Clamecy to Sens

Week 6 – October 1st to 7th (Tony) 

If our departure from Clamecy was rather hurried it was only because we needed to get at least half a days cruising downstream if we were going to make Vermenton in time for Tuesdays training course and test for our ICC. We reached Chatel Censoir well before nightfall and managed a climb up to the ancient church and to wander through the village. The next day was relatively easy, passing through several exceptionally pretty locks, one in particular had barely changed since 1996 and although no longer the eclusier, I’m sure only the same lady could be responsible for maintaining the old drays full of beautiful begonias.

Vermenton has a large basin full of boats, most belonging to the hire company that operates out of there but there were also many privately owned barges already moored up for the winter. Our trainer, the harbourmaster, was nice English bloke now married to a French lady. He guided us through the course, brushed up our rope-work and after lunch took us out on Sable to undertake some manoeuvres, but dispensed with lock work considering the fact that we had just managed more than a hundred! On completion of the written exam we were adjudged competent to be in charge of our ship and awarded our certificates. The evening was sublime, so again we fired up the gas barbecue and dined on deck. Five minutes after we had packed everything away, right on dark it started to rain. It poured all night but the next day dawned fine and clear and as soon as the fog lifted we were on our way.

Auxerre brought back many fond memories — the narrow winding streets, especially the pedestrian arcades full of enticing shops and throngs of young students from the university. Three stunning cathedrals highlight the panorama from the river as one enters the city and they remain floodlit at night to provide a scenic vista that would be hard to better anywhere. Myra, Sally’s sister from Christchurch, arrived on the train at the end of an extensive tour of Central Asia, relieved to be back in civilisation. She is enjoying the calming lifestyle of barging, and better food.

Next morning we cast off and casually eased downstream, now in the River Yonne flowing at about 6 kmph. By mid-afternoon we reached the start of the Canal de Bourgogne and entered one massive 5.5 m lock to moor for the night in the boat harbour at Laroche-Migennes, a busy, modern town at the hub of a major railway axis. Trains of every kind roared along the tracks across the waterway from our mooring all night. Saturday morning we returned back through the lock to resume our journey down the Yonne, to Joigny, another picturesque town dominated by several churches and famous for its steep narrow streets with centuries old half-timbered houses. We arrived in time for the girls to get to the big weekly market where they bought more food and provisions than we’re likely to eat in a month. But everything is so fresh and delicious it is impossible to resist. The weather was so hot and the sky so cloudless, we erected the sun-shade over the deck to enjoy an al-fresco lunch, moored to the side of the main street in the centre of town. After lunch we crossed the road to a pub where we were given the best seats in the bar in front of a giant TV screen to watch the rugby. We left, depressed, sulking back to Sable where the cooks turned on a repast of mussels in white wine sauce followed by fresh, really fresh, raspberries and strawberries lashed with fresh cream. Now dark, it was time to pack away the awning and gluttons that we are, ventured into another pub (we couldn’t face going back to the same one) to watch more rugby. Thank God, we left at half-time convinced the All-Blacks had the measure of the French. An hour later, in our beds, the jubilant singing, whistling and drumming of departing patrons awakened us to the reality. We slipped out of town the following morning under a blanket of fog, as early as was deemed prudent …

So here we are, Sunday evening, after another day of sunshine and clear blue sky, in Sens a beautiful city steeped in ancient history. It was one of the first centres of Gaul and apparently Thomas a’Becket lost his shoes or underwear here (history is not my thing…).