Water under the bridge. Charleville-Meziers to Revin

Yesterday we were looking forward to spending a week just hanging around in Charleville-Mezieres.   We even paid our port fees nine days in advance, and were settling in, pulling out our lists of things to make and do, getting ready for Maggie and Jacques’ visit on the weekend.    Then the boat which was moored in the one piece of afternoon shade moved on, and we cast off our lines and fired up Mr Perkins intent on moving the hundred metres or so into that spare space.

That is when things went slightly awry.  For reasons that are not immediately self explanatory and probably not explicable at all, except that the day was hot and clear and the river was glistening and cool, we went straight past the marks where that other boat had been, onto the river for a bit.    The river in this part of the world, is particularly beautiful, lined with the cliffs and forests of the Ardennes, villages perched where they can, just appearing out of the forest.  At each turn some new vista would appear.  It's like travelling through a model railroad layout.

That is how it came to be that almost seven hours later we were in Revin, with no prospect of being home in time for tea, and the Captain of our new Port welcomed us as though we had been long lost , which in retrospect perhaps we had, and invited us to a party under her trees.  

There we met a lovely young lady who worked at the Tourist Office.  We told here idly that we didn’t really expect to be here today, and that tomorrow we’d come and see her in the office to find out what makes the town tick.   

She responded with a blank look and said “No, not tomorrow - we are closed.”

Of course.  Tomorrow is Saturday.  What was I thinking.  Everyone will be on the tourist train.