Day 16 Ghost Ship at 5:27AM

Couldn’t sleep last night. I was out of bed at 5:00 AM, still shaking off a dream that had my heart racing. Yesterday we had the All Hands on Deck Disembarkation Meeting—the one every cruiser secretly dreads. Times, luggage tags, the do’s and don’ts… all the reminders that our time aboard the Rinda is coming to an end.

So of course my dreaming mind took that and ran with it—maybe sprinted is a better word. In the dream, Donna and I left the Rinda and climbed into a taxi headed for the train station. Except the driver didn’t stop. He just kept driving… and driving… until we wound up somewhere in the countryside. He dropped us off in the middle of nowhere, and somehow we stumbled onto a group of people with a Viking-red umbrella but no English between them.

We finally found another taxi—this one spoke English—but instead of taking us to the station, he brought us to his home. His wife prepared a lovely meal for us while Donna and I sat there quietly panicking about missing our train to Zurich. Eventually he drove us back and we made it just in time. That’s when I woke up—in full “we’re going to miss everything” mode.

It was about 5:27 AM when I finally got up and wandered toward the lounge. The Rinda was a ghost ship. Even Ruth, who always beats me to the chairs by the window, was nowhere to be found. I snapped a few photos of the empty spaces.

Through the glass toward the bow, I spotted an unexpected figure moving in the soft glow of the pre-dawn lights. It was Leah, preparing the pastries. I called out, “Good morning, you’re up early.”
“Always,” she said with a smile.

I stepped outside for a moment. It’s cold in Vienna this morning—the kind of cold that quietly suggests snow might be on its way. The river feels slower today. Or maybe I’m the one slowing down, trying to hold a little tighter to these final days.

It’s Friday. Two more days here in Vienna and on the Rinda. Then on Sunday they will politely, gracefully, and without hesitation… ask us to leave. I’ve been scouting for hiding places—maybe under the cushions tucked beneath the stairs leading to the top deck. I don’t think anyone would notice for at least a few hours.

This is the last cruise of the season. I know the crew is ready to head home, see their families, rest, recharge. Some will move on to other ships. Others will disappear into their well-deserved vacations. And the Rinda? She’ll be settled into her Vienna winter port, tucked in and waiting for the thaw. I imagine the mechanics and staff brushing her down, tuning her up, making sure she’s ready for future travelers come March when she’ll glide up and down the Danube again.

So I’ll savor these last dawns—the creaking hull, the hum of the river, and the kindness of the crew—my little reminders that wonder doesn’t end when the cruise does.Leer más