Legends from our own lunchtimes

Wednesday, August 27, 2014

Walking up the hill

The waterway on which we travel is conveniently located at the lower end of town in Bar-le-Duc.  The little port is wedged between the rail lines, the freeway and the bus station and is only a few hundred metres from the village centre itself just beyond one of those Scottish fast food stores that people go into to use the free wifi.

Unfortunately for he among us with jetlag and the onset of decrepitude in his legs, the old village, the one where the Renaissance was said to have had its roots, is located a little further away and on top of a hill.  Three of us were undeterred, so fitted the fourth with a spare set of hiking poles, implied that it wasn’t as far away as it looked,  and set off.

The road to the upper village is a rather steep climb until it reaches the top, and then if falls away sharply, this does increase the degree of apparent difficulty for one walking without being able to bend one’s leg appreciably, but it also slows the pace of exploration for those who can allowing time to see details along the way that perhaps had not been seen in previous visits.  On the other hand, it certainly is as far away as it looks, and we were all uncomfortable with Cliff's discomfort.

For the second time in a week we failed to complete the tourist walking trail.  This was not because of Cliff’s injury or tiredness on our part, although none of us were arguing the case for continuing, but simply as it had been last time, that we were interrupted by the onset of lunch.  Today with inclement weather closing in we retreated to the boat, where Cliff could rest his legs, and we could rest ours, and we could all continue our breakfast conversations without risk of being tossed out at midnight by an over-tired waiter.

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