A busy weekend

Thursday, 14 March

It was still 15 minutes before the agreed time when my fabulous team arrived at the door of my building, fully loaded with fish transport materials. Unlike me, they’re always on time for their appointments.

They had just arrived from Peniche full of bags, rubber bands, chemicals for controlling the water, straps for attaching materials, circulation and aeration pumps, batteries, probes for monitoring pH, oxygen and temperature, and a whole suite of other essential equipment for transporting live fish. There was a time when I would spend hours checking that everything was right and nothing had been forgotten behind, but those times are long gone and I slipped into the car after we packed my gigantic suitcase, without even asking if anything was missing.

Poor Inês was the smallest of the group, and, in the centre of the back seat, she seemed to be drowning under suitcases and bags! Next to her were Miguel and Nuno, with David at the wheel. They were all students of mine and they’re awesome people, showing unparalleled dedication, which is why they were snagged by the head-hunter and founder of Flying Sharks, the four-eyes writing these lines. Actually, that’s not true. Luring Nuno into our web of craziness was indeed my doing nearly two decades ago, but scooping Inês and Miguel was David’s handywork and yet another show of how brilliantly he manages our holding station in Peniche.

After an Uber XL with a very nervous lady driver, and so full that we nearly had arms and legs sticking out the windows, we enjoyed some fun moments at the TAP luggage check-in area, as we passed materials from one bag to another, making sure that none of them exceeded 23 kilos. This was followed by the purchase of 8 nifty looking bottles of Port wine, because we had a lot of nice people to thank in Denmark, Germany and Poland, our destinations for the next few days.

The flight went smoothly and unexpectedly included individual TV screens, so I couldn’t help myself to yet another showing of ‘Interstellar’, exuding the traditional emotional salty waterfall when the father leaves his daughter to go save humanity. I can watch that scene a thousand times, but those sneaky Hans Zimmer, Christopher Nolan and Matthew McConaughey always make my chin tremble in pain, you evil men!

A 90-minute delay in departure, due to air traffic issues, had me send a warning email to Oscar rent-a-car in Copenhagen, as an employee had kindly offered to wait for us and give us the keys to the two vans at 7 in the evening, since their closing time was 4 in the afternoon. Still, it remained to be seen whether this delay wouldn’t scare them away and seriously screw our plans up.

A new, more spacious, Uber XL in Copenhagen and it was 8 by the time we got behind the wheel of our two box vans, after leaving the nice man from Oscar two of the 8 bottles of Port wine. I would later deeply regret this gift, but we’ll get to that further down…

Hands on the wheel, we had 400 kilometres between us and Grenaa, home to Kattegatcentret, where 10 captive-bred thornback rays, Raja clavate, were waiting for us. It was close to midnight when we arrived at the Marina hotel, naturally with a few McDs stuffing our bellies, and we said our goodbyes until the next morning at 8:00, which would be the official start to our adventure.

Friday, 15 March

It was 9 a.m. when we arrived at Kattegatcentret, and I told my friend Rune that five Portuguese marine biologists were parking outside his awesome aquarium. “Already?” he replied, which immediately reminded me that I’d forgotten to tell him that our plans had changed and, instead of arriving after lunch, we’d be turning up in the morning. And what a hassle it was to change those plans, because the Oscar staff initially didn’t want to wait for us after hours!… There were still a few nervous phone calls and emails the day before, while I was teaching, but it all worked out in the end.

Once he got over the initial shock, Rune also assured us that he’d be available to give us the rays by 10, so we used that time to split into two teams. While David, Miguel and Inês prepared the transport tank that I’d shipped to Grenaa the week before, Nuno and I went hunting for a powerful 12 volts battery, which is not an easy object to carry in one’s suitcase.

It wasn’t long before Nuno spotted an auto-shop, where I dropped 200 euros for a 110 amp Varta battery, which was supposed to power the pump driving water through our mechanical filter until the end of the next day. It was around midday when we had the animals loaded into the van I was driving with David and Nuno, but we only ended up taking 7 instead of the 10 we had originally planned, because the animals were slightly larger than anticipated, and we didn’t want to stretch our luck too far. Better deliver 7 animals in excellent condition than 10 needing CPR, right?

It was 3 in the afternoon when our bellies, stuffed with Whoppers, arrived at the North Sea Museum in Hirtshals, not far from Norway, on the other side of the Baltic. Our friend Martin welcomed us with open arms, as always, and after connecting the precious 12 volts battery to a charger, we went and snoozed for three precious hours at the Skaga hotel across the road. We had 36 hours of non-stop madness ahead of us and common sense dictated that this afternoon should include a nap. The youngsters were enthusiastic about visiting the aquarium, but 51-year-old me preferred to shower and put on his pyjamas, before curling in bed and setting the alarm clock for two hours later. After all, I was intimately familiar with the two magnificent sunfish we had delivered a few months before, already weighing well above 100 kg.

Needless to say, that anxiety, emails and the phone (even on silent) mode didn’t allow for much more than an hour’s effective rest, so at 6 I found myself in the hotel lobby having a beer with Martin and a colleague who would join us during the evening’s proceedings.

At half past seven, strictly according to plan, we were all on the third floor of the Skaga enjoying a magnificent dinner, which lasted a little longer than we’d hoped, so dessert had to be replaced by quick coffees and by half past nine the whole troop was spreading out the 50 boxes in which we were going to pack cod caught by Martin’s fishermen friends.

Twenty animals would travel with us by road to Gdynia, Poland, while 30 would fly from Copenhagen to Lisbon, from where they would be transported to Ílhavo by Zé and Reis, from the Peniche team.

The plan was to leave Hirtshals at 2 a.m. and it was 15 minutes before that time when we sat down for the first time to enjoy one last coffee before starting our 480 kilometres journey back to Copenhagen airport. The previous 4 hours are difficult to describe but imagine a 1.88 metres tall marine biologist in a deep well, carefully choosing the most beautiful codfish in 6 degrees Celsius water, while 4 young biologists gently placed these animals in a bag with 15 litres of water spiked with chemicals to keep pH high and ammonia low, and another 10 litres of water from the tank where the animals were swimming. Add to this recipe 4 bottles of frozen water, a generous dose of pure oxygen, some nice twists of the tip of the bag and 3 strong elastic bands at the top of the triple plastic bags, measuring 80 by 100 centimetres, and each parcel was sealed with Flying Sharks tape, covered in ‘fragile’ warnings, because the delicate nature of our cargo so dictated it.

At 2 a.m. sharp, we headed for the technical area of Copenhagen airport, in the Kastrup neighbourhood, where our freight forwarder Jesper was waiting for us at half past seven. We surprised him by showing up one full minute early and, after receiving the paperwork and labels, we sped off to WFS, the ground handling agent who would receive the 30 boxes and put them on board TAP’s 753 flight to Lisbon at 12:30 p.m.

This operation was timed to the second, because we had a ferry to catch in Gedser at 11 a.m. This city, on the southern tip of Denmark, was 150 km away, so we wanted to have the airport’s cargo terminal behind us at no later than 9 a.m. The fact that it was Saturday helped us because the airport was totally empty and it wasn’t even half past 8 when we already had the 30 boxes unloaded on the docking bay, duly labelled, and photographed because, as we all know, an operation that isn’t on Facebook is as if it hadn’t happened.

It was half past ten when a small distraction caused us to miss the access gates to Gedser harbour, but we made amends and paid the 163 euros for each van and crew, with time to close our eyes for a few minutes before boarding the ‘Copenhagen’ ferry.

Let’s face it, the giant sign with the ferry timetables saying “11:15 Copenhagen | 13:15 Berlin” were probably not Scandilines’ brightest idea… It took us a while to realise that these were the names of the ships and not their destinations. We all joked about the logic of naming the ships on the information boards. Imagine Oriente station (in Lisbon) informing passengers that the ‘Lisbon’ train (bound for Porto) would be leaving at 8 p.m. and the ‘Porto’ train would be leaving for Madrid. Surely no confusion would arise from that strategy…

Once settled on the half-diesel, half-wind-powered hybrid ferry, we all quickly faded into dreamland, as no-one had batted an eye the night before. We woke up half an hour before arriving in Rostock, which was the exact time we needed to stuff ourselves at the all-you-can-eat 23 euros buffet on board.

This was followed by a police check at the exit of the ferry which, as one would expect, went well. After all, we had an extensive dossier of documentation to support our credentials and all the animals we were moving. I can’t hide my irritation when I report this to the authorities and they reply “I don’t need to see that, we just want your IDs and driving licences”. So much work goes into preparing all that paperwork and no one bothers to look at it. How frustrating.

We arrived at the Ozeaneum in Stralsund at 3 p.m. after a short 100 kilometres drive from Rostock, because this particular ferry had been designed by the Force to fit our operation perfectly. Our friend and client Nicole provided us with a charger, which helped bring the Varta battery back to life, while we filled Inês and Miguel’s van with a triggerfish, Balistes capriscus, two captive bred smooth-hounds, Mustelus asterias, two nursehounds, Scyliorhinus stellaris, and 30 anemones, Anemonia viridis. Everything was born and bred at the Ozeaneum, except for the triggerfish, which had been taken by me in 2008, at the very beginning of Flying Sharks.

It was 4 p.m., exactly the time we wanted, when we pointed the two Wazes towards the Gdynia Aquarium, where our friend and client Marcin was waiting for us 560 kilometres away. Comforted with coffee and cupcakes offered by Nicole, we sped along the German autobahn, where we were stopped by the German Polizei a second time, just a few kilometres from the Polish border.

 “Damn!…” I thought, aware that our 1000 kilos heavy tank with 7 skates and 20 boxes of codfish would surely put us over the regulatory 3500 kilos… How unfair, since this time we’d even doubled the number of vans precisely so we wouldn’t exceed the limits (too much)!

But once again we were surprised by the friendliness of the law enforcement agents who, as usual, didn’t want to look at the folder packed with health certificates and transport documents, and simply wished us bon voyage faster than we could say “gesundheit!”

The sun had already set by the time we filled up the two Danish vans with Polish diesel, taking the opportunity to buy some hot dogs and enjoy the (lack of) local friendliness. I don’t mean to be inelegant, but the good people from the first Polish gas station were surely having a bad day, or maybe they simply didn’t like me paying with my Revolut card, to avoid the fees charged by the cards that shower us with an extra 3 per cent every time we pay in foreign currency.

With still several hundred kilometres to go, the potholes on the Polish roads didn’t let anyone sleep, and I thanked Providence that I had used up my laptop battery watching emails on German motorways, otherwise I wouldn’t have been able to do any work inside the wobbling van.

But let’s put all these less-than-ideal considerations behind and concentrate on avenue Pope John Paul II in Gdynia, where our friend Marcin waved to us at half past eleven in the evening, seconds before we began the most efficient unloading of animals I’ve ever witnessed.

Forty minutes was the time it took us to unload, acclimate and introduce 7 rays, 20 codfish, 4 sharks, 1 triggerfish and 30 anemones to their new home. Tanks emptied and washed, equipment packed, and goodbyes made, we checked into the Green Loft hotel before 1 a.m., a true feat nothing short of amazing!

However, a shiver ran down our spines as we parked both vans and gazed upon a badass party going on in the venue’s disco. There were blue lights, dancing bodies and clearly too much schnapps, but we breathed a sigh of relief when we reached our absolutely silent rooms. Alarm clocks set for half past eight, we said our goodbyes until breakfast, before heading home with that warm feeling of mission accomplished, heightened by the news that the animals that had arrived in Ílhavo were also in excellent condition.

The only downside is that only 20 of the 30 boxes arrived in Lisbon, which was due to excess baggage on the TAP flight, and I’ll be damned if I’ll ever understand that logic, but suitcases always take priority over live animals. Okay, I understand that no one wants to arrive at their destination and find out that their toothpaste, pyjamas and presents for the kids have been left behind, but damn it, these are live animals we’re talking about.

But anyway, we had full confidence in our fabulous pack, which had faced similar trials in the past, so it wasn’t long before we closed our eyes in utter delight.

Sunday, 17 March

At half past nine in the morning the 5 of us were sitting in the two vans, heading first to the Gdynia Aquarium to drop off the last two bottles of Port wine to Marcin and Ewa, the colleague responsible for the generous payments, the last of which had been received a few days before departure. After that, our friend Waze pointed us back to the Ozeaneum, 560 kilometres away, where we were to leave the tanks. A few hours (and emails in the copilot seat) later, the Polish rain and grey skies gave way to a balmy temperature of almost 20 German degrees, with bright sunshine and Ozeaneum almost in sight, when…

…yours truly started to feel a disturbing vibration in the steering wheel, which quickly made me realise that something was very wrong, so I switched on the 4 hazards and slowed down, pulling over to the right. Luckily the vehicle came to a complete stop just as the right front tyre blew out in a big cloud of smoke.

“Fuck me!!” we all said at the same time… “Everything was just going too damn smoothly!”

It was 4 p.m. when I called Oscar’s road-side assistance, who passed me on to the international claims service, to whom I calmly communicated all the details of the van, the contract and our situation. The priority was to arrive in Rostock by 6, where we would catch the ferry back to the Danish town of Gedser, but that plan quickly began to fade as time passed and we waited for a tow-truck. This, of course, because the clever people at Oscar thought it was a good idea to rent out a car without a spare tyre in neither van.

In the meantime, we called Miguel and Inês, who were further ahead and got off the motorway to come back to us and collect the tanks, suitcases and all the equipment from our van, which was empty and ready to be towed to the nearest garage. The problem was that it was late Sunday afternoon and the chances of the tow truck having exactly the tyre we needed were remote. In the meantime, Inês and Miguel, fully loaded with everything, made their way to the Ozeaneum and we then told them to drive straight to the 8 p.m. ferry, because the 6 was already out of reach.

It was close to 5 when we headed for the nearest Iveco workshop in the small village of Kemnitz, 9 kilometres from the town of Greifswald, where our tow guy dropped us off outside the local Burger King and I bummed him for a cigarette, to sooth my nerves.

By this time, we were pushing half past six and we had spent the previous hour on the phone with the insurance company, who insisted on asking what were we doing in Germany loaded with fish. I explained everything in detail, stressing that we had all the licences and realising that they were trying to squirm out of any payment, which is a delightful habit that insurance companies seem to have all over the world.

And yes, just as I expected, at 6 p.m. I received a call from the ‘supervisor’, who explained that the fact that we were a ‘commercial’ operation meant that we couldn’t be insured, as insurance only applied to private travellers. I replied as sarcastically as I could, pointing out that it made perfect sense to hire commercial vehicles for non-commercial purposes only. After all, who wouldn’t prefer to hire a van to take the family out to the beach?

Fuming inside, but more concerned about time, because 8 was just around the corner, I gave myself the task I should have given earlier, which was to find a quick way to cover the 120 kilometres that separated us from the ferry dock in Rostock. Luckily enough, while I was tangled up in phone calls with the imbeciles from the insurance company, David and Nuno were already in action, offering the young Burger King employees a considerable amount money, some of whom were promptly looking at their watches and considering leaving early because our offer was so generous. David was hammering out some phone numbers for taxi services, but they hung up on us when they realised that three foreigners wanted to go to Rostock, more than a hundred kilometres away, on a Sunday evening.

It was half past six when a driver I had found on Google confirmed that he would do the job, although he said that getting to Rostock by eight would be practically impossible. In my head I was already thinking about the 10 p.m. ferry, but I pushed that thought aside because I wanted to get to Copenhagen quickly and get on the flight to Lisbon the next morning.

Our driver Doug, turned up in a black Mercedes a few minutes before 7 and our first stop was the nearest ATM, because our hairy friend didn’t accept credit cards. I ran to the bank auto-teller, where my main debit card refused to give me any money. “Great…” I thought, remembering that my TAP Victoria credit card was in Miguel’s wallet to cover petrol and other expenses.

Then I tried the Flying Sharks debit card, which made me cringe because there’s nothing more difficult to justify, accounting-wise, than money withdrawn from an ATM, unless you have an invoice/receipt for the exact amount taken. Pushing these bureaucratic thoughts to the confines of my OCD brain, I accepted the two wads of 200 euros and then, as a precaution, I used my Unibanco backup credit card to withdraw another two sets of 200 euros. I then ran to the taxi with 800 euros in my wallet and started by asking Doug if he’d be interested in going with us to… Copenhagen!

The truth is that getting to the ferry from Rostock wasn’t our only problem… Once we arrived in Gedser, we still had 150 kilometres to travel to the Ibis Styles hotel in Copenhagen. The problem was, our one functional van only seated three souls and there were five of us, so most of the journey in Doug’s Mercedes was spent trying to solve this yet another problem.

While the taxi gobbled up kilometres on the German motorway with no speed limit, we breathed a sigh of (some) relief when we realised that our speed would deliver us to the ferry dock at 19:52, 23 minutes before the formal departure time of 20:15. The problem was that the ferry’s website stated that tickets had to be bought 30 minutes before, but anyway… One problem at a time.

In the meantime, we learnt that the 10 codfish that had been stranded in Copenhagen the day before had arrived in Lisbon alive and kicking, thanks to a message from our friend Reis saying “Whoever packed these animals deserves extra cheese on their pizza!” “Yes!!!” Hooray for small victories! Little did we know then that this would also be a short-lived victory, but that’s another story… Most likely another book even…

Back on the motorway and at the breakneck speed at which Doug was flying us to Rostock, we ended up working out a plan that was more sensible for everyone, but note the italics applied to “sensible”. Our audacious scheme involved paying Doug’s car fare, so he could get inside the ferry dock… We would then jump out of the Mercedes and into the cargo compartment of Miguel and Inês’ van, with Doug returning to base, claiming that a family situation would prevent him from catching the ferry.

None of us liked that plan very much and I was already imagining myself on an empty dock, with all the other cars boarded given the late hour, and half a dozen Scandilines employees in fluorescent green vests ordering us to board the ferry. There’s no way we would be able to jump out of the taxi and into the van unseen, but we hoped that The Force would present us with a less daring and more practical scenario to solve our predicament.

It was at that point that we arrived at the Rostock ferry dock, after nearly an hour pushing 200 on the speedometer! I immediately spotted the ticketing building for pedestrians and, as the taxi sped towards the boarding – and ticketing – gantry for cars and motorised vehicles, I asked Doug to stop in front of the ticketing building. Wallet in my hand, I told the boys “Give me ten seconds!…” and climbed the steps four by four, leaving the taxi door open. I flew to the ticket office and asked the gentleman behind the glass, “Can we still make the 8:15 ferry?”

He looked at my flustered face and replied calmly, “Yes, how many tickets would you like?” “Three, please,” I said, inwardly rejoicing and holding the card, ready to pay. “Any children?” he asked “No, no. Three adults.” “Boarding is through that door on the right, in four minutes.” “Thanks!” I replied, as I walked triumphantly to Doug’s taxi, ostentatiously displaying the three pedestrian tickets that would save us from the half-cocked plan we had concocted.

Doug’s display read “290 euros” and I slipped three green bills into his hands. He pulled out his receipt book and asked me what number he wanted me to write in. I thought to myself that the Oscar people would have to reimburse me and “300” seemed too round, so I told him the exact “290”. He gave me 10 euros in change, and I said, “No way, please keep the change.”

I barely had enough time to give him a Flying Sharks card and shake both his hands warmly, thanking him profusely for driving us there. I also told him to check out our website because this adventure would appear there. And here it is.

Thirty minutes later we were all happily seated in the ‘Berlin’ ferry restaurant with full plates and glasses. Salmon, herring, white wine, Coca Cola Zero, ice cream with chocolate sauce, prawns, ribs and pizza, a feast for tired bodies longing to go home.

Sitting on a full stomach, I took advantage of the free wifi – a rare occurrence on ferries – to call Nina and Nikola and gave them a quick summary of the day, ensuring that I would be home by 4 the day after, as scheduled. Nothing was more important.

On arrival in Gedser two hours later, we agreed that David would go with Inês and Miguel in the three-seater van, leaving only me and Nuno to get a lift. Nuno, more daring than me, since I was a bit miffed about the afternoon’s events, struck up a conversation with a lone passenger who looked like he had a car, while the others looked like labourers waiting for rides. Unfortunately, the gentleman would only drive halfway to Copenhagen, which didn’t serve our needs.

When we docked and the pedestrian door opened, the 20 or so passengers rushed to disembark, but we were all prevented from leaving the terminal before we were all queued up, side by side, with our suitcases two steps in front of us.

This process was controlled by the Danish police who, with a very serious demeanour, made two little dogs sniff everyone, including the suitcases, twice each. In other words, each passenger and suitcase got four sniffs, just to make sure that no one was entering Danish territory with obscure Germanic products.

Once the K9 inspection was over and no one had been flagged by the canines, we asked the law enforcement agents if there was a bus to the capital, 150 kilometres away. Without much luck, we searched – once again – for solutions on our phones and I’m pleased to report that we found one, although prudence dictates that I don’t share it in such an open forum.

It was almost midnight when we unloaded our many suitcases and bags from the van onto the pavement in front of the Ibis Styles in Orestad, near Kastrup. Check-in was quick and I packed the last of our accommodation invoices into my backpack. Nuno and I went up to the fifth floor, where we put our suitcases in our rooms, while David, Inês and Miguel returned our one functional van, which had to arrive at Oscar’s office before 8 a.m.

I closed my eyes after a nice refreshing shower and smiled at the thought that it would only be 16 hours until I saw Nina and Nikola again.

Monday, 18 March

David and Nuno were already enjoying a hearty breakfast when I got off the phone with Oscar, who called and asked “Where’s our second van??” “I guess you didn’t read the email I wrote to you guys last night…” I said. “Your second van is in Germany, with a blown tyre. Thanks a lot for the lack of spare parts, triangle and safety vests…” I quipped, irritated, knowing that there would be a lot of arm-wrestling ahead of me over who would pay for rescuing the van left in Germany. And I wasn’t wrong.

To this day I’m still wrestling with Oscar rent-a-car about the 1000-plus euros they charged us for picking up the van in Germany, which they automatically charged to my credit card. Along with the 350 euros for the spare tyre they didn’t provide.

In light of the total absence of reason during our dealings, I switched my arguments to “This is the kind of position I would expect from a developing country, certainly not from ‘Denmark’”. Sadly, this hasn’t changed their hearts, which is disappointing at best.

In the meantime, I began to savour a full plate of breakfast baked beans, a guilty pleasure I can’t resist when traveling. I was then delighted to hear the story of Nuno who, the night before, after we had unloaded our suitcases in the room, had offered to return the luggage trolley to the lobby. The problem was that he couldn’t get back to his room using the lift, which needed his key card to be activated, and it had been left in the room with the door ajar.

He then decided to take the stairs, but they took him to the street. Skirting the building to the reception, wearing a simple t-shirt in the minus 3 degrees Danish evening, he had to punch the door, while the gentleman working the hotel reception ignored him, probably used to tourists who enjoyed a little too much their Carlsberg experience. It took a while, but the receptionist finally took pity on the poor Portuguese marine biologist, almost hypothermic, who was finally able to go up to his room and enjoy a well-deserved night’s rest.

The flight home was uneventful, as was the journey home, where I arrived at about 4 in the afternoon. I knew the Inbox was buzzing, but I really didn’t care. I missed my family, and the clients could wait until the next day because, after all, the world wouldn’t end.

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