The canal between Lessines and Ath is narrow, winding, and delightful. It was a perfect place to spend a gentle Sunday morning ghosting through the farmlands and forests but it was also one of the most exhausting days we can remember.
We ended our day with aching arms and faces from the constant waving and smiling at the throngs that lined the banks. The fishermen (uncommonly friendly), the cyclists, the walkers, the picnickers and even the cows seemed to be inordinately happy, and why shouldn’t they be? Even though the distance was a mere twelve kilometres today, the canal was at times not much more than a drain through the villages and at others could have been mistaken for a ditch as it bore us happily through little patches of farmland.
It was just one of those days when we reduced the speed a bit, and then a bit more until we were almost in reverse, as insurance against it ending sooner than it might.
Our journey had almost ended a few hundred metres after it had begun, at the first bridge, where quite some time after our lock/bridge keepers for the day had failed to arrive, we began to develop fleeting thoughts of defeat with perhaps even a drop of angst and even a dash of malice in the brew, albeit very much tempered with sympathy for asking them to come to work on such a beautiful Sunday when we supposed we could have chosen any other day of the week had we been more thoughtful.
They were probably just being considerate though, giving us time for coffee and cake while we waited. When they did arrive they cheerfully advised they’d be with us all the way, and would definitely makes sure that there would be no further delays and we’d all be safely home in time for lunch.
And we all were.
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