Not having let 12 below (Farenheit) weather stop me from taking my front-wheel drive out to get a haircut in Alaska in 1990, the great NYC snow blizzard of 1996 stop me from traipsing up 5th Avenue (along with at least one cross-country skier) even if it stopped all car traffic, or the great Flood of 2008 in the capital of pre-history stop me from wading out of the house in Les Eyzies to walk the 12 KM to the Le Bugue market, I was hardly going to allow the great southwestern France level orange storm of 2009 stop me from going to the old town market here in Perigueux to stock up on tourte bread, farmer’s goat cheese, duck hearts, and the brownie I’d reserved in advance to beat the rush. When I got to the market this morning, however, there wasn’t any. Not to be denied at least the exercise of my market morning constitutional along the canal (to work off the goat cheese, duck hearts, and brownie in advance), I battonned down my hood, firmly gripped my umbrella and made my way along the banks of the normally placid river Isle, which had brazenly risen to the same level as my feet, submerging tree trunks and benches. I was heartened to see a few duck couples, a couple of fellow promenaders, and the swan couple no doubt flown in from Lalinde (land of a thousand swans) that’s wintering on the Canal valiantly soldiering on and, after I nervously switched to the side of the canal without the power lines, at least one person more foolish than I, a jogger in, yes, shorts.
PS: In all seriousness: The BBC is reporting that the roof of a building where some children out for a sporting competition had taken refuge from this storm which is equally buffeting the north of Spain has just collapsed, killing many of the children.