Mixed Emotions

This boating season we hope to get back to France.  Holland is nice but, for us, France has that certain, uh.......je ne sais quoi.  

Guillotine-style lock gate descending to close a French lock

Yes, sometimes the people are rude. No, they never want to admit that they speak any language but French, nevertheless, there is something about that country that tugs at our hearts.

Friendly lock-keeper who gave us a history lesson (in English!) about his section of the canal

So will we find the France that we left 6 years ago or are we even the same people that we were 6 years ago?  No is probably the answer to both those questions. My son-in-law keeps saying that you can't go home again.  He is right and that's what is making me nervous. 

Pretty, isn't it?

Traveling through the French canals for 3 seasons should be enough for anyone.  Maybe not for us though?  

Cocktail hour with fellow cruisers somewhere in France (Dwight & Fran on the left)

 We are anxious to get back but, at the same time, apprehensive about going.

The Ides of March

Happy Ides of March.  Not so happy for Mr. Julius Cesar, stabbed to death on this day oh so many years ago.  He was warned but did he listen?  Nah.

When we were traveling through France on our boat, Chapter III, we took a side trip on our bicycles to see a Roman bathhouse near the village of Jonvelle in the Haut Soane region, a quiet corner of France.

In 1968 a parish priest with a passion for archaeology became unexpectedly and locally famous by discovering the ruins.  The small bathhouse, not much larger than the average 2-car garage, may have been the private bath of a wealthy family and was probably decorated accordingly. The only remaining evidence of their affluence is the floor's mosaic with its stylized images of flowers, fish and shells.  Now its colors are a bit faded and you must look twice to see the head of one fish but some of the reds and blues still gleam even after 19 centuries.

We even quenched our bicyclers thirst from an artesian well trickling out of a rock next to the small archaeological site, imagining, as we drank, ancient Romans using that same source in their daily lives.

Dwight and I were once told that we had the attention spans of gnats.  Maybe that is a good thing.  The ability to change pace and have an "oh, look at this" moment can turn a simple trip into a serendipitous expedition.   Although I really need to remember to bring the camera next time.

Logistics

This is what happens to cactus in the spring

I should count myself lucky that I live in an age when travel is relatively easy.  After all, how long does it take to get from the West Coast of the United States to almost anywhere in the world...no time at all, just jump on a plane and, bingo, you are there.  

So, why am I feeling so overwhelmed about our travels this year?  Does septuagenarianism (there's a word for ya') have anything to do with my dis-ease?  

Because we live in a retirement community, I am surrounded by older people and I watch my neighbors closely wondering if that confused gray-haired lady is my age or above.  How old is that slowly moving man who is holding up a line of traffic?  Can any of us avoid decay before the grave?   Happy thoughts, huh?

I think I will try to pack my worries in the unused part of my brain and simply accomplish one small travel preparation daily. That kind behavior is working for our morning mile; Yogi and I have walked over 40 miles so far.  As they say in Mexico....poco a poco.  

Cactus flowers last spring