Pt 22 Moon over the Saône

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Pt 22 Moon over the Saône

Home Again, Stalking the Wild Haggus with the Boys from the British Isles
Back at the boat, we got ready for dinner, and exchanged stories of the day’s experiences with "the boys", our assigned dinner table partners. The English guys started ribbing the professor, who was from Scotland about haggus. Scotsmen are supposed to actually like the taste of haggus, which is made by stuffing the entrails of a sheep into its stomach, then boiling or roasting the whole thing until it was done. The slimy lump is said, by Englishmen joking about it, to resemble a woodland beast of some sort, and many tall tales of bravery are told, tongue in cheek, about stalking the wild haggus.

At another table, there was a Scotsman who aroused the attention of Prof. Jack, our resident Scotsman, by appearing for dinner every night dressed in a kilt. Jack wondered whether the Scotsman was wearing the kilt "in earnest", or if he was just showing off. We didn't ask. Eventually, it was decided that there was a bit of phoniness there, and from then on, he was referred to by our table as “the peacock”.

Our ship had cast off on schedule, and dinner came as we were chugging our way back to Avignon. As we returned to our room, at around 10:00 p.m. We looked out the window, and, there again was a familiar sight out of our window -- Mr. Spectacles, the abandoned river/houseboat staring at us from across the river.

Moon over the Saône
Right after we had fallen off to sleep, and were enjoying the somewhat cooler breeze coming in the window, a familiar sound jarred our exhausted repose. The searchlight-equipped cruise/tour/party boat of a few nights back came roaring slowly by again. Tonight there was a party on board. Through picture windows we could see a lighted dance floor on the lower level, and we could hear the pounding techno music from halfway across the river. The searchlights seemed brighter tonight, and there was a lot of shouting from the decks. Perhaps the crew was partying with the passengers, and they were trying to see how many people in river boats they could keep awake.

The boat of revelry proceeded up the river and turned around at the bridge, this time coming even closer to our window. Joyce, who had dozed off already, sat up suddenly with her sheet wrapped around her, as the cabin was filled with dazzling light. The French party animals got a good laugh from that - they could see right in the windows!

Next time their searchlight came around to my side of the room, they saw a huge hairy moon waving back at them! Hey, Pierre, here's how we say it in the USA! That really set them off laughing and applauding. It must have been the last pass for the night, however, because they never came back. Maybe I scared them off with my American greeting.


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