The estuary

We speed across the sparkling water in the motorboat of our guesthouse owner. We approach Sulina, the last town in the delta. At the harbor, we are greeted by rusty shipwrecks, a few completely destroyed factory buildings and run-down residential buildings. At around 33 degrees in the shade, it’s a bleak, very dry sight. In the meantime, however, we have become accustomed to the face of the cities in Romania. Somehow they all look alike. Because Florin doesn’t have a license to drive his speedster into the open sea, he lets us off at the promenade. We agree to be back in 2 ½ hours. We can’t see the mouth of the Danube from here, so we walk along the promenade towards the sea. A fence at the harbor blocks our way, we turn around and follow a very stony road. Suddenly this also ends in nothingness. There is no sign of the sea or the estuary for miles around. Tanja and I are disappointed. We wanted to experience how the second largest river in Europe pours into the Black Sea after flowing 2859 kilometers through 19 countries. Now we are standing in front of a dusty cow pasture and can only make out a blue stripe behind it. “That’s the Black Sea,” I say meekly. “Do you think there’s enough time to walk there?” asks Tanja. “I don’t think so. Wouldn’t be good to keep Florin waiting,” I reply. We linger for a few minutes, gazing across the dusty earth covered in cow pats and thinking about our journey. The cities of Ulm, Regensburg and Passau (Germany), Linz and Vienna (Austria), Bratislava (Slovakia), Budapest (Hungary), Belgrade (Serbia) and the many small places that the river of rivers has passed through and past with us. Memories come flooding back. They emerge like short film sequences, like brief flashes of images, and disappear again into the convolutions of our brains.” Thank you for the wonderful and profound experiences that you, the Queen of the Rivers, have given us,” I say quietly. Somewhat melancholically, we turn our backs to the mouth of the Danube, our guide for the journey so far. “I’m glad that our journey continues,” I say. “Me too,” Tanja replies, nodding her head in the direction of Moldova.

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