An Open Letter from Her Nautical Highness, the Princess Marie-Astrid

I was once the vessel of visionary statesmanship. Now I’m referred to in Tripadvisor reviews as "a charming floating café with surprisingly clean toilets."

Photo: Tristan Schmurr

Cou cou, darlings!
It’s been far too long. Four decades since I graciously hosted the signing of the Schengen Agreement—and in all that time, not a single EU Commissioner has written, called, or named even a forgotten directive after me. Not even a “Schengen Directive on Sustainable Nautical Heritage (Annex A: Glamorous Vessels).” Tragic, really.

So where have I been, you ask, while you’ve all been flitting across borders like duty-free butterflies?

Well, after my star turn in 1985, I took a much-deserved sabbatical—moored in quiet contemplation, watching the river rise and the Commission dither. I briefly ventured into cinema—yes, I acted. I was the lead in a student film titled The Borders Within. The director was Belgian. Say no more.

Then came my years as a "floating embassy of soft diplomacy"—though let’s be honest, I’ve mostly been schlepping geriatric cruise groups and influencers who think Moselle is a wine brand, not a river. Some boats return to Monaco. Others, to Venice. I return to Schengen—a sleepy wine village with a passport museum and a roundabout count rivalling Brussels' policy loopholes.

Would it kill them to dredge a canal to the sea? A girl has dreams.

Still, it's nice to be back in front of the press, basking in the flickering glow of attention. Back when I was merely a slip of a ship, they called me the cradle of a new Europe. I prefer to think of myself as the last place one could get a proper canapé before "integration" turned border crossings into glorified petrol stations with multilingual signage and questionable sausage rolls.

And now look at us.
Budget airlines. Roaming charges. Brits with backpacks asking where the border is so they can take a photo for Instagram.
I was once the vessel of visionary statesmanship. Now I’m referred to in Tripadvisor reviews as "a charming floating café with surprisingly clean toilets."

Back in my day, crossing borders meant something. A uniform. A stamp. A lingering stare from a Hungarian border guard who may or may not have been flirting. Now? Just a QR code, an e-Gate, and the creeping fear your mobile data plan won’t work in Liechtenstein.

Today’s expats treat the EU like a pub crawl.
Berlin, Brussels, Barcelona—hop on, hop off, complain about rent.
In my day, it was called a diplomatic posting, and you earned it by seducing an ambassador or surviving three rounds of competitive policy drafting in Strasbourg.

And don’t get me started on the other boats.
Oh, La Belle Époque thinks she’s hot hull because she has a retractable roof and a gin tasting onboard. Please. She once spilled Riesling on a junior minister and blamed me.
And MS Europa? She may have been in Davos last year, but I saw her anchor being used as a bike rack in Koblenz.

As for EU leaders—well, I’ve met them all.
Juncker knew how to hold his liquor and a treaty. Michel? Lovely hair, no substance. And von der Leyen keeps trying to make “strategic autonomy” happen—it’s not happening, darling.

But let me not be bitter. This is, after all, a celebration.
Forty years of Schengen, and despite it all—Brexit, populists, selfie sticks—I’m still here. Floating, fabulous, and just slightly listing to the left.

À bientôt,
Princess Marie-Astrid
(Hostess of the Schengen Agreement, Guardian of the Moselle, First Lady of Nautical Diplomacy, and Humble River Queen)