In the middle of… Talalla
Illustration: Marc Herold
It is March 2nd, the 64-kilometer-long Russian military convoy is rolling towards Kyiv, and Russian vacationers are lying on the beach in southern Sri Lanka. Already in the days before, at waterfalls and in temples, one met some and took the word “Ukraine” from their conversations, unfortunately the rest could not be understood due to a lack of Russian knowledge. But now, in the beautiful bay of Talalla, someone with a big belly is lying under a palm tree and is on the phone. In English and loud enough that the air carries shreds of it. “Money” is by far the most common word, the second most common is “Uruguay”. It remains unclear whose money the Russian is currently transferring to South America. One thing is clear: it cannot stay where it is, despite Putin’s export ban. When people flee Ukraine, capital flees Russia. Susan Klein
In the middle of… Hermanus
Illustration: Marc Herolc
The Voëlklip Beach in South Africa is a highlight. Totally instagrammable. This bay! The wild surf! You don’t see whales at this time of year, but you do see a couple from Spain heading out to sea. The young woman, cell phone in hand, checks light, perspective and position for the ultimate selfie. But it doesn’t come to that. What is coming is a 16-degree cold Atlantic wave that apparently rips something valuable out of her hand. Because she keeps calling “perdóname, perdóname!” and covers his face with his hands as he talks to her in disbelief. As it turns out, it was the wedding ring. His wedding ring. He wanted to swim and thought it safer to give him to his wife. The rest is search, desperation, blame. At the end then: a hug. After all, love has to work without a ring. Violetta Simon
In the middle of… Munich
Illustration: Marc Herolc
Monday morning, Munich Central Station. Trolley cases rattle, garbage trucks curve around passers-by, masked people stare at displays and read news that exhausts them. They sip coffee that is too hot, listlessly tear off pieces of pretzels, wait for their train that will take them to Ingolstadt, Frankfurt, Amsterdam. A loud clearing of the throat can be heard, ah, now there’s an announcement: “On platform 9 is approaching … Be careful when entering!” Then it cracks. Short silence. Another crack. A few mumbled words can be heard from the loudspeaker. Who were they addressed to now? The first heads are curiously detaching themselves from the mobile devices. And then it can be heard: a resounding laugh, from the bottom of my heart. An announcer forgot to turn off his microphone. A great many suddenly seem to be smiling under their masks. Mareen Linnartz