Alarm and locked in the lower deck

(Photos of the diary entry can be found at the end of the text).

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“What a great feeling to finally be free again!” I shout into the wind as we stand at the stern of the ferry and look out over the receding shores of Denmark. “Yes, Norway here we come,” Tanja says happily, hugging me. Only fractions of a second later, a shrill alarm sounds. “What’s that?” asks Tanja, startled. “It’s coming from the lower deck. Oh God, it’s the car alarms,” I say. “Take a photo of the discard, I’ll see if it’s our Terra,” says Tanja and hurries off. 15 minutes later, Tanja is still not back. Thinking about it, I walk down the steps to deck three. When I try to open the heavy steel door to the car deck, it is locked. “All entrances to the car decks are always closed shortly after casting off,” a passenger explains to me with a smile. “What? Why is that?” I ask, startled, because I assume that Tanja is now trapped in the belly of the big ship. “There have been cases of gangs simply torching several vehicles. If guests are denied access to the cars, they can no longer be broken into, stolen or broken into in their absence. Apart from that, it has also happened that cars have been pushed into each other in the waves. It is therefore not safe to walk between the cars during the crossing. Not everyone puts the handbrake on, they must understand.” “Well, that’s a good start,” I say, wondering what I should do now to get Tanja out of her situation. “You can go to the service center and report the loss of your wife,” laughs the Norwegian. “Good idea,” I reply, thanking him, and trudge back up the freshly painted white steel stairs. Once on the passenger decks, I am forced to squeeze through the crowds. Vacationers, travelers and commuters sit and lie around everywhere. Every corner of the steel colossus seems to be occupied. Arriving at the service counter, I change my mind. If Tanja is still down there, she will have made herself comfortable in the Terra. It’s a thousand times better and incomparably more comfortable than here, I think.

Although the crossing to Norway is only supposed to take 3 1/2 hours, I’m surprised at how hungry the guests are, because they eat a lot of expensive fast and junk food and wash it down with soft drinks. It smells of old grease, currywurst and ketchup. For half an hour I wander through and over the decks and find an uncomfortable seat next to two elderly ladies. “You’re welcome to sit here,” says one of them, while the other gives me a friendly wink. They also snack on cake, drink coffee and round off with a plate of chips. Because the two of them obviously haven’t seen each other for years and are chattering and laughing incessantly, I excuse myself and wander through the rooms again. Even people are now lying on the steps trying to sleep. If only Tanja knew how lucky she is, I think, and spot a seat between a family passing the time of the crossing by playing cards. I curl up in a corner and try to sleep. Not a chance. It’s just too loud and uncomfortable. At 2:00 a.m., the captain’s voice rings out. “The doors to the lower decks will open again in a few minutes!” When I reach the bottom, I make my way to our expedition vehicle. “So how was it up there?” asks Tanja in high spirits. “Crowded, hectic and very uncomfortable,” I say. “You poor thing. I had a great time. When I noticed the locked doors, I went into the Terra, read for a while and slept until you came.”

The loading hatch of the ferry slowly opens like a yawning giant’s mouth. I let our Terra roll off the boat at walking pace. About 100 meters ahead of us we see the Norwegian checkpoints. A few men in uniform wave the vehicles past. We are nervous. A few days ago, a vet told us that she had once failed to enter the central pharmaceutical number (PZN) of the vaccine administered in a dog’s vaccination record. As a result, the dog was not allowed to enter Norway. As a result, the travelers had to take the next ferry back to Denmark. When you consider that the ferry company charges €500 for a one-way crossing during the high season, it would be very expensive. But that’s not all, because the Norwegians require a tapeworm vaccination for dogs that must not be older than 120 hours. If we had to go back, this time would have expired for us and Ajaci would need a new tapeworm vaccination to be allowed to enter the country again. “Everything will be fine. Ajaci’s vaccination record is in order, we’re within the prescribed time for the tapeworm vaccination and the doctor made sure to enter the vaccine identification number,” I say.

The queue of cars creeps past the checkpoints. Because we have to declare our dog when we enter the country, we are in the so-called red channel. “Welcome to Norway,” a customs officer calls out of the window of the surveillance building and waves us on in a friendly manner. “Yay,” Tanja says happily as we leave the port behind us and drive the first few meters through night-time Norway, stopping in a parking lot not far from the port town of Larvik to get a good night’s sleep until the approaching morning…