The longest day Auxonne

It was the longest day of the year, which was lucky for us, because we had a long way to go.  Three trains a quick connection on the Paris Metro, a kilometre or so to walk and five hours after leaving Belgium we were back on the boat.    

But on this day every village has a music festival that runs long into the night and in some places into the next day as well.  On every street corner and at two or three places in between one can usually find a band and a crowd, and downtown Auxonne was no different this evening.

Battling weariness we stood, watching a band called the "Polar Beers", its drummer working with practiced disinterest, a cigarette hanging from his mouth and a passage of what may have been some ancient Asian script tattooed along the length of his forearm.    They were in the middle of some sort of trash-metal din making that turned out to be a barely recognisable rendition of a Tina Turner song, when an elderly lady in a cowboy hat began to line dance solo if that is even possible, somewhere near the drum kit.

We moved away slowly, never losing eye contact until we were at a safe distance, but a few tens of metres later we stumble across friends  at a table in middle of what is normally a road and we joined them until Cinderella's coach turned into a pumpkin,  watching  a chap called Jerry Yell playing covers from every generation past, while bathed in the sort of disconcerting seventies disco lighting that would make even Molly Meldrum go green and blue.

The longest day had been long indeed but there could be no doubt that we were back in France.

Beaches Bikes and Blue skies Koksijde

There's nothing like a nice cycle around Belgium to get the blood pulsing properly through the veins.

The weather radar was quite specific.  There would be big blue clouds all over the country today except for the parts where we would be at the times that we would be there, but Dave and Ria have well practiced eyes for a weather window and quite conveniently, also have twice as many bicycles as people in their family.

Therefore in almost no time at all we found ourselves cycling with picnics in our panniers in any direction that the rain was not, often under clearish blue sky.   Thirty kilometres of rolling countryside, a picnic, coffee and a stop for drinks later  we managed to find ourselves back at the beach.  

The last day of our visit had passed all too quickly, although it must be said that for certain parts of our anatomy, unused to such lengthy spells in a bicycle saddle, it did seem long enough.

A day at the Beach Koksijde

The last time we walked along the beach with Dave and Ria, it could possibly go down as the bleakest, coldest and most miserable walk along a beach that we had until that time experienced.

Therefore when the weather radar and for that matter the actual conditions beyond our windows indicated a good deal of rainfall was in the process of being delivered, we were not disappointed that neither of them insisted on taking us outside.

The rain gave us exactly the amount of time we needed to simply sit over breakfast, and morning coffee, and lunch of course while we all discovered the news that we'd missed in the past six months.  When we did eventually grace the outdoors with our presence it was under a rain free, pale grey sky struggling valiantly but it must be said without success, to become blue, and thankfully in temperatures that were more than acceptable to all except the resident seals who failed to grace us with their presence.

Unlike our last visit, it was almost warm enough to be tempted by the offerings of the Australian ice-cream shop, but we kept our steely resolve and managed to pass it without satisfying our curiosity.

London - Paris - Koksijde

Once again as we bade our hasty farewells to London, we could not help but feel appreciative of the opportunities that having children in residence in the city have afforded us over the last decade or so.  Once again pinching ourselves at the ease with which we move between the world's great cities as though they are simply sidings on the tracks on which we travel.  

"What time is it?  I asked of the other as we sat in the cafe sipping an iced tea.  

"After three." she replied.

"Then this must be Paris."

"Belgium looks nice"

And so it came to be that tonight we are sitting in Dave and Ria's living room, wirelessly connected to one another, unravelling the seven months in which we have been absent friends,.

Tidying up London

The younger of us had to go to work today, and if they felt anything like the elder pair, which neither admitted to feeling, they wouldn't have been totally enamoured with the concept of leaving the comfort of their bed.    

After their departure did have a good deal of housekeeping to take care of. There was a week's worth of washing to do and a thousand blurry photographs of smiling people standing erect in front of waterfalls and icebergs and pointing into the distance to view, chuckle at and discard.  There were a thousand more that were good enough to keep but of no foreseeable use, and then a further thousand that were better than the other thousand and need to be kept for the time and noted and tagged in case we forget at some future time that they were taken in Hveragerði, or somewhere else spelled equally improbably.

Fortunately all of that could be achieved, with the possible exception of the washing, from a horizontal position and therefore with the possible exception of the washing the morning was long and relaxing indeed.   

There does come a time after lunch though when one must get out and see what is happening in the City.

For us, that meant taking our customary turn around Hyde Park and back through Paddington, wandering in our shirtsleeves with no intent, a perambulation if one must, while happily wondering how it had come to be that we had spent two days without venturing further afield.

The day after London

We are firmly of the view that a holiday isn't a holiday unless one arrives home drained of every last vestige of energy, and I am pleased to note that Iceland appeared to do exactly that, because we slept without stirring, all of us, and even when one by one our eyes began slowly to open some time later than usual the only stirring that happened was in near silence as slowly somewhere in the corner of the room a teaspoon commenced its orbit around the inside of a coffee cup.

It may have been the ever so slight change in time zones that prompted our big sleep, or it may have been the heated pool that had drained our resources the morning before, but whatever it was it left us all quite happy to spend a Sunday hanging around, and chatting about the week that was.   Interrupted only by a short outing to take in some provisions, and while out to marvel at how much as anywhere in the world London feels quite a bit like "home" each time we return

Time to leave Reykjavic to London

We thought there may be no better way of showing that we had become acclimatised to summer temperatures of eight degrees than to partake in a morning swim before our departure.   The Blue Lagoon outside Reykjavic is of course a world famous geothermal pool which doubles as a cooling pond for the local power station and is particularly famous for its curative properties.

As swimming experiences go, it was a glorious thing, although it must be noted that it was actually the first time I've moved around a pool in search of the warm patches.  I suspect we could have stayed all day had we not had a plane to catch.

But we did, and in doing so were treated to one final dose of Icelandic hospitality and the politeness of which I am sure no one could tire.

Firstly, there was Shelley's run-in with the security officer after failing the x-ray screening that went like this.

"May I look in your bag please?"

"Oh!  I'm so sorry!  Do you mind if I take your knife?"

Other uniformed persons could learn a lot from that!

Then it was boarding time:

In our experience, larger aircraft are boarded in a well ordered sequence, with batches of seats called, quite logically boarding from the rear of the aircraft first.   We didn't hear a call, yet there was some movement at the gate, and my enquiry was met with a hearty welcome and a direction to please proceed, which we did.   Into the "pre-boarding" chamber we marched, where a third of the aircraft's payload was waiting patiently for further instructions undoubtedly to be barked over the intercom.

After a few moments, a call came from the top of the boarding stairs, echoing somewhere from within the aeroplane cabin in exactly the same cheery tone as the one I've heard on countless occasions while waiting for a daughter or even a succession of them to finish with the bathroom:

"OK, you can come up now!"

 Iceland, we're missing you already.

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