Trans Swiss Trail – Rain Songs

There's nothing more dreary on a hike when it's early in the morning pouring from all pipes, and there's nothing more pleasant than sitting at home in the warm living room with the rain slapping against the window panes.

Well, this morning the former is true - it's raining cats and dogs. The sky shows its unpleasant face, gray as an old man.

 

This reminds me of a great song by the still great Beatles, who once again got to the heart of the matter. The song is called, not surprisingly, RAIN.

When the rain comes
They run and hide their heads
They might as well be dead
When the rain comes
When the rain comes

When the sun shines
They slip into the shade
(When the sun shines down)
And sip their lemonade
(When the sun shines down)
When the sun shines
When the sun shines

...

Of course, there are plenty of other wonderful rain songs. Here some examples.

Bruce Ruffin - Rain

The Cult—Rain

Ann Peebles - I can't stand the rain

Guns 'n' Roses - November Rain

Creedence Clearwater Revival - Who'll stop the Rain

...

The last song hits the mark. Who the hell is going to stop this rain pouring down in thick veils outside my window?

 

The rain god hears my plea

Something in my internal clock seems to be defective. In any case, I get up with tired head and legs at eight o'clock sharp, although the clock shows only seven. So I have a whole hour (the breakfast is ready at eight) to be annoyed about the stupid weather.

Can it be that I have to start walking in full rain gear already on the second day?

Not that I'm worried, I experienced and survived quite a number of bad rainy days on last year's hike. Well …

No idea whether the weather god has heard my pleas, in any case, the rain stops at nine sharp. So I stand there with my backpack wondering.

Today the path leads all day along the Doubs to a small village called Soubey.

And as always, the guide's words about today's stage:

The Doubs is a moody, fascinating body of water. On the left-bank section between St-Ursanne and La Charbonnière, you almost always walk along nature trails in the immediate vicinity of the shimmering blue-green river. Numerous dragonflies and birds live on the banks.

 

The sound of the water

In any case, there are no sweaty ascents to be mastered today. If I am to believe the map, the trail is all along the river, sometimes a bit up, but really just a bit.

I like that, just right for the second day, which is always a bit of a pièce de resistance.

And indeed, the path is great (an adjective I will probably use many times). But first, it's time to say goodbye to the town. The visit was short but impressive, a promise to return someday with more time.

The village saint sees me off on the bridge over the Doubs, I hope he wishes me well for the next week.

And so the village stays behind me, bye bye.

 

The sounds of civilization eventually fade away completely, all that remains is the monotonous murmur of the river. Sometimes a distant call of a bird, the cawing of a raven. And the steady landing of the feet on the soaking wet ground.

The river meanders calmly between the banks, sometimes becoming a quiet little lake under a purple sky. If I didn't see it with my own eyes, I might believe it to be a colored painting by an artist gone mad.

 

 

Madame forest spirit greets me

Eventually, not long after the start, I am greeted by a friendly girl's face. Her face is smiling, albeit mischievously, or is it just mocking? Does she look deeply into the eye of each hiker before giving him permission to continue?

 

The paths bear witness to the nightly rainstorm. Sometimes you have to look for the dry spots to get through without getting your feet wet.

But once again - I like these days when the trees are still dripping long after the rain, when the air is heavy with moisture, when the ground beneath your feet emits smacking sounds.

 

Once again, I seem to be the only living soul far and wide. Every few minutes I stop and listen. It is as quiet as a mouse, even the murmur of the river has fallen silent.

Sometimes I suspect that it is precisely these moments that make solo hiking so precious. Didn't I tell you about the balance I encountered on the Alpine Panorama Trail?

Of course, I remember. It's not just a feeling, it's a kind of dream, a trance, a state without doubt.

You have to experience it, very slowly and tenderly, until it passes and makes way for the daily toils.

But then you are called back to reality.

At the sight of a dying butterfly laid to rest on the stony ground.

 

 

Just beautiful

It is a blessing to walk along the flat paths, unhurriedly, very slowly and attentively, the senses open to everything, the many things that are happening around, despite the silence.

Sometimes you come across a sign of civilisation, a stable, a machine, electricity poles far away, but nobody around.

I think I could walk on like this forever...

 

And then I enter the undergrowth again, the forest, but the green is not of this world, it reflects the area through a green lens that someone must have adjusted.

 

  

 

The Ferry

After some time, I recognize on the other side of the river the campsite with the associated restaurant de Tariche. Here you might cross the Doubs by your own strength by means of a cable winch and a barge.

However, I might prefer a real ferryman, who wouldn't take me to the underworld, but at least to the other side. Because as it looks, the winch only works in one direction, it is unhooked or torn on my side, which makes the return trip a bit complicated.

I prefer to let it be and prepare my lunch on the river bank, as usual a rather spartan meal.

Should I mention that each ferry reminds me of a novel that lies dormant in a drawer, hoping for resurrection? I'd rather leave it at that ...

 

But then today's destination Soubey approaches, a few white cows give me bored looks as I depart. I can understand them. Life here doesn't provide much variety, and even the beauty of the area wears off at some point (at least for cows).

 

Shortly thereafter I reach Soubey, report to the only hotel in town, the Hotel du Cerf (Stag), I am received by the patron rather gruffly, apparently I interrupted him at an important matter. " WLan? Wifi"

"Pas du tout!", he replies shortly and leads me into a cute little room where I will feel very comfortable.

Not until the next day in Saignelegier will I be surprised to find out that the expressions WLan or Wifi are unknown when pronounced in English. WIFI must be pronounced in French. WIFI. Voilà!

 

 

Matching song: Etta James—Wet Match

And here the trip continues ... to Saignelegier, where the beautiful horses live