Little did we know when we bought Aleau that we might need her to be an ark.
Pelting hail. Blinding lightning. Thunder that rocks Aleau. And wind that is destroying the flowers that Jeannie just spent a fortune on.
It has been raining just about every day for, well, my memory doesn’t go back that far.
Everywhere I have lived, people have told me, “If you don’t like the weather, wait an hour.” Nowhere is that more true than in Auxonne. I have never seen the weather change so quickly – or so frequently. Literally minutes after surviving what feels like a monsoon, the sun will come out, the sky will be blue. Aside from mangled flowers, there will be no sign of the horrific storm that just passed through.
And minutes later, the rain returns.
The cycle repeats throughout the day. Often, day after day. Going for a walk requires being ready to dash out as soon the rain stops – with fingers crossed that we’ll make it back before the next deluge.
We’re hoping all this rain fills the reservoirs that feed the canals. That would be the good news. But in the short term, it’s not good for boaters. We learned of a neighbour who went north on the Saône – barely able to manage 4 km/hour. When he returned home, he was travelling at 12 km/hour. The Saône was flowing at 8 km/hour. That’s scary. As you may recall from earlier chapters, boats travelling downstream have priority over those heading upstream. That’s because it’s much more difficult to control a boat that’s being pushed by the current. Being pushed along at 8 km/hour is not something I want to experience. We’re staying put. For now. We know the rain will end. The Saône will become peaceful. And we’ll be able to start cruising.