The sun made a sluggish start to the day. It was the sort of start where the sky stayed slightly grey for a time as if holding it’s breathe before turning perfectly clear, the way a three year old does after a fall, and then when everyone is watching all hell breaks loose.
Forewarned is forearmed of course. With a few days of temperatures in the mid thirties heading our way, we looked at our urban surroundings and silently nodded to each other. There are a few different kinds of nods that happen between people who’ve known each other long enough not to speak in entire sentences, these nods with just a tinge of sadness about leaving Dinant: said “Let’s find somewhere in the shade”.
That somewhere was the Island of Yvoir. Two hectares that the town’s brochures call “Paradise on the Meuse” connected to the village by a little ferry. It turns out that it’s quite difficult to take a photograph in Paradise without looking like a person of ill intent. While there is no shortage of subjects, there is also no shortage of scantily clad young things (too old for the playground one hastens to add) who seem to congregate in clusters like seals on a sunny rock wherever there is a scenic vista. Averting one’s gaze (and one’s lens) is problematic as the gaps between the scenic vista seem to be filled with their grandmothers, undressed against the heat as only European grandmothers can, creating a scene with a somewhat more industrial aesthetic.
In the early afternoon though, the playground crowd did thin to the point where it seemed safe enough to take a photo of the boat.
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