Legends from our own lunchtimes

Sunday, July 31, 2022

Suffering for our art.
Saturday 30th July - Gent

Over the course of the last few days we’ve wandered and hobbled along so many of the cities old waterways that we’ve heard pretty much the entire commentary of the tourist boats as they pass.   We had a ride on one of them on our first visit to the city now four years ago, and we are tempted to do so again to fill our re-fill our heads with information that we will be sure to forget by the next time we are here, but we don’t see anything about them that’s vaguely in keeping with the concept of “social distancing”, and we are quite privileged to have travelled on most of their route in the comfort of our own home, albeit with commentary of an entirely different kind.

We’ve been a bit reluctant to click away with the camera in the face of all the cleanup in progress, but with scaffold now cleared sufficiently that photographs could shape the memories we want, rather than the reality of the post-Festivities apocalypse, we thought we might venture out  in cool of the evening to see what we could see.  Perhaps we could join the evening throng on the banks of the old dock and watch the sun go down.

The glaring flaw in that thought is that our daily routine on board tends to be partly in sync with the the way that farmers live in that we tend to find ourselves in bed at sunset.  "Partly" because in the mornings as we do tend to depart from farming schedules a bit as we rise as long as we possibly can after the sun does, but let’s just focus on the “sunset” part for now.

In what comes as close to “planning” as we ever like to get, we had a nice lie down in the afternoon to prepare for the big night out, and by the time our phones sounded their gentle “we’ve turned off for the night” chimes we were well on our way back to the heart of town.  

There we happily sat with a score of others until quite some time after the street lights came on, and we took some photos to prove it.


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