Another Day of Rest Saverne

Eventually, hunger forced us from our repose in time for morning tea had there been someone awake to offer it to us, and we wondered if we would ever again find the energy to venture beyond the four walls of our bunk. It seems that running around after our Miss One had taken an enormous toll!

We really had intended to do a bit of work on the boat while we were waiting in Saverne, We've had the floor tiles stored neatly in its nethers for four months while sufficient energy has been accumulating to start the job, but each time we checked our energy meters they seemed to be saying, "Why not just hang around and read a book?"

Thanks to Matt and Abbie and a surprise package from Jane waiting for us in London, the stocks of interesting reading material had increased by a thousand pages or so and it would be rude of us not to take advantage while we had the chance.

So we read all day, not leaving the boat at all as far as I can tell except to have a discussion long into the evening with the Danish couple moored beside us.

A rose by any other name Saverne

It was a Public Holiday in Saverne today, and the temperature was a bit too warm to take advantage of our "stay in bed till the temperature gets to double figures" rule to provide prolonged horizontality, so we adapted it to be the "stay in bed till the time gets to double figures" rule, which produced a much more satisfactory outcome.

We had heard a rumour that Saverne's world famous rose gardens would be open for free today, and since an opportunity to save 2€ doesn't come along every day we found the impetus we needed to drag ourselves away from our bunk, and muster the energy to walk the hundred metres or so to the gates of the garden.

Once inside, we found roses, lots of them which is I suppose exactly what we expected to find in an apparently world famous rose garden. Admittedly it is late in the season and many were past their peak, but there was not a plant which didn't have some sign of bloom hanging sometimes precariously from it.

Unlike last year when our journey of discovery did not take place until the onset of winter itself and resulted in a discovery of rose stems by the hundred and not much else, we were able to ramble among the beds mumbling things like "that's pretty" so the casual observer would actually clearly gain the impression that we had a genuine interest in each specimen.

In truth, we cannot be described by any stretch of the imagination as "rose fanciers", nor even "flower fanciers" particularly, but they were colourful, it got us out for a bit, and we didn't have far to travel to get home for our afternoon snooze.

Horses for coursesSaverne

This weekend there is a Concourse for horse-drawn vehicles at the Chateau. It's a two day event and on Saturday night there is a big party with incredibly loud music, which, out of deference to travel-weary neighbours is turned off at midnight exactly, about four minutes before the cathedral bells, which are apparently running four minutes late, strike midnight.

Last night was the first time I have been woken by those bells, and I suspect, since I was awake during the applause as the band concluded it's last set and was certainly not awake prior to the bells, that I must have been asleep for precisely four minutes.

Today we thought we'd walk across and see what the fuss was about.

We'd have a bit of a rest first we thought, and maybe read a bit, and put a load or two through the wash, perhaps we should read a bit more, or maybe have a snooze.

By five we were in synch and ready to go, arriving just in time for the presentation of trophies, having cleverly avoided.

The chap who won the big cup seemed very pleased with himself, but actually it seemed as though a fun time was had by all.   We watched until they packed up the load speakers, just to be sure we would be having an earlier night.

Wandering aimlessly through parts of the city familiar and not, did nothing to soften our resolve to spend a lot more time here. It's seems to be like some sort of addiction, the more we have of it, the more we need, but for now we had been away for too long and home beckoned.

We both experienced the faintest flutter of butterflies in our stomach as we boarded the express to Nancy. This was interesting, perhaps even remarkable as for a few years neither of us have had a sense of "homecoming" nor even "adventure" during our travels, just a feeling that we were on another leg of our continuing journey, yet now we were wishing the journey away.

There was no need for that of course, the train was quite happy to convey us at far greater speed than any supercar owner could contemplate.   For a brief moment I felt sorry for the Ferrari we left in our wake, wondering if the owner knew we were racing.

Almost three hours, and a quiet coffee in Nancy between trains later, we found ourselves sitting quietly around the table, at home, wondering what our next move will be.

Paris

There have been books written about Paris of course, and songs sung and movies made too, lots of them, so there is little point in rabbiting on about how it sort of eats into the corner's of one's psyche other than to note that we are yet to find the sort of Parisian whose reputation for arrogance and ferocity in defence of all things related to their way of life and speaking their mother tongue is legendary.

While checking the schedule at the station before changing trains we were ambushed by a man in a hurry, on his way to we know not where, but he had heard us speaking English and was determined to help despite our abundant lack of helplessness. He cross-examined us as to our intentions, walked us briskly to the ticket window, exclaimed loudly in angst when it was closed, pushed us across to the ticket machine and before we could object had inserted his own credit card, scrolling through screens at stroboscopic pace while simultaneously punching buttons, and telling us which platform we needed. In less than a flash he had thrust the tickets into our hands and began to race off in the direction from which he had come still shouting instructions.

I chased after him and pushed a note into his hand to cover the cost of the tickets, and thanked him as I trotted alongside.

Welcome to Paris.

As we sat that evening with Jayne and Peter in the twilight in the courtyard of an Italian Restaurant run by an Indian Family who spoke perfect English, surrounded by a community comprising predominantly Algerians, the world suddenly seemed impossibly small.

On the Move Again London - Paris

The little red book that confirms my Britishness was put to the test this morning as we departed my other country of citizenship.

"How long will you be away?" asked the nice lady from the British Border Agency in a marked contrast to the stern cross examination we underwent last year as the officers attempted to prise some illegal immigration intent out of us.

We explained that we were really only here to visit our kids for a bit, but we might flit by again in a month or two for a day or so on our way back to Oz.

About then she noticed our French residency cards and told us with a hopeful laugh that she was ready to be adopted.

As the Eurostar departed we pinched ourselves as we often do at the surreality of our situation, wondering just how we came to be doing what we do, delighted that we are, tucked away our London Transport Oyster Cards and rummaged for some Metro Tickets that were yet to be validated.

What day is it?

Thursday?

Ah yes, this must be Paris.

BirthdaysLondon

We mostly seem to be on the other side of the world when family birthdays are celebrated, so when the opportunity comes to share in a bit of Birthday Cake it's worth hanging around for, specially when Julian bakes it.

 As we shared Shelley's birthday Pad Thai in the bustling little place attached to a tiny pub in Notting Hill, I wondered, probably because we'd spent a bit of time standing outside her house yesterday, if the Queen knew what she was missing.

Life on the streets seemed to have returned to their usual as we walked home which is probably not surprising with over a thousand "rioters" now in temporary incarceration.   It did cross my mind that they may well have achieved part of their objective to have a taste of the life of the privileged classes, after all they were probably enjoying the same view of life that the Royal Family enjoys each day.

Through iron bars.