We’re having a grand ride south, assisted by the current, a twenty knot breeze and a rather splendid DAF motor. We are now near Avignon and enjoying swinging at anchor again.
Here’s a summary of our eight-day trip so far:
A pretty child painted on the side of a nuclear reactor chimney – the child’s legs glowing with what can be assumed as contamination: The de-nuded hill-side to fulfil the desire for pretty stone houses.
Fine views, striking ruins, tranquility, safety, enjoyment, togetherness, travel and movement watching France pootle-past; while autumn gathers momentum.
The vast stone towers remind us of wombats. What do furry Australian creatures have to do with French ruins? Well, wombats have this odd behaviour where they pooh on stones – not grass, or pavement; on stones and only stones. The French have this odd behaviour of finding the tallest, skinniest, highest peak and building a stone fortress upon it.
While coming out of a rather large lock (drop of 17 metres or 19 metres, depending which book you read) we were met by three ships all vying for the right position to make an entrance or to tie up. The vast volume of water that had just been disgorged from the massive lock left swirls and eddies to test the most skilled skipper. I was at the helm, Noel looked at the wall of ships, spinning with the currents and said, ‘Yikes, just tell me when we’re through safely, I have my eyes closed.’
‘That’s okay,’ I said, ‘so do I!’
… well, there isn’t any really.