Dhe fruit tarts in Café Möwennest on Jorker Yachthafenstrasse, presented in softly humming refrigerated showcases like sensitive exhibits, are impressive creations made from cream, quark and meringue; also overloaded with fruit. Jork is now also in the Altes Land, the second largest fruit-growing area in Europe. This juicy and creamy wealth of fruit tarts, and they are everywhere here at this time of year, is reminiscent of the years of the economic miracle, when the barren post-war period suddenly seemed to be transformed into a land of milk and honey and, among other things, lavishly decorated cakes represented this new prosperity. We sit on the dike in front of the seagull’s nest, look at the sign that says “Self-service” and look down at the small harbor of Altländer Yachtclub e. V., in whose basin sailboats bob up and down. The water is muddy brown. It is the Hahnöfer Nebenelbe, which moves up very quickly in the direction of Hamburg. It’s high tide.
If you close your eyes, you can sink into the beguiling background noise of a sunny day’s excursion: laughter, the bells of bicycles, the clatter of dishes, the screaming of seagulls and excited children chatter. Sometimes a ship touts in the distance. But you can also fight in the thicket down on the bank. There is no beach, the trees grow up to the water. Bricks lie around between their roots, and colored shards glow between them. The light blue fragment of a tile, a piece of melted glass, the rest of a coffee cup, a piece of greenish pressed glass, a pink shard that you would immediately imagine in a bathroom. If you hold the broken pieces in the Elbe and the dirt from the floor is washed away, they sparkle in the sunlight; a nice picture. As cheerful as this excursion to the Old Country.