What U looking at? I Kiel you...

Another day off, another blistering hangover. It seems we always have a day off in Kiel, and there's never anything to do. So the prospect of a Sunday in said city was not being relished by your humble.. writer-guy. That said, a day off is a day when I don't have to work, and that is something to be cherished.

To avoid the usual moaning, I'd booked a central hotel with an early check-in. It was over 700 km from Stuttgart and I knew the crew would be tired, grumpy and hungover. Only moreso. Despite a few late-risers grumbling that they'd missed breakfast, check-in went fairly smoothly and I decided to ignore any problems until I was back at work the next day.

A few of the crew had mentioned visiting a U-boat on previous visits to Kiel so my mind was already made up- no drinking in the afternoon on this day off, oh no, siree. I met up with my Canadian buddy Marc and his Russian girlfriend and we set off through the deserted Sunday streets of Kiel in search of chow before enduring the 30 minute bus ride to the beach to see said U-boat. An American brunch and 2 glasses of champale later, we were on our way.

Being a harbour town, Kiel was virtually destroyed by the allies in the spiteful bombing campaign of '44-'45. Over 80% of buildings (residential, civic and industrial) were destroyed. The result is depressing to say the least. It's not ugly as such. It's not even ugly-beautiful. It's just... meh. No doubt the grey weather didn't help, and being this close to Denmark, it's still winter here, really, whereas in Maastricht and the surrounding area there's a definite feeling of spring. But Kiel has this air of depression about it, a town whose spirit has been wrung dry. There were wrecking balls on the river banks, tearing into old factories which reminded me of Soviet propaganda posters. The developers are closing in...

Despite imagining how cramped it must be, I was surprised it wasn't bigger. We entered at the back, into the engine room. Sitting idle, it's pretty unremarkable, but picturing the hulking brute running, with smoke and steam everywhere, the sense of desperation started to sink in a bit.

The majority of space, of course, was devoted to destruction. Right under the torpedoes, crew-beds are visible, so that the sub was always battle-ready.
I'm pretty snake-hipped (my 11-year-old nephew has a bigger waist that me), but I could barely get through the portholes that separated the engine room from the sleeping quarters and so forth. Maybe the tourbus isn't so bad after all...