We didn't get underway first thing, but managed to be in Charleville-Mezieres in time for morning tea none the less, in brilliant sunshine and a sky that reminded us of our other home; just made for washing apparently. Accordingly we washed everything that needed washing and some things that didn’t and in the afternoon briefly dipped our toes into the waters of the town that was the home of Arthur Rimbaud (pronounced - you guessed it!), child prodigy, Symbolist poet and gun runner and who apparently once stabbed a photographer with a sword-cane during a poetry reading.
The home town of the man for whom John Rambo was named has a museum dedicated to him (Rimbaud that is), and of course it’s famous and apparently quite interesting and worth the price of the admission, a must-see on the list of anyone visiting this city.
And it’s closed.
Not just closed on a Thursday either, or closed because we were here, we thought of that and booked for ten nights in port because it was the same price as five, more or less, and we thought we could wait out the places that usually close because they see us coming. No, it’s closed for a year for renovations.
Perhaps we won’t need ten days to see everything here after all.
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