The good the bad and the ugly Tuesday 27th September Saverne

We thought we’d given Joan and Peter a reasonable head start, but when we arrived in Saverne they were still here. After four days apart, the reunion would be of necessity long and heartfelt, and someone thought it might be a good idea to allay the emotion over a game or three of boules. 

As the sun set slowly in the west, or somewhere slightly to the north of west for those with a compass, with Peter’s guitar gently weeping in the background, an audience appeared.  We thought at first they were fascinated by the incredible sporting skills on display as they hovered with beers in hand and cowboy hats askew happily unable to communicate in a language that we recognized.

Then we noticed a couple of guitars and a twelve-string in their kit, and realized they had other intentions.  By the time the first strains of “House of the Rising Sun” began to waft across the foreshore sung in their native Czechian, we had the merest of inklings that sleep would not come early for any of us this night.

And they ask if we ever get bored.

Ashamed of ourselves Monday 26th September Hochfelden

We have no tolerance for those who run off without paying their mooring fees which are in the normal course of events nominal sums of money at worst, neither would we contemplate even the smallest discourtesy to a commercial craft on the water

What went wrong then, this this very day?  

We were sort of kind of possibly almost ready to decide whether to sit down to breakfast then walk up to town to discover why no one had collected our money,  or whether we should just get going in a minute or two, when we noticed that the lock behind us had begun to empty.   I wandered over and discovered a fully laden gravel barge about to ascend.  With all the blood my body could spare rushing to my head, the calculation was simple: leave right now in something of a rush and quite possibly get to the next lock ahead of the behemoth, thereby staying ahead all day, or relax, do the right thing, wait an hour or so, catch up with it an hour after that then follow it at some interminably crawlingly slow speed (even for us) until well after the restaurant at Hochfelden had closed for lunch.

Sadly we have to admit that we chose the former course of action.  We cast off with some urgency into the dawning day, managing we think to exit the first lock in such a timely manner that we caused less than minimal delay to the pursuing barge and thereby arriving in Hochfelden just in time for the Cafe du Canal to thrust open its doors.   There we discovered, each of us over a massive plate of something called Mehlknepfle and an even more massive bowl of chips that it's amazing how much guilt can be assuaged with a nine Euro “plate of the day”.

Postcard from Strasbourg Sunday 25th September Souffelweyersheim

Sunday morning, a day when we often just hang around and do not much, but our heads said it was time to go, even if other parts of us could have stayed much longer. 

Half a dozen kilometres would do, but first there was some housekeeping, wash the boat, still badly in need of a clean since our friend Ralph failed to do so all those weeks ago, fetch the bread and perhaps take a photo or two.   Even so we were gone by eleven, nicely tucked up for the afternoon by one, and snoozing and generally doing not much at all not ten minutes after that.

Occasionally in our travels there are days in which life though enjoyed to the full, bear little description, days when a postcard will suffice.  

This has been one of those days.  

Food glorious food! Saturday 24th September Strasbourg

Joan and Peter left port today with their full compliment of grown-up grandchildren aboard, leaving us alone, to stare at the photos of our own grand-progeny, bemused at the thought that one day they too may become astonishingly independent and articulate young adults and wondering why they can’t stay variously cuddly and cute or gangly and inquisitive and just exactly the way they are.

But the realisation that we have less than a month to see all those other people we have to see, places we have to go, and do the things we have to do dawned, and we set off once again down town to see, go and do, timing our setting off nicely to arrive about lunch o’clock.

We may have been tempted by the wares at HotDog City (with beef sausages from Alsace) had they not made such a song and dance about them being 100% without horse meat.   After all, what’s a hot dog without horse meat?   

In the end we happened upon a little “gourmet trail”, a market with dozens of stalls manned by chefs, each trying to out-do each other with exquisite little tastes of all manner of exotic offering.  Although we suspect none of them had horse meat either, we snacked stupendously until the food ran out, thankfully at just about the time a sensible person would have cried “enough”.

A guiding light. Friday 23rd September Strasbourg

“What will we do today?” we wondered as our eyes adjusted to the morning light. Err, mid morning light that was very close to “if we don’t go soon it will be lunchtime” light.

Well it was a no contest really, we’d walk in to town by some wiggly laneway that we hadn’t found before, wander down some more wiggly lanes, and then return on yet another.  There’d be no need for the map, we thought as while in the centre of other towns the cathedral leaps out as if to surprise one with its enormity when one absent mindedly happens upon, here through some quirk of planning it reaches out like a beacon visible through little vistas, an ever present reminder of where on might be.

Perhaps it's the width of the streets or the way they jiggle just so, or the lack of height or the angle of the roofs, but it’s rarely hidden from view.  When one gets closer to it, rather than leaping out it positively looms.  We were almost tempted to climb the three hundred and thirty-two steps to the top of it today, but when push came to shove, we thought perhaps we’d save that for some future visit.

In eleven languages, no less. Thursday 22nd September Strasbourg

For three days we’ve tried walking in, walking round then walking out, and to be blunt our knees are starting to feel as though we’ve been walking on cobbles a lot.  Today using what was left of our “twenty-four hour unlimited rides for three people” ticket, we took the tram to town, wandered around just enough to get us to a place where we could sit and be shown as opposed to wandering and discovering.

It’s almost a decade since we’ve been on one of the “See Strasbourg by boat with commentary in eleven languages” kinds of tours, and while we weren’t terribly concerned that we’d forgotten any of the interesting and obscure historical anecdotes gleaned on that excursion, we felt a refresher could do no harm.  Particularly as it meant sitting for an hour and a half while we did so.

At the end of it all we were so refreshed with heads so full of spinning factoids and jolly good time that we were half way home by the time we realised we hadn’t had lunch, and that would never do. 

Anything green is our scene. Wednesday 21st September Strasbourg

After three days in the place we pretty much have public transport sorted we think, although some of that might actually be down to some carefully hand drawn instructions that Rob provided over lunch to make our connections worry free.   Today was market day so after inspecting every stall and failing to buy even one single bit of produce at the markets, we decided to test our knowledge of the system and set out to source a few bits and bobs one of us thought might improve our situation aboard.  In that regard the presence of a big blue Swedish furniture store on the outskirts of town had not gone unnoticed.

Perhaps one of the nicest features of the tramway system here (and in Mulhouse and in Dijon and therefore probably in a zillion other places for all we know) is that it runs on grass.   The English language being what it is, that is not to say that grass provides its motive power, but  wherever possible the lines in the inner city at least are laid in lawn.  This can be just a little disconcerting until one gets over being startled every time a trams whizzes through a piece of parkland apparently derailed.    

It’s all rather lovely though, which is more than can be said for the coffee at the furniture place which cost more than a tram ride as well.   We did manage, after taking five trams and two buses, to return with six new coat hangers, a fitting reward for a day’s effort no doubt destined to enhance life aboard at least as much as grassy tram tracks enhance life ashore.