Huzzah! Storms!

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I#m writing this from a tiny hut on a campsite in the Black forest.

The night before last was truly spectacular. We had just arrived in Freiburg that morning, after getting the night train from Paris.
Paris, by the way, was nice, but not spectacularly nice. The view from the Eiffel tower wos entrancing, and the rush across town to get to the train afterwards got the addrenaline going, but it still wasn't a patch on what we saw in Germany, although that could just be me.
Anyway, by the time we're rolled our weary selves in the the campsite ( we hadn't been able to sleep proberly on the train), set up the tent, and had a nap, the sun had come out for the first time since we arrived in Europe. Surounded as we were by the rolling, deeply wooded hills of the Black Forest, we decided to take a quick walk befor it got too dark. We ignored the thunder, because after all it was brighlty sunny, and we weren't going to go far.
So after climbing a sereis of switchbacking paths, we got to a lovely open meadow, boasting beautiful veiws across the town of Freiburg and up the hills on the other side. We weren't bothered that it had clouded over by now - it wasn't cold, and the meadow offered a wonderful place to stop and rest for a while afte rclimbing the hills. There were crikets calling, and birds singing, and the forests looked fantastic - a wave of dark conifer-green rising over the horizon, with the medival city just pearing out over the tops of the trees in the valley.
The thunder had been getting nearer, but we had felt that it just added to the ambiance. I once even managed to say 'the Black Forest' just as the thunder crashed, horror-film style. But now the thunder was pretty much over head, and the sky's opened, witgh big, heavy, cold raindrops falling thick and fast. Now Stephanie had had the forethought to bring a raincoat, but I had left mine in the tent, and therefore had nothing but the shirt and straw hat I was in to protect me from the rain. And when the lightning started to crash overhead, aching between the clouds in sheer bursts of white-voilet light, we realised we were in trouble. Rule two in a thunderstorm - stay away from the treeline. Which, of course, completly surrounded us.
So there was nothing for it but to stay put, get soaking wet, and wait for the storm to pass overhead. Looking down into the valley, we could see sheets of rain pounding the town, and lighting forking between the clouds and spearing the ground. The thunder rolled between the hills - you could almost feel it beating into you again and again. And the rain turned to hail, stones as big as five pence peices, and it was clear the storm had no intention of letting us wait it out.

So we had to make a break for it. Heading downhill and for a gap in the trees, half-crouched so as not to be too high above the ground, we zigged and zagged our way over paths become streams, determined to stop at the first lighted house we came to and seek sanctuary. Fortunaly, as we had mostly switchbacked up the hill to get the the meadow, heading straight down took us, drenched like we had been emersed in water, to the campsight, where we stood dripping in the reception, and ordered hot chocolate from sympathetic owners, and paying in dripping euros.

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Comments

[Vikki]

It's not just you
I don't think Paris is a patch on Germany either :)