From an outside view, MARABU looks almost as usual in the last weeks. Its lines convey tranquillity and stability even when it is standing dilapidated in a shipyard hall. But appearances are deceptive... On the sides - in the area where planks, deadwood and ballast keel meet - there are big gaps. In order to be able to assess the condition and thus the expected workload accurately, the most sensitive area of the underwater vessel had to be made accessible. Even though the deadwood has survived the years to some extent, there is no mention of it in the iron frames and wranges.
The nuts, which held the weight of the lead keel with bolts on the fuselage, I find crumbled as rusty pieces in a bucket. The other metal parts don't look much better either.
 
It has become quiet around MARABU, because more important projects require the attention of the boat builders at the moment. So I set off alone on my way into the interior, accompanied by Olaf's encouraging words, which summed up:"Before entering the construction site, refresh tetanus vaccination". Since he's working on a new building next to MARABU, I know he'll stay within shouting distance.
 
An empty shell has remained of X10 - rusty, dirty and in large parts dilapidated. The bottom is missing, the bilge is dotted with sharp-edged, rusty or loose metal remains and neither I nor the tripod with the camera on top of it can find a secure hold on the steeply rising, planked side walls.
A feeling of restlessness spreads through me. For a few photos today I need an eternity of feeling. I am anxious to avoid any wrong footsteps and try to position the image sections in the viewfinder as precisely as possible. Every now and then, muted rumbling and cursing can be heard from the outside - whenever I try to change the position with my equipment.
After two hours I am happy to escape the oppressive atmosphere and look around in the hall, standing high up on the remaining deck. My gaze falls on a workbench.
 
Maybe there is still a part of MARABU's "soul" there? Some old fittings, the ship's propeller and two small mirrors leaning against the wall from the former "wet room" apparently did not find their way into the trash dumpster. While I'm photographing, I wonder how many people in these mirrors probably looked themselves into the eyes of those who were not sleeping, after days at sea before arriving in the harbour, they quickly cut their beards or brushed their teeth in a hurry at an incline of 30°.
I secretly hope that these inconspicuous remains of a bygone era will eventually find their place on the MARABU and accompany the sailors of a new generation on a long voyage across the sea.