The Seine is a river that enchants virtually everyone who sees it. Its banks are replete with history and beautiful scenery, and, while it's no Mississippi, it has shoals and sand bars enough for river men to constantly mark the twain.

Rosenblum decided to write a book about the Seine's secret life that he discovered almost by chance. He and his girlfriend lost the lease on their apartment so they purchased a fifty-four foot ex-yacht from some friends who coincidentally had to return to England. La Vieille - appropriately named because it has multiple meanings in French: the old bitch, the old lady, one's wife - had been their home for many years.

Soon Rosenblum learned why they had enjoyed it so much. The busy traffic the port of Paris handled the equivalent of a million truckloads of material - means that sleeping is often like being subjected to a multitude of minor earthquakes. It's not a good place if you habitually drop your keys. A next door neighbor dropped hers overboard and the services of an entire department frogmen were needed to retrieve them.

The Seine had a downside. Often the river's contents could make an environmentalist gag, and scientists have discovered fifty-seven different kinds of pollutants. Historical traditions occasionally reflected excess. In 1958, watching from a bridge, one could see log-like objects floating past Closer inspection revealed the bodies of Algerians killed as reprisal for Frenchmen murdered in Algiers. Tradition required the bodies be dumped in the river. Where they eventually landed is perhaps better not asked. Today, a huge net traps everything that comes down the river, and anything resembling human remains is investigated and reported.
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