After the rainy trip down to Berchtesgaden, we thought we had learned our lesson: book travel as late as you can to guarantee good weather. So that’s exactly what we did, but instead of the mountainous alps, we went north, to the Baltic Sea. On Wednesday I checked the weather for Rostock, a former East German port town only a 3-hour train ride away. My app said nothing but clear skies and 25º Celsius. I bought train tickets and booked an Airbnb for that Saturday and settled in to wait the mere three days until our departure.
When we stepped off of the train in Rostock it was a balmy 25º like the weather app had promised. We wasted no time and hopped on another train even further north and went straight to the beach. But after an hour on the crowded sand, everything went south.
And by ‘south’ I mean all of the rain clouds from Scandinavia. As soon as I felt the first massive raindrop I frantically started to pack up our towels. It was pouring before we made it off the sand. We ran for cover and donned our rain jackets before joining the herd of tourists making their way to shelter in restaurants along the harbor.
The next morning after inspecting the weather app we decided to split our day around an expected lunchtime rainstorm. We walked along the sleepy streets of a nearly deserted Sunday-morning Rostock, exploring the massive churches, rose gardens, and lush parks. Again, just as the rain began to fall we made a mad dash to the nearest restaurant. Unfortunately, the restaurant was a subpar American BBQ joint, but the rain stopped as soon as we finished eating so it served its purpose.
We thought we were in the clear after weathering the storm in Rostock over lunch, but apparently the storm was dead-set on raining on our parade so we had to postpone our sunny beach day, yet again.
The next morning I checked the weather as soon as I woke up and let out a sigh of relief, it was set to be just warm enough for lying prone on the beach and only partly cloudy to boot. We hopped on the train to the beach and stopped for some delicious fried fish sandwiches along the way. As we munched on our lunch the seagulls decided they were hungry, too. One swooped down from above and knocked a sandwich out of Lena’s hands, spilling the bread, fish, and garlic sauce in a messy pile on the ground. We stood there in disbelief as seagulls swarmed the fallen food. They squawked at us to stay away from their prize.
As we ran for cover, another daring bird took a beaky bite out of my sandwich and flew away. I glared at it in defiance on its high perch in the distance. When we’d recovered from our incredulous stupor we huddled in an alley over our remaining fish and chips and sandwich to ensure their safety from further dive bomb attempts. Later, while sitting on the beach, an older woman lying near us was throwing pieces of bread for the hungry seagulls surrounding us. I cursed her in my head as I sipped my Piña Colada and yelled defensively at nearby birds.
As the sun neared the horizon and the wind whipped clouds in its path we got too cold for sunbathing and decided to pack up and explore the forest down the coast. We strolled past hundreds of striped beach chairs, then dozens of FKK-ers, and a handful of kids trying to learn to surf with no waves. In the forest, we noticed how similar it was to the coast of Sassnitz, and it’s beautiful birch trees.
At the end of the shaded forest path, we found a secluded family-run Biergarten where we enjoyed fresh beer and a big plate of barbecue hot off the grill. No matter how uncooperative the weather, a post-corona-lockdown excursion out of the hustle and bustle of Berlin will always be worth it. Unless there are dive-bombing seagulls, then I’d have to think about it.