This afternoon, it was warm enough for an excursion with
Sophia to the edge of the Bourne at Pont-en-Royans. Seeing me getting ready to leave the house with my Nikon, Sophia sensed that something interesting might be about to happen. She stood tensely in front of me, staring me in the eyes. I stared back at her in silence for a few seconds. Sophia realized that the absence of a negative stay-at-home order (such as "
Guard the house") indicated that she was being invited along. So, she dashed outside and waited for me alongside the Citroën.
She appreciates a minimal contact with the water.
I don't know whether it might be called "swimming". I think that "cooling off" is a more honest expression.
People come here with bags of stale bread, to feed the ducks. This means that Sophia always manages to find a few chunks for a riverside snack. She has become an expert at convincing people, particularly children, that she's starving.
Are those ducks naive enough to imagine that Sophia is getting ready to throw them a bit of bread?
I think the ducks are starting to realize that Sophia won't even be leaving them a few crumbs. We bid farewell to the ducks and wander upstream to the pool beneath the cliff houses.
An optimistic angler imagined that he might find a trout lurking beneath the Picard bridge (the "
pont" in the name of the village: Pont-en-Royans).
Above us, the sharp crest of the slopes marks the dividing line between Pont-en-Royans and Choranche.
Normally I'm not particularly good at leaning out over parapets to take photos, but I was enticed by this interesting view of the foundations of the ancient bridge alongside the flimsy wooden poles supporting the cliff houses.
Local people are proud to point out that these ancient dwellings have never yet slid down into the Bourne, so it's quite possible, indeed probable, that they never will. (Poor logic!)
Personally, I wouldn't be happy residing in such a scary place.
Here's a view from the other side of the bridge, looking downstream from the road that leads up to Choranche.
Sophia, still soaked (with that marvelous smell of a wet dog), scrambled into the car and we drove back to Gamone, a kilometer up the road.
She appreciates a minimal contact with the water.
I don't know whether it might be called "swimming". I think that "cooling off" is a more honest expression.
People come here with bags of stale bread, to feed the ducks. This means that Sophia always manages to find a few chunks for a riverside snack. She has become an expert at convincing people, particularly children, that she's starving.
Are those ducks naive enough to imagine that Sophia is getting ready to throw them a bit of bread?
I think the ducks are starting to realize that Sophia won't even be leaving them a few crumbs. We bid farewell to the ducks and wander upstream to the pool beneath the cliff houses.
An optimistic angler imagined that he might find a trout lurking beneath the Picard bridge (the "pont" in the name of the village: Pont-en-Royans).
Above us, the sharp crest of the slopes marks the dividing line between Pont-en-Royans and Choranche.
Normally I'm not particularly good at leaning out over parapets to take photos, but I was enticed by this interesting view of the foundations of the ancient bridge alongside the flimsy wooden poles supporting the cliff houses.
Local people are proud to point out that these ancient dwellings have never yet slid down into the Bourne, so it's quite possible, indeed probable, that they never will. (Poor logic!)
Personally, I wouldn't be happy residing in such a scary place.
Here's a view from the other side of the bridge, looking downstream from the road that leads up to Choranche.
Sophia, still soaked (with that marvelous smell of a wet dog), scrambled into the car and we drove back to Gamone, a kilometer up the road.
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