We spent yesterday afternoon reading under a tree, at our own private picnic table, and the couple who shared the landing did the same under a tree of their own at their private picnic table, and we could see no reason at all, except perhaps that it was raining quite a lot, why we shouldn't spend today doing the same thing.
Saturday is changeover day in boat charter world, and it would seem that Soing is exactly one day's gentle crusing from the base and to boot it is the sort of place that hirers find attractive as well, so by lunchtime, the landing which was designed to accommodate five boats was doing exactly that, and it would not be long before there would be others circling, looking longingly at exactly our spot as the sky began to promise a clearer afternoon.
Exactly after lunch proceedings had been dispensed with, we decided that perhaps if we were to move on for a bit we could make some space and assuage the disappontment of the next charterer to arrive. After all, they'd have bicycles aboard and would be able to properly explore the pathways and villages that connected to the park.
It's all to do with one of those immutable laws of life I suspect, the one about not knowing what one has until it's gone, but our bikes would sometimes sit for weeks under their covers. At those times, everything would be in easy walking distance week after week, and we'd only take them off the boat if we felt like venturing quite far afield, yet on this particular stretch of water, everything is further afield.
So when we arrived in Port-sur-Sâone it came as no surprise to find the pleasure boat harbour was a few kilometres from the town. It was also hardly surprising therefore that we would decide to moor against the quay in the very heart of town.
What was a little bit surprising perhaps, was when we got there we came to be under the distinct impression that we had been transported to a large continent somewhere to the soulth.