Slow travel

 No heroics  we agree. That is we won't stand on the back of the boat, charging into pouring rain. Even gentle English rain is wet. Who would've thought  it. So we get a bit wet, then moor up, about 15 miles east of Chester, on the beautiful Shropshire canal. It wends nor west from below Birmingham towards the Mersey. On an earlier trip we pushed west from Chester to Ellesmere Port. From there you can 'ferry across the Mersey' to Liverpool.  We were organising this, using a pilot, some years ago, but bad weather kyboshed that. Moored up yesterday afternoon in Central Chester, 5 min walk into the ancient town centre, from the city walls 🧱 , second only to York for their intact remains. After dinner on the boat, plus a reviving GnT, we strolled into the melee of coronation madness. The odd, very, hens' parties. Bah humbug. A pic of boaters dressed up for the coronation. And 2 of the canal. The odd round building with a pixy hat was the lock keeper's hut when comm

 Where shall we go for our last Santiago voyage?😢 initially we thought Llangollen,  over that amazing unpronounceable aqueduct  the Pontcysyllte. But time is short, still Scotland, Portsmouth, Lancashire, Yorkshire and London to fit in to our last 5 weeks So we settle on Chester. Not so many miles or locks as Llangollen. Funnily enough the River Dee runs through both, in Chester close to the sea, in Llangollen high in the Welsh hills, feeding part of its flow into the canal, enabling the transport of stone. So we travel back through the Harecastle tunnel, approximately 40 minutes, the Cap'n  sensibly wearing a lifejacket. Falling into an unlit tunnel, banging your head on a metal boat...it has happened, but not to us.

Our last dance down the Macc, leaving the mooretwing that's been home to Santiago for 6 years.  A farewell dinner at our local pub, the Boar's Head, with fellow boater Linda. Our boats were built together in 2014. So on Sunday the Cap'n reversed out, and y into the Trading Post, the convenient kiosk/diesel/pump out store across from the mooring. And so we wended southwards, the canal hugging the contours of the Western flanks of the Pennines.  By midday we commenced  the descent through 12 locks. Between the 1st and 2nd locks a boat was moored. A woman suffered a head injury falling in the cabin, waiting transport to A&E.   Near the last lock an old orchard was showing Spring finery. And the sun was out. A good day.

Here we are, back from Switzerland,  reunited with Santiago.   Sad to leave our Swiss friends, such a bittersweet time with one of them very ill.  Nearly 2 weeks there, mountains, lakes, a mad fun folk club evening, trains through and round mountains, one to Italy for a day. And time to reminisce  50 years of friendship.   Santiago rocks gently on her mooring, resplendent in her repaint, needing a good clean inside. And so for decision time - which agent to select to sell her for us, what route to take for a last trip. What to throw out, donate, keep. Amazing how much can be stuffed into a small boat. Today a 40min bus trip along the flanks of the Pennines, Pott Shrigley, Bollington  to Macclesfield,  where my mother was born, worked,  married, and from where she left with our little family to Oz. An old mill town, bordering the canal, so familiar to us. Back with our shopping 🛍 along the same winding bus route. Another passenger pointed out the boundary with Lyme Hall, from which dee

 This small town fringes Lake Thun, trad wooden chalets climbing up towards pine forests. An ideal place to live or for a tourist A small cafe at the ferry wharf, so a coffee before heading east to Interlaken, or west to Thun.  Or a guacamole bagel for lunch! Our friends' house is a recent build, the roof covered in solar panels. K is an artist with fabric..a  puppet leans at leisure, quilted birds against a wall. Such skill and patience. Nearby a pool complex,  well used, a practical protocol of pre showering, shoe removal etc, that allows a high patronage with courtesy observed. Everywhere garden corners  fit in the urban landscape.

 Y Two nights ago we are in a folk club in Oberhafen, singing, laughing, clapping to music from South America,  Ireland, Germany....Much we don't understand, monolingual travellers that we are.  Our friend plays the piano with elan, Tim Winton virtuosity. A happy few hours in the company of friends of 50 years.  I met them through Lady Luck, them as newly weds exploring Australia,  me teaching English in an evening class to save for my own travels. That instant rapport which you seize for the prize it is. Friends for life. We were to be together in a hill town in Piedmont. The plan from.last year. But illness has struck one member of our Swiss family. We circle wagons, recall memories, listen to our friend's reflections on his life, affirm his legacy.  His journey is almost done, and we grieve together. He is a master jeweller, created unique pieces. A fine clever father husband friend. An expert mushroomer.  A subtle wicked sense of humour. A fierce game player.  This poor pic