Whe looks around, can understand his frustration: The fishery is on dry land. For three years now, the water has sloshed onto the shore an impressive 15 meters from the jetty. The jetties to which boats are actually tied are orphaned. And grass and weeds grow waist-deep in the cages in which the fish used to swim, which customers could then choose. Manfred Mannheim still has customers. Cars pull up, there is coffee and beer at the kiosk. And fish, there are too – but the Mannheims are now buying them elsewhere. Then they sell them on or refine them. The smokehouse roars, meters away from withered grass. A scene that actually reminds a bit of the Aral Sea, which has already dried up.