Oh my goodness, I would have to describe that as glorious. It reminds me of a wisteria covered building on the grounds of the river-straddling Chateau Chenonceau (love that little chateau!). Wisteria is among my favorite growing things, dramatic even in the winter when naked. And they're strong once they get going. In a beloved book I re-read often, Colette's "La Maison de Claudine," she describes her childhood home which had an upper and lower garden. This is a passage I've always experienced so clearly in my mind's eye: "The Upper Garden overlooked the Lower Garden--a warm, confined enclosure reserved for the cultivation of aubergines and pimentos--where the smell of tomato leaves mingled in July with that of the apricots ripening on the walls. In the Upper Garden were two twin firs, a walnut tree whose intolerant shade killed any flowers beneath it, some rosebushes, a neglected lawn and dilapidated arbor. At the bottom, along the Rue des Vignes, a boundary wall reinforced with a strong iron railing ought to have ensured the privacy of the two gardens, but I never knew those railings other than twisted and torn from their cement foundations, and grappling in mid air with the invincible arms of a hundred-year-old wisteria." I hope the unexpected soaking urged you to duck inside a cafe for some good hot tea and a treat while (or shall I say whilst) reflecting on the fragile flamboyance of those blooms.