Dear Romie
Dear Romie sails the Mekong and the Nam Khan — in the morning light, the long afternoon, or the last hour before dark, when the water keeps the light a little longer than it should.
Romie is a tuxedo cat — Romeo, to be formal, though no one is. A soft meow, the faint suggestion of a bow tie, the manners of a small gentleman. He boards first, carries a single rose, and chooses where to sit. He is not a mascot. He is the host.
From Romie
Romie is our first letter — the one we sent before we knew where we were going.
Named after a small cat with a soft meow and the manners of a gentleman, Romie is the kind of boat that doesn’t need to be loud. He carries six. He prefers the long afternoon. He has a particular fondness for people who bring books they don’t intend to read.
Sail with Romie if you’d like to send a letter to the river. He’ll see it gets where it’s going.
Yours,
Romie
You book a letter, not a boat ride.
On board there is a small wooden writing box. You are invited, never asked, to write — to yourself, to someone you miss, or to the river. No one reads it. The letter goes unanswered, and that is the whole of it.
Some letters aren’t meant to be replied to.