The wind had picked up overnight and we set off from Le Pouzin with a light chop on the water. Motored down through the delightful Donzere Gorge with its ruin-strewn cliffs 330 feet high looming above.
Statues of saints peer down on passing vessels, arms outspread as if welcoming them into this beautiful stretch of river. But the wind, the infamous Mistral, is upon us and perhaps the saints are there to remind us to pray for deliverance.
Statues of saints peer down on passing vessels, arms outspread as if welcoming them into this beautiful stretch of river. But the wind, the infamous Mistral, is upon us and perhaps the saints are there to remind us to pray for deliverance.
The Mistral is a wind with mythical qualities and can blow strong and hard for several days at a time and cause a kind of madness as the sound of it takes over your mind.
“Behind the Mistral is the beauty of Provence. Its fierceness blows away clouds and grime and doubt, leaving colors the depth of dreams and a freshness that can come only after the Mistral's scouring. Provence needs the Mistral or it ceases to be the Provence of my dreams. I need the Mistral to cut through those dreams to truth - beauty comes after the wind.” Kamiah A. Walker
Moored in a lonely spot downstream of an enormous barrage near the town of Donzere. Tied down everything on deck and fastened the portholes in time to watch them get washed by waves and wash from passing ships. This mighty Rhone is proving to be every bit as rough as the English Channel.
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