Stage 1-Berlin Air

"If one goes on a journey.."; "Every great adventure starts with a stumbling block." What other fitting wisdom is there? We take them all. The plan for our journey was- there is none. Just drive and see what happens. Well, and so it happened that everything turned out differently than expected.

After a week and a half of packing and preparation marathon, we finally made it on Saturday evening, after Christian's 30-hour shift, with a lot of delay and a cheerful farewell from the neighbors, and set off on our 3-month break to Scandinavia. To where the wind carries us. Drifting. No plans but plenty of time, joy, and relaxation. Reading, chatting, eating, resting, nature, and sleeping. A long-cherished dream comes true.

We roll off the yard, laughing and in a hurry- as always, everything became way too late again. Dinner at Chris' parents' in Erkner near Berlin is waiting. Quickly throw away the bottles. Oh crap! We better give our apartment key to the neighbors. Basti and Theresa have offered to check the mail and take care of the flowers twice a week, but having a key to the apartment directly in the house can't hurt either. So back again. We laugh, the neighbors are startled. "You again!?"

Now we're really off. The music plays from the speakers, the sun glows red on the horizon, we race past the university hospital: "And goodbye!!!" "Yeeeeeessss!" A last look across the Elbe from the Waldschlösschenbrücke. We are free. Finally!

"But you have the vehicle registration certificate with you, right?" I become serious. Um. Where did I put it. I look in the glove compartment. Damn. The black folder where we have it is not there. Only the insurance papers, which I had put in there as a precaution. Oh darn, I must have forgotten it at the scanner at home. I have digitized everything there. "I'm sorry, Chris! Better that we remember it now, than in Copenhagen!" Ok, so first to the gas station, that has to be done anyway, and then back again. Oh man. Okay. If that's all...

At the gas station, Chris drives straight to the pump on the driver's side. I correct him, I know now, I had already been on the bus one and a half weeks ago in Senftenberg. I had fueled up a bit at night to get home. Chris says, "No, the tank is always on the left side." "No," I say, "it's really on the right side!" "Look, there's the diesel sign right here," says Chris, already getting out of the car. I turn pale. "Oh shit... but I fueled up on the right side." "No way Steffi? You can't refuel on the right side, that's the water tank. You didn't really put diesel in our fresh water tank, did you???" Suddenly it all becomes clear to me. Why the gas pump didn't work well that night, why it took ten minutes to get just eight liters out, only a few drops came out. I had told the gas station attendant that something was probably broken with the pump. And then I had wondered why the gauge hadn't changed afterwards. All of it seemed strange to me. The cap had been strange too. But I hadn't even thought about the fact that there might be an alternative opening on the vehicle that I should not confuse with something else. Now it all makes sense to me. Such a hassle. I start laughing and yet I know I should be crying. And Chris? He says, "Now we have to go home first - if the registration certificate is gone, then it's even worse. There's no point in driving without it." Unbelievable. With a completely changed mood, we drive back over the Waldschlösschenbrücke and the Elbe shimmers in the slowly darkening evening. I quickly go upstairs and look for the registration certificate. It's not at the scanner. I look in the well-organized folder with the documents for the bus. No registration certificate here either. Where else could it be? Wherever I have an idea, I check. Damn it. Stay calm. Now there are really problems. I don't understand it at all, I always pay attention to organizing such important things. Especially because you can quickly forget them. How can this happen?

When I leave the house pale and expecting an even bigger problem than the contaminated water tank, Chris is laughing at the bus. He waves the insurance papers. In it is also the registration certificate. Oh man. I had always been looking for this black folder - but it wasn't in there at all, it was neatly stored together with the documents in the glove compartment. One less worry.

Here we go. The mood is different. What do we do now with our fresh water tank? We didn't want to drink from it anyway, but washing, showering, maybe cooking? Of course, flushing the toilet. Luckily, neither of us has flushed or opened the faucet yet. The pipes are not affected. How do you clean such a tank? Or can you replace it? Chris has talked to Jurek, his colleague, and has already received a tip for a suitable solvent. So maybe there is a solution? And replacing a tank - oh well, we're driving towards Berlin - there will certainly be something available.

Shortly before midnight, we arrive in Finkenstein at Chris' parents' place. His mom has patiently waited (as always), everyone else has already gone to sleep. This has turned out differently than expected. What a mess. But we still have an Aperol. Carola cheers me up: "These things can happen. Sometimes it's just like that. At least now you've already checked off potential problems. After that, your vacation can only get better." And Chris laughs lovingly and patiently. I admire his understanding and I am very grateful to him. Despite everything, I fall asleep happily and very tired. It's vacation. We have 3 months ahead of us. We had planned - no plan, let's see what happens, the journey is the destination. So this is probably our first adventure.

The next day, we become aware of the extent of my mistake. First, we have to find a dealer who sells us this solvent. Or they can order it and that can also take time. Or visit some stores and buy a new tank. And in the afternoon, we have an appointment with my mom. And in the evening, with my dad and his wife Ulla. We wanted to show them our cinnamon bun. I was so proud because I had prepared it so nicely for weeks. Curtains, new fly screens, magnetic film on the refrigerator, fairy lights, and some other cozy things that were supposed to make it our individual new home. And on top of that, I had also prepared the cinnamon bun. What a hassle. No wonder it smelled like diesel over the past few days. And I thought it was simply because it's old. Carola, Hannes, and Greta help with the research and never tire of cheering us up. Fortunately, we find it quite easy to laugh a lot. Except when draining the diesel into our spare canister, which we wisely brought along.

My mom really likes the cinnamon bun, we eat ice cream and take a walk through Berlin Frohnau, reminiscing about old memories. My dad and Ulla also like the cinnamon bun and during dinner at the Chinese restaurant and the subsequent tasting of Chris' tried and tested Cuba Libre, they encourage us and speak words of encouragement. "It will be okay, you will surely find a solution!" At the same time, the first messages from friends come in: "Have you started already?