06) A Rainy Day in Konstanz
- O Peregrino
- Mar 24
- 2 min read
Updated: May 19
One grey morning, Jürgen and Huayna set out for a small adventure beyond Friedrichshafen. They drove down to the harbor, the windshield wipers sweeping back and forth against steady rain, and boarded a catamaran bound for Konstanz. The lake was a wide expanse of muted silver under the low clouds, and the catamaran cut smoothly across its surface, a thin trail of white foaming in its wake.
Their plan was simple: to meet Joachim, an old friend of Jürgen’s. In earlier years, the two had spent countless afternoons photographing the hidden corners of the Lake Constance region together—fields awash with wildflowers, mist rising from the water at dawn, forgotten alleys bathed in golden light. It seemed fitting to meet again here, near the heart of so many shared memories.

But when they arrived at the agreed meeting point, there was no sign of Joachim. They waited a while, watching the rain bead and slide down the narrow shop windows, but the streets remained empty, the phone silent.
There was nothing to do but shrug and make the best of it. Despite the downpour, and without the shelter of umbrellas, Jürgen and Huayna began to explore the old town of Konstanz.
The rain lent the old streets a certain kind of magic. Water pooled in the uneven stones, and reflections of colorful facades shimmered underfoot. Gothic spires and medieval towers rose above the rooftops, softened by mist. The narrow lanes twisted and opened into small squares, each with its own character—bright flower boxes on window sills, weathered statues standing guard over ancient fountains, little cafés with their chairs stacked inside against the weather.

Huayna walked beside Jürgen, soaking it all in—quite literally—as the rain seeped into their jackets and hair. They laughed quietly at their damp misadventure, taking shelter now and then under the stone archways, before venturing out again into the maze of cobbled streets.
By late afternoon, chilled and dripping, they decided it was time to head back. The catamaran ride to Friedrichshafen felt quieter than the morning journey—both of them wrapped in their own thoughts, the rhythmic thrum of the engines a lullaby against the rainy backdrop.

Later that evening, back in the dry warmth of their temporary home, they learned what had happened. Joachim had been waiting too—faithfully, patiently—but at a different location entirely. Some confusion, a lapse of memory perhaps. "Ah, the age," Jürgen said with a rueful smile, understanding rather than annoyed.

In the end, the missed meeting didn’t feel like a loss. The day itself, soaked through and unexpected, had left behind its own quiet memory—one more story stitched into the fabric of their time at the lake.
Published: 03/05/2025
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