It’s not as though Watten promised much, but most of the things it did promise according to our chart book; a marina with electricity, water and protection from the wash of the river giants as they swept past, were almost entirely missing. The little inlet did provide quiet respite from the river, where we could clear the plastic bag entwined in our propellor and rudder, and enough of the quay was still there to afford secure, even secluded mooring, but clearly this was a place which had it been a building would have been covered in warning signs and marked “closed until further notice”.
The morning’s run up the canal (apart from collecting said debris en route) had been delightful, through quiet farmland with the odd tiny village to break the otherwise featureless terrain, in company with a pair of Belgians whose expressions on reaching our destination was almost as priceless as theirs of yesterday, when they returned to their boat in Bourboug twenty minutes after leaving it, having found all there was to find there in that time, and deciding immediately that they would take advantage of our “bridge reservation” rather than staying the few days they had planned.
All was not lost though, the bakery had a truly splendid array of earthly delights, and we did find a delightful path to the summit of the highest land around, where we discovered an ancient mill preserved for our edification, and an even more ancient castle, in complete ruins of course.
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