THE EDITOR’S LETTER
It’s funny listening to my daughter, surrounded by the green waters of the Rhine outside our window that resemble abandoned forest pools. It’s not like they’re stories I haven’t heard before, but in our cabin, with her lying on her back on the bed, her head lolling off the end, it feels like everything else has been drowned out, so I am hearing her—seeing her—as if for the first time. “Swan!” she’ll shout out, interrupting her own tale, pointing at the birds’ improbable shapes gliding past on the turn. She runs her fingers through her upside-down hair. “I love it when the ship is moving,” she says. “The motion feels like magic.” The man who picked us up for our Viking trip along the river from Basel to Amsterdam had indeed…