crew has long hours, and regulations require them to take turns covering all those hours. Also, it takes years of study and pricy licensing to become a mariner. His son has completed his studies and licensing, and is an officer on a container ship when not first mate on his father’s schooner. It sounds like Moss is pretty close to that level as well. Good crew are hard to find and they can be lured away by other higher-paying ships.
The captain and deck hand, Moss
Passengers are mostly okay, but of course there are some who expect or demand services the crew cannot provide. There is, of course, no way to control the wind and seas. As I guessed, the captain could see yesterday how many people were suffering discomfort during the rough seas and fired up the diesel to shorten the time it took to get to Klintholm.
Post-breakfast briefing with the captain
Asked about the precision parking job last night, the captain revealed a funny story. He had called the Klintholm harbormaster ahead to make sure we had a large enough spot to moor. When we got there, he saw that the luxury German yacht in front of our space was about 3 meters back into our space. When asked, the owner said he couldn’t possibly move it forward because of the wind (which was of course nonsense).
Our 133-foot ship parked very close to a German luxury yacht
Okay, our captain replied, and as previously described, slowly and carefully started to guide our schooner into the tight spot. When the yacht owner saw our massive stern towering at least three meters over his and moving ever closer, miracle of miracles, he was suddenly able to move his craft forward the requested three meters.
Note how close our bowsprit is to the sailing vessel on the left
The captain laughed and said there are other such shenanigans with yacht owners. For example, he always has the right to tie up side-by-side with a yacht if there is nowhere else to moor. He can do so, safely, but I’d worry such a large ship next to my priceless vessel could risk a scratch or worse due to overnight winds or current. Also, when tied side by side, passengers of one craft are allowed to cross their neighbor’s ship in order to get to shore. That’s happened to us already on this trip and did last year several times.
Nevertheless, yacht owners sometimes will refuse to move to make room for the Abel Tasman. When that happens, he simply says, okay, I’ll tie up next to you – but just know that I am carrying about 30 passengers. Suddenly, the yacht owners change their mind. The thought of all those people tramping across their precious craft seems to provide an irrefutable argument and they move their yacht.
A picture from last year showing our ship tied between two others
Klintholmhavn, Møn Island, Denmark, 7:45pm, Wednesday, Aug 14
The captain reviews our location and the forecast, providing us with possible destinations
After a nice breakfast, the captain gathered us for our morning discussion about today’s destination. Although Annie and I were pulling for Copenhagen, the captain worried that if we went as far north as that or to Malmø, we might not have favorable winds for the southward trip back to Rostock. We’d potentially have to burn a lot of diesel, which is both expensive and the antithesis to the joy of sailing. His suggestion was Klimtholm, which was just a third of the distance of our prior day’s rough trip.
Now a couple German words:
Ostsee – literally “East Sea,” known in English as the Baltic Sea
As I explained in the previous post, the Baltic is relatively shallow, a lot being just between 5 and 15 meters (16-50 feet). The good news is that means the water is generally warmer and the waves smaller. The bad news is that the waves can come much closer together, and today was rough. Frank, who has sailed the Ostsee 4 times, said these were the biggest waves he’d experienced.
To my untrained eyes, they seemed not that big, maybe just 6-8 foot swells. But because they came so close together, our 40.5 meter (133 foot) craft bounced and crashed through them repeatedly, making our ride even rougher, though thankfully shorter than yesterday’s. Not thankfully for several passengers, who alternated between sitting outside, breathing fresh air and focusing on the horizon, or curling up on the padded benches inside, attempting to sleep through the tumult.
I was doing fine, until…
Sich übergeben – literally “to give oneself over,” the polite/medical term for throwing up
[like in English, there are countless slang terms in German for this mostly involuntary reflex]
I was wandering around the ship, going downstairs to fetch a jacket or cap, upstairs to offer seasickness medication, etc. Then I had to go to the bathroom. The onboard bathrooms are remarkably clean. But inside the cramped room with all walls and no window, the rolling, roiling seas provided a stirring and unsettling argument against my equilibrium. Moments later, I rushed to a sink, none too soon, returning to sender a generously prepared breakfast.
The crew, sympathetic and apologetic for a second day of discomfort for many, added diesel power to the sail power to hasten us more smoothly to our berth tonight.
Klintholmhavn is a tiny harbor, and as we lumbered toward the entrance, a large, dual-hulled ship plowed past us. I really couldn’t imagine how we were going to maneuver in this harbor, even without the other boat traffic. Indeed, one deck hand lowered the dinghy into the water and motored around to the bow, helping guide the front of the ship like a little tug boat.
Stein looking for our “parking spot”Stein using the dinghy to help tugboat-maneuver our large ship in the small space
So short was our berth that another deckhand clamored to the front of the bowsprit, which cleared a dockside streetlamp by mere feet. The dinghy, usually suspended at the stern, remained in the water, tied to the side of the ship as I think it would not fit between our stern and the next ship behind us!
Safely moored. Note the lamp post near the bow on the left
As our hulking mass inched its way into the tight berth, an old dude on ground was motioning with his hands and in German and English urged us to move our ship forward. There were indeed, several meters in front of our bow before a perpendicular wall. Mind you, this was likely a visiting vacationer, not a mariner or local familiar with the harbor. Indeed, after we were securely moored, another sailing ship, similar in size to ours, parked along that perpendicular wall, mere feet in front of our ship. Annie had to laugh. It seems like there is always some guy everywhere in the world, trying to help you park, despite having little actual clue what is needed or possible.
Uh, oh. Here comes another large ship that needs to moor right in front of us!
Once moored, Annie and I quickly disembarked, happy to feel solid ground beneath our feet. Admittedly, it still felt like the ground was moving as I walked, and I could hear Carol King singing “I feel the earth move under my feet” for at least 10 minutes.
We walked a small circle through Klintholm, passing a couple small restaurants, a market, and a little outdoor food court.
License plates revealed summer vacationers from Germany, Denmark, Italy, Belgium, Sweden, Czech Republic, and more, and we passed a couple camping sites for tents and RVers.
A little self-serve table selling fresh figs, plums, and homemade jam
We returned to the food court, and although we have dinner coming, we had both skipped lunch (and I had sent my breakfast back) so we sat down and had one of the best fish and chips we’ve had in years. Annie made a point to thank the owner.
Blatant Calm 