Friday, October 28, 2011
Day 83. Rochefort. Oct 28 2001.
Another day with a beautiful sleep to precede it. The more of these I have, the happier I will be. Today is a day of respite from travel and sightseeing. We sat on the banks of the Charente River
and watched the boats sail by.
To see the actions of a tidal river was a real eye opener for me. The mechanics are well known, the effects so myriad and diverse in their subtlety. When tide flows in the flow of the river ceases, coming to slow and languid stop as though entering the still waters of a lake. Then silently, slowly, the current reverses, flows upstream in a seeming defiance of nature. With inexorable slowness the yachts, catamarans and pleasure craft that fill the river begin to turn. Previously they had all faced upstream, bows cutting the flow of the river with the uniform singularity of soldiers at attention. But the flow swings them slowly around, until eventually they all face downstream with the same precision. Ducks float back on the current they had ridden down, seemingly bewildered by this turn of events. The water rises rapidly and quickly reaches a peak, then, with infinite patience, stops. The waters come to a standstill, swirling whichever direction takes their fancy. For a few hours the river in truth becomes a lake. Then the downstream current reasserts its supremacy. The waters begin to flow; the lake becomes a river once more. The current slowly picks ups, faster and faster until it borders on a torrent as the tide is sucked back out to the sea until the river drains an becomes a stream, brooding in it’s muddy bed. We wake as the river is filing and we sit on the docks to watch the creeping waterline and the passing boats.
The day becomes hot, too hot for late October, but we enjoy the heat, letting it soak into us for future needs. I try to tan, to color my pasty pale belly but it no use. White or red are my options. The day itself is lazy. Even the air seems to feel it. The wind blows listlessly, if at all. The sun seems to hang in the sky as I write and Heather draws. The sound of Heather’s pen against paper is an out of place sound that makes a soothing counterpoint to the bubble and swish of water beneath the dock.
Tomorrow we shall have to get up and explore this soothing city. Today, however, proved perfect for our rest.
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