INT. THE OXFORD UNION – EVENING

A worn wooden interior lined with old photos and leather books. The clock above the bar ticks with naval precision. A few posh students sip pints and argue about lectures. Rain patters against the windows.

PRESENT:

HAMISH CAMPBELL, calm, steady, with a glint of wild vision behind measured words.

STUART, a skeptical undergraduate engineer.

RALPH, an economic prof who’s seen too much red tape.

FLANAGAN, a wannabe cryptocurrency trader with a cynical grin.

SULLIVAN, a journalist looking for a story.

DAN, a scruffy but sharp mechanic, quietly nursing a mug of tea.

STUART
(holding up a chart)
Hamish, you’ve lost it this time. You can’t sail to Iran on an inland route. Europe isn’t a bathtub, you know.

HAMISH
(flatly)
You can, if you know the canals. London to the Baltic Sea, then down the Volga—across to the Caspian. From there, it’s a short hop to Iran.

FLANAGAN
(snickers)
That’s not a voyage, that’s a labyrinth. Half those waterways are closed, half forgotten.

RALPH
And the tugboat? You’re taking that scruffy old thing—what’s it called?

HAMISH
(smiles faintly)
The Volga.

SULLIVAN
You named the boat after the river you’re trying to conquer. Poetic—but absurd.

HAMISH
It’s not absurd. The inland waterways are the old arteries of Europe. We’ve just forgotten how to use them.

STUART
You really think you can make it all the way to Iran by river and canal?

HAMISH
Yes. And I’ll prove it.

A silence falls. Rain grows heavier against the windows.

FLANAGAN
Prove it how? A blog post? A film? Another myth for your #openweb friends?

HAMISH
(smiling thinly)
A patron campaign.

STUART
A wager? What are we betting on?

HAMISH
That I can make the voyage. No corporate sponsorship. No closed tech. Just the tugboat Volga, open charts, and Dan here.

Dan looks up, startled, tea half-spilled.

DAN
Wait—me?

HAMISH
You said you wanted a break from working life. This is it.

SULLIVAN
You’re both mad. I’ll sign up for the Patreon—what—five hundred pounds says you won’t get past the Keal canal.

FLANAGAN
Make it a thousand to reach the Helsinki.

STUART
(laughing)
And ten thousand if you actually touch Iranian soil!

Hamish calmly pulls a slim laptop from his backpack and slides it across the table.

HAMISH
Let’s make the pledges official.

They type, close the laptop, and stands, buttoning his jacket.

HAMISH (CONT’D)
The river doesn’t care about politics or doubt. It just flows. All we have to do is follow it.

He checks the clock — 8:45 p.m.

HAMISH (CONT’D)
Come on, Dan. The tide’s waiting in London. Time to move.

EXT. IFFLEY LOCK – NIGHT

The tugboat Volga rocks gently under the amber glow of the Isis Farmhouse lights. Ducks gather along the bank. Rain glistens on the solar panels. Dan loads supplies while Hamish inspects the digital charts.

DAN
You really think this old tub can make it to Iran?

HAMISH
If it can float, it can travel. Trust the river, not the #dotcons online.

He starts the engine. The tug hums to life.

HAMISH
Next stop—the North Sea. Then the world’s forgotten backwaters.

They push off into the mist as Oxford recedes behind them, the city lights reflecting faintly on the black water.

FADE OUT.

TITLE CARD:
“The Voyage of the Volga has begun.”

#boatingeurope