Drained by the Weather

Weathering floods, fogs, torrential rains

From Venice to Rome via Orieto

After spending a night and a day in Venice, dazed by the labyrinth of canals, alleys and bridges, a city that stood the test of time, we picked up our car from the valet parking garage( it cost us as much as our budget room rental), starting our nearly 10 hour drive towards Rome that took us through rolling hills and olive groves as well as numerous picture perfect mideaval  towns. Sign boards on the Estrada indicated Verona, Padua, Bologna and Florence stirring up a flood of images of Shakespearean plays in my mind, while another storm was brewing.

Almost 6 hours into the drive  we are drowned in a flash. The sky splits with a crack and a boom, breaking the dam in the heavens, letting loose a watery fury. Visibility is zero. Stunned I almost floor the breaks and hope to veer towards the verge and stop there till the visibility improved. The driver's sense kicks in. My hand automatically reaches for the hazard light button. If I slow all of a sudden wouldn't I be in danger of being hit by a vehicle  tailing me? Did I really know anything about the verge? Gravelly? Muddy? Sloping away? Will I drive myself into a worse situation? 

As I continue driving at a slightly reduced speed the turmoil in my mind subsides. We had only about a half-hour drive to Orvieto where we were scheduled to overnight. My agitation subsided but the sheets of water pounding furiously, not only on the winshield but all around the car, did not. Are we submerged? Did I imagine a shark winking at us and flapping its tail? It is all surreal.

Still blinded, I hear honking behind me, definitely from a truck. I'll be crushed if he can't slow down. Ha! I see a vague red light blinking just ahead of me. The best thing to do is to tailgate the vehicle before me, driving close to the centre of the road. After nearly half an hour of this nightmare the heavens decide to take pity on us. The rain subsides and visibility improves, but I am still shaking.

The shakes didnt leave us till we were comfortably ensconced in our hotel room. Had we come at a different time we would have enjoyed a walk through this beautiful town with mideaval buildings connected underground. 

A watery Texas welcome

The next time we encountered a flash torrential rain was just as we crossed the border, near Orange, from Louisiana to Texas. We were driving from New Orleans to Houston.  We had just driven by Baton Rouge passing ruined homes devasted  by  Hurricane Katrina. We were already on a downward slope leading from the border when the water began gathering in the dip. By the time we reached the bottom, only a couple of minutes, the waters were almost as high as our chassis. Luckily we had momentum and managed to climb out unscathed. As soon as we clear the flood the rains stops. The sun peeks out with glee at the short drama.

A peek under the veil

On the same trip, in fact, the very next day, we drove from Houston to Austin very early in the morning. The country side was covered in dense fog. As the day got on the fog gradually lifted, revealing the farmsteads and the blue bonnets bordering the highway .  Did Nature unveil her beauty gradually so the appreciation would be greater?

Frolicking in a flood

A couple of days later we found ourselves in Garner State Park. As we trekked through the park we came across a stream fed by a waterfall. It flowed over the service road. An occasional vehicle would drive by and leave ripples. When safe, children would merrily go up to the ripples and ford the stream walking through the reflection of the hill and the blue bonnets.

Foggy Jocundity

After having visited the Lake District, associated with my favourite  Romantic Poets, also the Yorkshire Sculpture Park,  we were driving towards Wakefield when we were engulfed in fog. We we were not worried about obscured panoramas since we'd had our fill for the day. It was nostalgic seeing the signs for Leeds, and Haworth where I had spent some time during my University days. As we were getting closer to London I was reminded of TS Eliot's lines from The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock :

The yellow fog that rubs its back upon the window-panes,

The yellow smoke that rubs its muzzle on the window-panes,

Licked its tongue into the corners of the evening,

Lingered upon the pools that stand in drains,

Let fall upon its back the soot that falls from chimneys,

Slipped by the terrace, made a sudden leap,

And seeing that it was a soft October night,

Curled once about the house, and fell asleep.