Our stool: Our porthole was above my head (I’m “five-foot-one and a shrimp”) and I had to drag the stool over between the bed and the wall and stand on it to see out. I’m pretty sure most of me was below water level, which felt a little eerie.
But it meant I could evaluate the height of waves, enjoy the colorful sheen of sunrise across the smoothly rippled surface and look ducks and swans in the eye. Since we were on the port side, the side you can’t see in the Viking postcard, it gave me a periscope’s view of the north and east coasts of the Rhine, Main, and Danube Rivers from the North Sea to the Black Sea. I spent a lot of time perched on my stool, hunched over like a vulture, trying not to miss anything.