It takes a lot to Ask…

Vienna. Alte Donau. A 16-inch Laser sailing boat. Three people. Three languages. One unexpected wind.

Damien Rice knows something about falling.
Not from boats. But from the high, exposed place where you stop pretending — where the performance ends and something real and cold and true rushes in from a direction you weren’t watching.
That is what his music feels like. And that is exactly what happened to me on the Alte Donau in Vienna.

It was a beautiful day.
That is the thing about beautiful days. i was thinking nothing can go wrong.
Hubert had the main sail. Alev and I was on the sides.

The system was simple. When Hubert shouted “Klar zur Wende” — we get ready. When he shouted “Re” — we change direction.
Simple. In theory.
What actually happened was a beautiful comedy of miscommunication. Hubert spoke German to Alev. Alev spoke Turkish to me. I smiled at both of them and understood approximately nothing. When “Re” came — three people pulled three different things at three different moments in three completely different directions.
And yet — for a while — it worked.
The wind was gentle. The Donau was calm. Vienna was golden in the afternoon light. I relaxed. I thought: I am a sailor now.

Then the wind changed.
No warning. No announcement. Just a sudden gust from a completely different direction — the kind of wind that doesn’t ask permission.
The boat turned.
Everything turned.
And then all three of us were in the water.

The Alte Donau in Vienna is cold. Not refreshing cold. Not invigorating cold. Cold in the way that makes you immediately aware of every cell in your body — and none of them are happy.
The boat was half underwater. The sail was sinking. Hubert was trying to flip everything back. Alev was somewhere I couldn’t see.
And I was floating — one arm raised above the surface of the water — saying in the smallest, most dignified voice I have ever used:
“Help… help… help…”
it takes a lot to ask for help….

And then — because life always sends exactly what you need at exactly the right moment — a boat appeared.
One couple and One dog. Enough rope and warmth and laughter to save three soaking sailors and one half-sunken Laser. My jumper sink in to the deep water. i was lucky not bring my phone and wallet with me, the sailing club warned me before i took off..
We paid €70 for the accident.
It was the best €70 I ever spent.

Later, wrapped in a towel on the shore, watching the Donau move quietly past as if nothing had happened, I thought about Damien Rice. About that song.
It takes a lot to know the field.
It does. It really does.
But here is what I also know now — it takes a lot to know yourself. To sit in cold water and admit that you don’t have it under control. To raise your hand and say help in a small voice without shame.
Most of us spend years performing competence. Performing strength. Performing the version of ourselves that has never fallen off a boat, never misunderstood the direction, never ended up cold and surprised in the middle of a river in Vienna.
But Damien sings about the other version. The real one. The one that is visible only in the unguarded moments — when the wind changes, the boat turns, and suddenly there you are.
Just you. Cold water. One arm raised.
And that — that moment — is where the real knowing begins.
Not the knowing of a man. Not the knowing of another person.
The knowing of yourself.

I didn’t learn to sail that day on the Alte Donau.
But I learned something better.
That asking for help is not weakness. It is the bravest, most honest thing you can do.
And sometimes the rescue arrives with a dog on board.
That’s enough. That’s more than enough.

By the way, in the morning, i wear already my bikini in me, i was willing to swim but Hubert told me it is cold and i don`t know how to approach the pier, i said ok tanpis, and when we arrive to the sailing club restaurant and drinking beer, he told me you wanted to swim, and here we are…
— Filiz