The landing stage is always between. Between water and land, between ship and home, between town and country, between this and that. The landing stage is a portal, but where?

Every May teams of seasonal workers come to Solovki to harvest seaweed. They go out to sea and mow it down with karbas. In October, the remnants of the brigade returned to Arkhangelsk. In the deserted village, there remains a watchman, wintering with a dog.

There are places where time flows backwards and space turns inside out. Among such places is Pomerania.