For the first time since we’ve been aboard, we woke to the sound of rain, the sort of cold, wet, miserable stuff that is neither heavy enough to provide useful irrigation, nor light enough to capture rays of the sun in a beautiful or artistic way.
Actually it was the sort of day that we would possibly given other circumstances have made better use of by remaining tucked under our doona and perhaps reading an entire novel before afternoon tea time. As it was, we were travelling in company with Joan and Peter, so we moved on, taking no small amount of vicarious pleasure from within our cosy, dry confines as we watched them steering from outside, scurrying below in the showers.
As we neared Strasbourg we almost wished we’d gone with “plan A”. Within a few kilometres of the city, we were overcome by the sudden dulling of colour, by the rush and noise and density of traffic on the freeway which suddenly intersected with our secluded canal. Cars and trucks swooshing past in the wet, travelling at least a hundred kilometres per hour faster than us oblivious to our presence.
The contrast between the secluded timelessness of the farmlands we’d been travelling through at our usual walking pace and now this, was almost too much to bear, but bear we did until we found our next little spot, as quiet as one could be in the heart of an urban hub, perfect for the week ahead.
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