Continuous rain

From midnight, the floodgates open to give us the rain we have missed over the last 24 hours. In the morning we struggle out of our tent. We quickly seek refuge under the large roof. It is a kind of shelter for wood and other things that the farmer has stored there and in some cases still does. A cool wind drives a damp mist of rain over the seating area. We make ourselves a coffee first. Then we eat our Rapunzel muesli. I listlessly clear one of the deserted tables and set up my Itronix. Plug the power cable into the power box and switch it on. Writing about the last few days in this miserable weather is a bleak undertaking. I find it extremely difficult to get used to working under such nasty conditions. The cows in the barn next door are mooing joylessly and also seem to be complaining about the constant rain. Only the farmer’s children and the guests play happily in the hayloft. They swing from ball to ball with ropes, whooping and squealing with delight. A guinea pig is taken everywhere until it gets lost in the hay. The search operation is a great adventure and, thankfully, is crowned with success in the end. They build tunnels, hop and skip until one of the boys falls from the bales onto the concrete floor in a high arc. The result is fatal. Lukas has broken both wrists and is now sitting at the next table with two arms in plaster. His mother is playing a board game with him while his siblings have gone to an ice cream parlor during a short break in the rain. The poor guy has also been maltreated by mosquitoes all night, which is why his face looks like a crumble cake. Ignoring the little bit of back and knee pain, I’m doing amazingly well in comparison. Another thunder shower adds to the variety of the day. Lakes, ponds, puddles and pools form on the lawn. A few torrents race through the tents and soon force everyone present to flee.

Tanja and I are left to our own devices, as there is little point in continuing our journey in the rain. Apart from that, I’m busy writing this update.

The next day it rains just as incessantly. If things continue like this, the Danube will soon be threatening to flood. There is lightning and thunder. The sky behaves like a wild animal let loose. The rushing water flows into every corner. The farmer’s son comes running to plug a wet power cable into a wet junction box. “I’d think twice about that. If you get an electric shock, it could be the last thing in your life,” I warn him. “Do I really think I’ll get a stroke?” he asks, standing thoughtfully in front of the socket. “I have to connect the pump, otherwise the barn will be full of water. Our guests’ cars are parked in there. They mustn’t be allowed to flood under any circumstances,” he says, takes the plug, wipes his hands dry again and inserts it into the socket. The pump starts up immediately and rescues the vehicles. Stormy gusts blow the rain right under our roof. The Itronix and all other devices are immediately damp. I pack everything up, stand up and pace back and forth like a trapped animal. Wuuummmm! It crashes in the firmament. You don’t need to camp in a remote desert to be exposed to the forces of nature. Thank goodness our tent is on a mountain and not on the banks of the Danube. I would be seriously worried there.

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