The Slow Boat – Part 1: Upstream

"It moves at the speed of a bicycle," said Paul.

"That's the point."

"We could walk faster."

"We could, but then we would miss the vineyards." Nadia put her hands on the rail. "Look at them."

The river wound through a deep green valley, with terraced vineyards climbing the hills in neat curved stripes and little white farmhouses scattered among the vines. The boat chugged gently upstream, throwing a long silver wake. It was the first day of a week-long cruise, a twenty-second anniversary gift they had both promised themselves for years.

Nadia was forty-four, a school principal, brisk by habit and out of practice at relaxing. Paul was forty-seven, a surveyor, tall, rumpled and perpetually checking the map. "Retired from checking," he said, folding it away. "As of now."

The days drifted. They tasted wine on a terrace with a view down to the water. They had long, slow lunches of grilled fish and bread. They took naps in deckchairs and woke with the blanket tucked over them. In the evenings they stood at the stern, glasses in hand, watching the light turn the hills gold.

"We never do this," said Nadia.

"What?"

"Nothing."

"We're excellent at it." Paul took her hand. "Why have we waited twenty-two years?"

"Children. Work. The roof."

"The roof can wait." He kissed her knuckles. "I've missed you."

"I've been right here."

"I know." He smiled. "I've missed being in the same room as you with nothing to do."

Nadia looked at him, then at the little cabin door behind them. "We have a cabin," she said slowly.

"We do."

"It has a door."

"I noticed that too."

Continue the story: Part 2 – Terraces.

Continue the story: Part 2 – Terraces.