Passing the many ships after the Kerch Bridge is very impressive – but I am already faced with a challenge: how do I get to Anapa without GPS, especially as it will soon be completely dark? I switch on the radar again and take a crash course, but I can’t see or distinguish anything on the display and stick strictly to the compass – thinking that a ship will soon be visible with its navigation lights. Until a black barge appears on the horizon, which I can only just make out as a silhouette… A huge, darkened warship. I’m not impressed – they should know who’s coming, and I think it’s better to stay on course, heading straight for Anapa. After a few hours, the first lights on the horizon indicate that I’m probably on the right track. And just before the bay, the GPS starts working again! Bull’s eye.
In Anapa itself, I stay in a separate part of the harbour and have to go through the whole registration process again – and Lena comes into her own. She mediates and opens hearts. Formally, I will stay in this part of the harbour because we want to continue on to Sochi. But we can pass through a kind of customs house to the government offices and into the city: a huge holiday destination. In contrast to the modest/inexpensive Jeisk, this is where the holiday dreams of the Russian middle class come true; countless amusement parks with Ferris wheels and discos behind the kilometre-long sandy beach, with bars and restaurants and beach life along the long coastline, and deckchairs with parasols packed tightly together – Rimini is a playground in comparison!
Right in front of me on the harbour quay is Sergei with his family and his own yacht – he sailed here in one go from Turkey through the Black Sea. Now he’s back and getting ready for the trip through Kerch (he’ll sail to Svirstroy, the town where I moored on 26 May) … Sergei gives me tips on where to moor and refuel in Turkey. Speaking of refuelling: it’s hard to imagine, but there’s no petrol station directly at the harbour in Anapa! Instead, using the usual tricks in the grey area, I manage to get hold of Vova (and his assistant), who, after work, when it gets dark, do what is strictly forbidden: drive up to the now closed customs (booth) with their own fuel trailer and fill my ArgoFram – which I have now moved to the edge of the cordoned-off part of the harbour – with petrol via a very long hose. (In Russia, anything is possible. It’s just a question of “balance”, which I’m getting better at and understanding more and more.)