Legends from our own lunchtimes

Sunday, May 03, 2015

The never-ending day -
Chagny to Santenay

It as raining all day to day except for the times when it was fine, and then it was very fine indeed, which, mixed with spurts of activity carefully designed to suit the conditions somehow made the day seem like very many perfect days rolled into one.  We did manage amid spurts of boundless energy and frenetic discovering of things, to move a further five kilometres up the hill though.

We don’t get excited about going to the markets as a rule, although the coloured brochures indicate we should.  They never seem to mention that it can be quite damp at times, but we toddled off in our raincoats anyway, prepared to be underwhelmed as always by the throngs of swarthy gentlemen selling things rejected at their places of manufacture, and instead were surprised almost to the point of amazement.   This was one of those markets where happy people were sloshing around with newly bought live chickens and ducks in boxes, and people queued twenty deep for some special cheese, and charcoal baked bread and we couldn’t help but join them, happily filling our bags with all manner of produce and a treat or two to boot.

By mid morning having wandered for four or so kilometres around the stalls, and with the rain letting up we moved our entire household to a delightful clearing in the woods near Santenay,  a place as deserted as the market was crowded, where we feasted on our market purchases, drinking nothing but the view.    

We really should have had a snooze after that, and we would have on a lesser day.  Instead, we found a sunny patch to explore until mid afternoon, returning just before we were caught by more rain and a need to satiate the urge to fiddle with things in need of fiddling.  

And that is how the curtains for the front windscreen came to be clipped in place this evening, and as the light of day began to fade once more, there were tools spread from one end of the boat to the other.

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