Animal Tale #7

    The greatest performance I will ever see 

Last weekend I went on my very first paddling trip.

If my friend, who had organised the boat tour, had told me beforehand that we’d be paddling for seven hours, I probably would have stayed at home. But now, I am so glad that this information was kept from me.

We picked up the boat waiting for us under a bridge somewhere in the middle of the city, and after getting it into the water, the four of us sat one behind the other, smiling like kids on their first school trip.

I sat at the front of the boat mainly for the view, only to discover that those great views came with a great (and unwanted) responsibility: I was to set the pace for the rest of the day. Great.

Still, and despite this small detail, our energy was high.

We paddled fast, fuelled by enthusiasm, strength and a terrible technique. 

For most of the morning we overtook all other boats on the river and, after just a few hours (and a weir crossing), we arrived at a smaller, quieter river, surrounded by trees and silence.

The water moved slowly. The only sounds the wind moving through the leaves up above and the water splashing against the paddles down below. Sunlight streamed through gaps in the branches, and we all fell into a state of bliss.

We paddled, chatted, and stopped for a bratwurst break. 

No matter how far into nature you think you are, in this world you are never too far away from society (and if you’re in Germany, you are never to far from a bratwurst stand).

Anyhow, after our little break, we decided to follow the river a bit further. Soon, we found ourselves surrounded by thousands of crane flies. They were covering the entire surface of the water, moving quickly and chaotically.

When the light caught them just right, it was as if they were ice skating in a beautiful dance that somehow reminded me of The Nutcracker. To be fair, I might be wrong here, as I have never seen the original ballet, and my only point of reference is the Barbie movie based on it.

In this magical landscape we floated quietly, silently. Until Jannek, who looks (or better, likes to look) like a pirate, started singing. Anse, with their beautiful voice, joined in. Alex and I, neither of us very musical, listened.

I was surprised, and had to hold in my laughter, when they started singing the Dance of the Sugar Plum Fairy. What are the odds? I had just been thinking about The Nutcracker, and suddenly here it was, echoing across the river.

However comical, their performance was impeccable.

So much so that all of the crane flies began to rise and gather around our boat. Like a living tornado, they started dancing, spinning all around us, their wings and long legs moving in perfect rhythm with the music. 

For a moment, I could swear I saw one fly, what seemed to be the main ballerina of the swarm, balancing a small leaf on her back as if it were a tutu.

Then their voices faded, together with the song. 

Just before the end, the little ballerina flew close to me, paused in midair, and bowed.

 I am certain this was the greatest performance I will ever see, 

and I’ll carry that knowledge with me forever.

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