In the land of Citroen, Peugeot and Renault. Dateline: April, 2018.

Sara and I are on Day 5 of our cruise aboard the River Royale in the area surrounding Bordeaux, France. We’ve been traveling on the Garonne and Dordogne Rivers, and today’s stop is in Libourne. And yes, this is a wine tour, and one that Sara’s been eyeballing for some time … Excusez-moi. Bonjour, Jerrone. What? No. I asked for Johnny Walker Platinum. Black won’t do. What should you do? First, feed the Johnny Walker Black to the local swine. Then have the sommelier ask a lesser staff member to swim ashore and not return until he’s got Platinum in his Gauloises-stained hands. Merci.

I apologize for that interruption. Where was I? Oh, yes. There is no sense of entitlement on this modest 8-day cruise, one that requires of passengers a certain world-weary detachment that the French call ennui, a dash of je ne sais quoi, and the type of self-effacement that … Yes, Genevieve? The captain won’t dine at our table tonight? Please get us a taller and smarter captain from another ship, comprenez vous? And ask the chef to prepare a vegetable medley for us inspired by eighteenth century French novelists, with appropriate musical accompaniment. And I must have a harp. No, two. Merci.

Sara enjoys France’s countryside, vineyard tours, and sampling fine wine. I enjoy accompanying Sara and simply relaxing on the ship’s sun deck, which I’m doing right now as I write to you. Learning to unwind is a special skill that is easier to pick up in France than almost any other … Another beverage? Why, yes. Perhaps a Samuel Smith Pale Ale in a glass chilled to exactly 3 degrees, e-x-a-c-t-l-y 3 degrees, capisce? And an assortment of dry-roasted pomegranate seeds atop freshly picked merlot grapes individually labeled as to time-of-day-picked, Chateau, and age, and arranged in size order on a bouquet of white asparagus, lightly broiled with olive oil, fresh pepper and Bulgarian garlic. And yes, it MUST be from Bulgaria. Hell, I can get fresh Bulgarian garlic in Sheepshead Bay, Brooklyn! Now go.

Getting along with our fellow passengers and ship staff is a breeze. All passengers know that to get along, you must go along. And a merci goes a long way with the ship’s ultra-professional staff. You soon realize there’s no room for outsized egos aboard the River Royale … Bonne après-midi, Alfredo. Would you be so kind to get me the cruise manager, Fondulac? How can I be expected to live aboard a ship with such second-rate WiFi service? Is it soooooo difficult to maintain a solid signal while the ship’s in motion? This cruise isn’t in the Atlantic, you know! And how are we doing with the complimentary Air France first-class upgrades for our return flight, huh? Get back to me, Alfredo. Merci.

And that’s the biggest difference between an ocean liner cruise and a boutique river cruise. Where the former’s a floating hotel hell, a river cruise with 90+ passengers and a crew of 35 helps you to realize what’s truly important in life and how interdependent all of us … Oh, merci. I changed my mind. I no longer want the Samuel Smith, and dammit! It feels like 5 degrees. Not 3. Thank the chef for me, anyway, for the grapes. I’ll speak to the bartender myself. Later. Ce sera tout.

When we get back to New York, we will regret that we will no longer experience the pure daily joy of taking things as they come, and the learning experiences that come from overhearing fellow passengers say things such as, “I don’t take medications even though my doctors tell me to,” “the service aboard this ship is NOTHING like the service aboard the last ship we were on … let me tell you about our LAST cruise,” and “I know first-rate Cognac and this is NOT first-rate Cognac,” and the next time I hear someone use the term “bucket list” I’m going to … well, you understand, and you’re not even onboard the River Royale. I know I am going to miss the staff and our fellow passengers – do NOT get me started on our fellow passengers – on this wonderful ship, and especially so if I’m not tossed overboard with a weighted concrete block attached to my leg.

What is that, steward? Dinner time? Already? I’m a tad fatigued from all of this reporting. If you don’t mind, s’il vous plaît, would you please have someone carry me down to the dining room? And please let Sara know that I’ll join her shortly. Au revoir!