Our berth in Genova. Are they kidding???

Phil nudges the Rainbow Warrior with an inflatable

A town of small spaces

By Meghan, web editor. 16 March. As a resident of the United States of America, I am accustomed to Things of Large Size - houses, plates of pasta and parking spaces, to name a few. So perhaps this is why my blood pressure soared as the Rainbow Warrior entered the harbour in Genova, Italy.

It was Friday afternoon. The decks of the Warrior glistened as a result of our deck wash earlier that day. (The Warrior had drifted along the coast of Italy as we scrubbed and sprayed, and there was just enough time afterward for a quick and 'refreshing' - I screamed like a baby - swim in the Med. A glorious start to the day.) We were preparing ourselves for a weekend of 'open boats', when our Italian colleagues would show off our shiny ship to members of the public.

But as the Warrior entered the Genova port and we finally detected the berth for which we were intended, I was certain all our deck scrubbing was for naught. Scenes from Titanic rushed through my head.

There was absolutely no way we were going to fit into that tiny, tiny space.

I could see that many of my fellow crewmembers, even without the US 'big' bias, felt similar pangs of anxiety. Lesley shrieked, 'Now THIS I gotta see'. Bernard radioed from an inflatable, 'Uh, Pete - I'm not sure you're gonna fit'. Daniel began sharing stories of shipwrecks and poor ship maneuvering. Someone on the bridge reported that even Cap'n Pete swallowed hard.

This parking place was a narrow channel of water with a fancy (figures) yacht on each side. The yachts, we could see, had nervous-looking crewmembers on deck, armed with enormous 'bumpers' (I'm sure there's a nautical term of which I'm ignorant). Even worse, we had to dock there stern-first - or back in. There was more tension in these waters than in any Hollywood movie.

First mate Helen had assigned everyone a role on deck and the teams were equipped with radios - one for the bow, one for the stern, and Cap'n Pete at the controls. We even had inflatables in the water to help guide - push, that is - the Rainbow Warrior into the slip. Still, I had to fight the urge to grab a survival suit and send my family a quick farewell email message. 'I love you Mom, I love you Dad, sorry for being a bad kid'.

But as you have probably guessed by the fact that I'm blithely writing this narrative, the story has a happy ending. Pete calmly issued commands into his radio, Cees steering from the bridge, Helen leading the anchor and bow line team, and Dmitri heading up the stern team. (I, typically useless on deck, was even assigned to be in charge of a bumper - a tire on a rope - on the port side.) The anchor was heaved, the lines were tossed, the Warrior was nudged by Phil on an inflatable, and our girl, miraculously, made it safely into her slip. Not even a scratch.

Whew.

I'm certain this near brush with catastrophe is part of the reason that after slapping each other on the back, especially the back of our stalwart captain, we all rushed to shore and haven't returned since. Time to go out and enjoy this town of small spaces.

Meghan

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