It’s true that not everyone gets a kick out of traveling through Charlerois by boat. Some find that forty kilometres or so of derelict factories intermingled with gravel yards and chemical plants and great mountains of scrap do not make for the most scenic of cruising grounds.
Then again some people travel miles to see a pile of old rocks because it was once a Roman Wall. Old watermills are a favourite too, no matter how decrepit when viewed objectively, yet the perception of industry in decay is that despite its history, if the scenic world were a human body, it is like an armpit.
Well today we travelled through one of Belgium’s armpits, and what a wondrous place it was. The sky remained suitably indifferent, the wind from time to time managed to slow us to a crawl, perhaps so we could enjoy the patina for a little longer, and it was all a bit intriguing really as kilometre after kilometre rolled by. The best bit of course was that if you trace a few bends beyond an armpit, you end up with some really pretty bits to play with, which is how we came to be moored for the night in a heavily forested gorge just above a weir not too far from the terribly romantic ruins of an Abbey.
No comments
Post a Comment