A few kilometres downstream, and a few locks as well, we found our place in the heart of Saarbrücken, just a few hundred metres from the centre of the oldest bit of town, and the only bit as it happens that doesn’t look as though it was built in the latter part of last century. “Doesn’t look” is used advisedly, as much of what is left of the old town, and there’s not a lot of that, was rebuilt having been ravaged fairly comprehensively by bombs in the second world war.
Some stuff was saved, the massive retaining walls surrounding the castle for instance, but even that having stood against all mankind could throw at them for an entire millennium were moved back seventeen metres in the eighties to make way for the freeway. That freeway was all that stood between us and perfect tranquility with it’s steady thrum of traffic and the occasional siren bursting through. Surprisingly road noise is not too bothersome in situations like this as it does tend to disappear in the evenings when it really counts.
Meanwhile on our side of the river, Autumn suddenly arrived and did its best to cloak us in a mass of golden leaves. “Look they are like butterfies”, one of us remarked as the gold rained down. Perhaps she was right. Perhaps though, in the absence of any breeze they were falling rather than flying, looking just a little as though they had been overcome by exhaust fumes.
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