So, after a night in a Swedish campsite, avoiding paddling in the black sea and listening to German oompah music, we were up at silly o clock to catch the seven thirty ferry to Rostock. All went smoothly, we were,as expected, beckoned to one side for passport checking, whitevanitis strikes again. The ferry was odd. Called the Huckleberry Finn, it seemed to only have enough sitting room on board for about seven people all the rest was taken up with cabins. We started the journey on the outside deck and felt woefully inadequate as hardened campers got out their full breakfasts including a kettle and a camping gas. This is not an exaggeration They had tinned fish, meat pastes, breads and a cool box. We had a cereal bar. One each though cos that's ho we
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