Wait, I suspect right now you are thinking “OMG :shocked face: emoji - WHO DOES THAT! - just get on a boat with some random stranger?!! Did your parents never teach you about stranger-danger!” But, in my defence, he seemed like a pleasant enough old man and the boat was truly a work of art that was begging to be investigated. Reasoning that if there were any dodgy vibes given off I could always jump overboard and wade to the shore. The river hereabouts was pretty shallow, I know this because I had been walking it daily for months and I doubted he’d leave his precious boat to chase some random stranger.
He offered me his hand, helping me aboard the boat, “Welcome aboard fellow traveller, the name is Silas, and this Lady is the Galaxia.
I looked about in interest, the boat was about 5 meters long with a wide timber deck that seemed more sturdy than I had first thought, with a tiny wheelhouse at the rear, barely a meter in depth and 2 meters wide. Many layers of fine netting hung from its sides, creating a network of dappled light patterns across a small iron stove and on which a blackened kettle rested. There was a small knee high table bearing a wooden bowl full of apples, about which a pile of large comfy looking Turkish cushions were orderly placed. Above the kettle a row of hooks held mugs, a fire poker, and an old glass lantern - the kind that you would expect to see in some period piece on Edwardian England. Towards the blunted prow of the boat were a series of wooden crates held down by more netting and secured carefully to hooks in the deck.
To my surprise there was nothing on the boat that looked modern at all, even the pot bellied stove looked like it must have been handmade by some artisanal blacksmith - there were no manufacturing logos or branding and the netting above seemed to have been woven from some fine fibrous material that I could not immediately identify. I whistled in appreciation, “this boat is a work of art!” I exclaimed to Silas, turning to watch as he carefully poled us away from the shore, his efforts reminding me of a Venetian Gondolier.
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As we entered the main flow of the river, Silas put down his pole and gestured towards the cushions, “Please, take a seat, and I'll make us a drink - I hope you don’t mind herbal tea?”.
“That would be lovely”, I said as I took a cushion and sat back against the side of the boat, “don’t you worry that your stove could catch the boat alight?”.
Silas pointed to the heavy looking timber on the deck, “this wood has been specially treated to not catch fire, even if it were to be covered in oil and set alight!” I took a closer look at the deck and noticed that in the afternoon light the decking had a faint reddish shimmer as though a viscous lacquer had been applied, staining the whorls and knots in the dark wood.
I was interrupted in my musings as the kettle began to sing and turned to watch as Silas carefully poured the boiling water into the mugs. “Would you like honey with yours?” He asked as he produced a small earthen jar, “I must admit to being rather fond of it myself”.
“Sure”, I said, “do you know a beekeeper by chance? I didn’t know that you could get honey in jars like that any more”.
Silas half mumbled something under his breath that I didn’t quite catch about uppity bees and even more uppity beekeepers - at least I think that’s what he said. He turned to face me, handing me a mug, “Here's to pleasant company and interesting travels”.
We clinked mugs, I waited for him to take the first sip, you know - just in case, then when he didn’t keel over, I followed suit.
