We are back at the great beach. It bears a different name, so it’s probably a different one. The one beach is located somewhere down there. But I can hardly see anything, because this beach disappears at the horizon, where the other one begins.

At regular intervals, dark structures stand in the golden sand. They rise from it like rock formations. Only as I approach them do I recognize them: concrete bunkers. Some have sunk into the sand like old, heavy ships that ran aground long ago.

The sea and people have left their marks. Algae and shells, graffiti and plastic flowers. I am surprised again and again that they have been left standing here. As beautiful and peaceful as this beach is today, there was a time when it was different. Everyone who comes here is reminded of this. Remembrance is visible here.

This is one of the things that moves me most about this country. The Germans not only tried to destroy everything during the war, but also afterward. They didn’t stop. They continued at home. That’s why the country seems dead and why I feel more dead than alive there. Here, it’s exactly the opposite.

We spend several hours on this seemingly endless beach. We collect stones and shells and marvel at dead starfish. We watch riders galloping past us on their horses, and observe beginners making their first attempts with colorful boards on small waves. We are especially impressed by those who transition from their wheelchair onto a board.

All of this touches me, but what moves me most is the vastness. It’s so different from everything I grew up with. This vastness opens thoughts of possibilities within me. I feel things I couldn’t allow before. Deep joy. Soft tranquility. Inner serenity. The vastness grounds me. In nature, I feel secure; among people, less so.