Please follow us to the police station!

38° 22′ 5.4588” N 26° 7′ 51.6216”
October 20th 2021<

In the skipper’s birthtown, Viborg, it was a standing joke among us children that the city’s best slot machine was the city’s police station. If you threw a stone in through a window, a policeman automatically came out of the gate.

This is also the case in Greece.

If you send a complaint to the Greek Ombudsman in Athens about an assault committed by the Greek Coast Guard on the island of Chios, a police officer will immediately stop by your boat and ask you to follow him to the police station.

The night before, we had emailed a complaint, that the crew of a vessel from the Greek Coast Guard had moved our sailboat without asking permission, having done so in such a lax way, that the moving has drawn marks on the side of our boat from rusty metal rings and old car tires and finally that they have fastened the boat in a way so sloppy, that it is sure to get additional damages. When we arrive – alerted by other sailors – we are furiously rejected. “This is Hellenic Police. Police business.” Their business is that they have laid their boat longship behind ours, and their power cable is too short to reach the power stand.

At the police station, a classic game with “bad cop” and “good cop” takes place.

The first two police officers go hard on us: “Why were you not in your boat, when a storm warning was issued?” The storm warning was valid from late in the evening, while the episode took place in the afternoon in sun and quiet weather. “It is the coast guard’s fixed place in case of storm warnings“, they continue. It is said nowhere on signs, and the harbor master has been at our boat to receive payment for space and electricity. “You must understand that when you complain about us, we also have to open a complaint against you.” No, we do not understand that.

Then another officer comes in. The good one. “Do you want coffee,” he asks and tells us that he is a fan of Danish football, Michael Laudrup and Peter Schmeicel. The mood eases.

Then comes the very head of the region’s Port Police in stiff and ironed, chalk-white uniform with two rows of medals on the shirt chest. He regrets our meeting with his people the previous day. Uses the word sorry. Still, he thinks our complaint is unfair. The crew we complain about are heroes. They rescue sick children from remote islands, and they have rescued thousands of refugees in small boats. “Why have you complained to Athens? Do you not know what such a case will mean of ministerial involvement and lots of negative attention? Why create an image of Chios as a bad place? We need tourists.”

We say that we have full respect for that kind of heroic effort. But even heroes need to behave properly in the meeting with citizens like us.

We discuss the situation at Ronja for a few days. Skipper’s wife has a big and forgiving heart, where skippers are more like a tough nut. The big heart wins. We write to the ombudsman, cancel the complaint and sail further south towards new adventures.