Canal du Centre

22nd October, 2009 (Tony)

The Canal du Centre has many delightful stopping places. As well as being a pleasant port, Fragnes has a popular restaurant run by a young couple who spent a number of years in Scotland before returning to France to set up their own business. The restaurant's decor is bright and refreshingly modern and the food is exquisite but the most compelling attraction is to engage the chef and the waitress/maitre'd in conversation. Listening to husband and wife speaking English with French-Scottish accents is most amusing. On the Saturday there was not a spare chair for either lunch or dinner but for Sunday lunch they had nary a booking. "C'est la vie," says she. Who would want to be a restaurateur? From Fragnes we went for a spin on the motorbikes up into the hills and vales of Côte Chalonnaise. Pretty country and apart from getting lost it was a rewarding journey for I discovered the most palatable Pinot-Noir I've yet tasted — a Mercurey, a tiny appellation near Givry. Reasonable too. Nonetheless my favourite French wine remains Gigondas, a syrah, grenache blend from a tiny appellation in the Rhône Valley not far from Chateauneuf du Pape.

Santenay, of course, is surrounded by fine Burgundy vineyards and thus a trip into the countryside and surrounding hills is an absolute must. We were joined there by Peter, a friend of grandson Sam, taking a year's break before starting university in Sydney next February and bravely cycling, on his own, a veritable Tour de France. He had already completed a four month circumnavigation of UK. We all took advantage of a glorious sunny day to venture far into the landscape, Peter on his bike, us on motorbikes. We took different routes but explored similar features: a mountain top panorama, a stop in the picturesque village of Nolay, a picnic in the country, a visit to the magnificent chateau la Rochepot, and a meander through vineyards to Mersault and back to Santenay, about sixty kilometres. Peter normally rides more than 100 km each day so to him it was a 'day off.' He accompanied us next day on the cruise down to St Leger sur Dheune where another favourite restaurant beckoned for dinner. Le Petit Kir is owned by an English woman. Some years ago she backpacked to Australia and has been to more places than most Aussies. Returning to Europe she was working as a stewardess on a hotel barge when it passed through St Leger and she spied a derelict building in the town centre, right beside the canal. She immediately imagined the possibilities, jumped ship, and after overcoming the almost insurmountable red tape over planning permission, food and liquor licensing, and local authority regulations, not to mention the animosity of the locals, she eventually established a stylish restaurant and hired a chef to prepare dishes that really would be difficult to emulate at home. Nowadays that's our benchmark. We're so over restaurants where the food, whilst good, is no better than Sally can cook. One positive however has been Sarkozy's stimulus to overcome the GFC by reducing the (GST) tax on restaurant and café meals from the normal 19.6% to 5.5%. It has certainly kept the patronage of restaurants and cafés up, whereas many shops seem deserted.

Génelard has a nice port and a superb museum dedicated to all things relating to the demarcation line that split France during the occupation in WWII. A very sombre and thought provoking place that brings to light many dark deeds perpetrated by the Nazis and numerous brave measures undertaken by resistance fighters as well as highlighting the struggles of citizens whose everyday existence was thrown into turmoil by the slash of a line across the map of France. A two hour visit cannot do it justice but is as much as one can absorb.

Montceau les Mines and Paray le Monial are also fascinating towns. Every stopping place on this canal is worth more than a cursory overnight rest. Truth is, once you've realised you are on the way home you just feel you want to get there. At Paray, we woke in the morning to the first frost. That's enough to make you want to get the hell out of here. And just like that, the indian-summer ended and suddenly it is autumn, practically winter. Surprisingly, the trees have yet to flush into striking autumn colours. Compared to photos taken at the same time last year the trees are still very green. That hasn't prevented the wind, howling down from somewhere near the North Pole, from stripping many of their leaves. For the past week we have barely ventured outdoors except for essential shopping. Other friends of Sam, Ariane and Sophie, both from Sydney and like Peter have deferred for a year the start of their university courses to travel extensively around Europe, came aboard at Paray and cruised with us for several days to Roanne. For three nights we played Mexican Train and cards almost 'til midnight. They left on Saturday morning at 6am with a heavy frost on the ground to walk to the station to catch a train to Lyon, thence Nice, Barcelona and London before departing for Aus in mid-November. As it was Sally's turn to fetch the bread and croissants she walked with them as far as the centre of town. She was none to pleased, especially knowing I had cuddled back into bed as soon as I had bade the girls farewell.

Since mooring up in Roanne we have been caught up in a continuous round of socialising, meeting new arrivals and greeting old acquaintances, wining and dining, as one does... A final week to check that everything is secure and ready for winter. We are looking forward to getting on the plane and flying back into the arms of family and friends in Australia, measuring up our grandchildren and catching up on their many and varied exploits; and walking barefoot in the sand along our beautiful beach.

This will be our last epistle until we return in April to resume our adventures. Where we'll go next year has yet to be determined but as the Tour de France, 2010, passes through Champagne there's a very strong likelihood that we'll be there to see it; and to enjoy more of that delicious nectar that the region so prolifically  produces. Sally and I extend our best wishes to you and your loved ones for a joyous Christmas and a happy and healthy 2010.

Homeward Bound

5th October, 2009 (Sally)

It was with a certain sadness that we turned south and started our final leg of this years travels, and just to make things harder for us the Saône looked spectacular with the first faint shades of autumn starting to appear in the trees that line the banks. Fishing must be one of the most popular pastimes in France and it is rare that we do not see some one sitting on the sides of the canals with oversized rods, fold-out tackle boxes which become comfortable chairs, keep-nets in the water and most amusingly, rubber aprons to protect their clothes. Saturday was fine and warm so the banks were lined with men, it is very seriously a man's sport, and many had set up little camps with tents and tables, it was going to be an all day affair.

After a night at Seurre, always a favourite spot as it was here that we first saw, fell in love with and purchased Sable two years ago, and another at Verdun sur le Doubs we finally turned off the Saône and are now moored at Fragnes for three nights. It is not a rushed trip by any means unless this wonderful Indian summer decides to desert us.

While I was in Rome Tony did take his motorbike through the vineyards and to his surprise found the vendange was completely over. Such a change from last year when on practically the same date we did the tour the day before it started. A very early harvest this year, as a result of the very hot summer and all picked within ten days. Amazing. He also managed to finish all the painting while I was away. What a hero, so Sable with her new coat of blue, freshly painted decks and new name plates is looking very smart.

Rome was a wonderful week for me. The overnight train trip was less than memorable. French trains are noteworthy for their cleanliness and punctuality. I am afraid the same can not be said for the Italian ones. I was meeting Myra and her sister-in-law Wendy at 3.00pm so after finding the hotel I did a quick walk through the local neighbourhood and found the Forum and Colosseum only five blocks away. I walked to the top of Capital Hill, admired Michelangelo's statues, gazed in wonder over the Forum and photographed the Colosseum before making my way back to the station to meet them off their train from Salerno. Back to the hotel and they were ready to go, where, of course, you've guessed it, back to the Forum, Colosseum, Capital Hill etc. So that was day one, a very thorough look at the main sights. Day two, Myra had booked a tour of the Vatican Museum so after braving the morning rush on the Metro we were able to bypass the 500 metre queue at the museum gates and be taken by our very informative and friendly guide to some wonderful exhibits. With 2,000 rooms of treasures it would be crazy to see too much but after three hours we felt we had done very well. She gave us a very good ovesight of the Sistine Chapel before we went in and that was excellent as it would have to be one of the most popular, and the most crowded places I have ever been in. The ceiling was cleaned between 1980 and 1993, [that is four times longer than it took to paint] at a cost of 100million euros, and is now protected by a very efficent air conditioning unit. Kept at a constant temperature with the removal of 900 litres of water a day. Seems an unbelievable figure until one sees the crowds that go through. They have left a small portion in one corner uncleaned, one can hardly see the figures in this part through the grime and soot stains from the millions of candles that were burned there over the 500 years. It was Japanese money that paid for the restoration and in return they have the copyright on all Sistine Chapel merchandise. As a result there are no photo's allowed inside the chapel, with a host of guides to enforce the ruling and to keep the crowds moving. The constant hollers of "No Photos" completely destroys any reverent feeling one may have.

From there it was into St Peters and then the climb to the top of the dome for the memorable view over the square and the vatican gardens. If that sounds like a lot to do in one day, you are right, but day three, four and five were no easier. We walked everywhere, through streets that were designed for chariots, dodging businessmen on motorbikes and discovering hidden corners, plazas with fountains and statues and everywhere a constant stream of tourists. What is Rome like in the height of the tourist season or is there no such thing? Highlights? The Colosseum, no photo can ever do justice to its size, the expanse of the Forum, Michelangelo's statue of Moses that he designed for the tomb of Pope Julius, the Pantheon, built in 27BC, consecrated as a Christian Church in 600AD and still in use today, the Sistine Chapel and the art works in the Vatican Museum but the wonderful Bellini sculptures in the Villa Borghese stand out. It was a wonderful chance to see it all and to have some family time too, but as always nice to be back to the more gentle life style on Sable where the sightseeing is limited to a patisserie or chocolaterie and a walk to the boulangarie is the main excercise of the day.

We stopped again at St Jean de Losne after leaving Dijon and as well as having the motor and heating system serviced, met up with quite a few fellow travellers. The New Zealanders are well represented on the canals and we entertained two couples from Auckland on board for a Happy Hour. They left, we ate and were just settling down for the night when an enoumous hotel barge, at least 80 metres in length, arrived and moored almost on top of us. We stepped outside to view and as it approached closer and closer thought this is getting a little tight. With that one of the crew yelled out to us to move our boat. We asked where to, considering it was after 9.00pm, pitch dark and there were no spaces left on the quay. We don't care they said, just move. Bearing in mind we were legally moored, we demurred. By this time we had collected an audience of interested boaties and the conversation was getting a little heated, with one of the crew threatening to call the police. We passified them by rafting off the Kiwi boat in front of us, and in the morning recieved an apologetic visit from the captain. Ruffled feathers were smoothed, but even he admitted that there was no sign declaring "no mooring" for private vessels, or to say they had priority. Just another reason to get back into our friendly canals with room for all. Our next stop will be at Santenay, shady trees and a cute village surrounded by fine Burgundy vineyards. Should be a good reason to take the motorbikes for our last ride of the season.

Bourgogne

18th September, 2009 (Tony)

Perhaps it is autumn after all. Today I'm wearing jeans for the first time in ages. Apart from occasionally dressing up to eat out; or to ride the motorbike, I haven't been out of shorts for the whole summer. And it hasn't rained properly for more than a month, not since the day we watched the Tour de France at Col de Schlucht in fact. The French farmers, like farmers everywhere, are in despair — this is a drought! After an unbelievably rain-free harvest, with all the grain now safely stashed in the silos, the only crop left in the fields is maize which won't be ready for several weeks. How the long hot summer will have affected this year's vintage we will hope to discover next week when we enter the vineyards of Burgundy. Last year the harvest began very late but I'll be surprised if they haven't begun picking by the time we get there. Not that we intend to help. It's too much like hard work, but we'll be keen to sample the bottled fruits of previous vintages...

For the past couple of weeks we have drifted, if not aimlessly then certainly nonchalantly, from quay to quay, pausing long enough to take in the ambience of whatever village is nearby whilst also carrying out a bit of work on Sable. We tired of Dole after eight days so set off down the canal towards its end at the Saône. Just four kilometres down we stopped a night at Choisey, a picture-perfect village. impeccably neat and tidy. For a few horrendous moments we thought the place lacked a boulangerie — sacré bleu, that's unforgivable. Then, two hundred metres up the hill from the church, hidden from sight across the main road to Dole, we discovered a gigantic commercial centre complete with hyper-supermarket, numerous other major outlets for furniture, shoes, cheap clothes etc, etc, and, of course, a delightful if somewhat grandiose boulangerie. Next morning it was Sally's turn to fetch the croissants and she had barely returned from her exhausting excursion when a mobile boulangerie van pulled up twenty metres from the boat and tooted. Alas, we had to turn him away. Our friends who stayed on for about a week reported that he never came back for the duration of their stay. So down another few kilometres to Tavaux-Cité. This town was obviously purposely built in the 1950's to accommodate the workforce employed at the nearby chemical factories that stretch for more than two kilometres alongside the canal. They comprise an amazing complex of what looks like a coal-fired electricity generating plant, an oil refinery, a gas works and a concrete batching plant; and for all I know they might well be all of those things, but I understand it is the biggest manufacturer of raw plastic in the world. Elsewhere, all around the globe, its product is turned into pvc and polyurethane commodities of every description imaginable. But I digress, back to the town where the streets are wide, tree-lined avenues. The houses are all the same — two storey, solidly-built, well designed, large semi-detached boxes. It's all so clinically neat and tidy. It's not French, especially the church which looks as if it was designed to adapt to all religious persuasions but possibly satisfies none. A sort of gothic, protestant, synagogue. There are sporting facilities, but not a bar or restaurant, or shop of any kind, anywhere. The townsfolk must have to hike almost two kilometres to the next village for supplies. Teenagers would go stir-crazy, though we didn't see any so maybe they've been sent to boarding school.

The quay at Tavaux was perfect, height-wise, to rub down the starboard side hull with wet-and-dry. Then another four kilometres down the quay at Abergement la Ronce was just right to rub down the port side. We continued on, out into the Saône and down to St Jean de Losne to try and organise a routine engine service for Sable which is a bit like waiting for your football team to make it into the grand final — ten days later it still hasn't happened, maybe next week, or next year... We spent five nights in St Jean de Losne and every evening a boat came into port with people we knew and every night became a late one with copious drinks and sociable banter and finally we said we've got to get out of here, we're running short of aspirin. So, back into the canal and up to Abergement to undercoat the starboard side, then next day on to Tavaux again to paint the port side, then with Sable looking a bit like Australia's second-biggest navy ship with her grey hull, up to Choisey, for a day's rest before another light sanding and applying the first top-coat to the port side, turn around, back to Tavaux to do the other side and complete the first top-coat. The following day, Sable proudly back to her original livery but without a name, we returned to St Jean de Losne where we waited in vain for the mechanic to arrive, this time without visitors. In a few days Sally is going to Rome for four nights to join her sister Myra. They will probably arrange to meet the Pope, meanwhile I'll still be waiting for an appointment with the mechanic. The overnight train leaves from Dijon so we've cruised up there and I'll finish the painting, final top coat, while she is away. I'm not sure I'm up to sign-writing, I may have to resort to self-adhesive vinyl lettering. The engine service is not urgent, it can be done in Roanne if necessary.

Dijon is a lovely city with plenty of things to see and do. But if I get bored, and I just may, I'll hop on a motorbike and take a run out to Gevry-Chambertin and/or Nuits St George to investigate the grape harvest and restock the cupboard. The basin here at Dijon is absolutely choked with weed which is an enormous pity as the task of getting rid of it is clearly beyond the resources of the VNF. The weed is an exotic species introduced from elsewhere (one theory is it's from South America and is a result of people emptying their fish tanks into canals) and is becoming a problem in many French waterways. It dies off in the winter and its wiry tentacles clog the locks. And it is spreading rapidly. Fortunately, Sable has an internal access shaft so I can clear the propeller when necessary without getting more than an arm wet. I pity the poor boaties who have to plunge beneath their boats to free the weed from their propellers. Worse still is when weeds clog the inlet for the engine's water cooling system. It's a tough job this boating life...

Franche-Compte

28th August, 2009 (Sally)

From Baume les Dames the river Doubs meanders through spectacular scenery, the cliffs rise sheer from the water and trees grow from seemingly impossible slopes. We are slowly, ever so slowly drifting downstream, constantly asking ourselves where are all the other boats. This is meant to be high season in Europe, yet we see only two or three boats a day. So much for our original concerns of being crowded off the water.

The approach to Besancon is awe inspiring. From the river one sees the full scope of the defensive system that made it such a formidable obstacle for any would-be assailants. Vertical cliffs are topped with the mighty walls, ramparts and towers of what is now termed Vauban's masterpiece. The new mooring situated right under the citadel walls is also a delight, 200 metres of sparkling floating dock, complete with aluminium walkways, security gates, pumpout stations; and we had it all to ourselves. We had already decided to spend a week in Besancon and the facilities made it even more inviting. So much to see and even after a week there is much that we have left for next time. Besancon is a very old town — it was visited and mentioned by Julius Caesar when it was known as the Roman town of Vesontio. It sits in a loop in the river, almost as if drawn by a compass, and the part of the circle not completed by the river is completely blocked by the walls of the citadel. There are now tunnels under this part allowing boats, as well as traffic, to take a shortcut. All the historic part is inside the original walls and is a maze of pedestrian streets, squares and some lovely old buildings. We used our motorbikes for an extensive exploration of the surrounding heights to see the layout of the town from above and visited a couple of the nearby forts which provided extra defense. The citadel needed a whole day to explore as it covers seven hectares and they have used the space very well with extra museums and displays as well as the walks and explanations of the site itself. One of the moats is home to a troup of baboons, endangered species of antelope roam free in and outside the walls, and an aviary and small zoo have been set up in part of the enclosed walls. The armoury is also an aquarium and there are three other museums inside various rooms. All very well done, perhaps too well done as twenty rooms of the Musée to Resistance and Deportation was a very sobering end to the day. Our time there coincided with the hottest weather we have ever had in France, days in the high 30's saw us doing not a lot except relaxing under the shade or walking into town to enjoy a drink in the shady squares. Pat and I went for a bike ride one day to admire the city walls from the other side of the river and when riding through the city gardens came upon a gathering of the traditional Comtoise Horses. They were all being shown and judged with foals at foot in a very informal atmosphere. Foals running free amongst the spectators, and not for these folk the highly polished horse floats and Range Rovers to tow them. Parked amongst the trees was a great collection of tractors and floats straight off the farm. Comtoise horses were nearly a dying breed but are now very popular and one sees them everywhere with their distinctive palomino colouring and very heavy stature. The other distinctive feature of the area is the Franche Comté brown and white dairy cows as well as the huge stainless steel tankers trundling off to make the cheese that the area is famous for. We have sampled most, Morbier with its distinctive layer of ash, Mont D'Or, Bleu de Gex and of course Compté. My encyclopedia of French Cheese is collecting some notes. and more than a few ticks as we attempt to sample the cheese of each area we visit.

Downstream from Besancon we moored at a couple of small French villages and from one we took the bikes to cycle back and visit the Grotte d'Oselle. These caves were opened in 1504 making them one of the oldest-visited caves in the world and were also a refuge for priests during the Revolution and the site of many cave bear skeletons. The first complete one was discovered in 1826 and is now in the British Museum but they have managed to keep some in-situ. The walk of 1300 metres through fifteen caverns in a temperature of 13 deg was a welcome relief from the heat outside. At the small village of Rans, Pat and Paul left us to continue their holiday in France. We took our bikes again and visited Arc et Senans, another UNESCO listed site, just 14kms from the canal. It was the Royal Salt works where they processed the salt water from 21 kms away by boiling it in huge evaporation baths using the wood from the nearby Forest of Chaux. The reasoning was it was easier to transport the water than the fire wood. The buildings for such a mundane project are magnificent, built in 1775 to be the basis of an ideal village, they were to form a huge circle with another outer ring of workers cottages. The whole project was not profitable so only the first half circle was completed and still stands as a museum to salt production, exhibition spaces and cultural centre. They were rehearsing for a concert that evening while we were there. Another interesting sight among the many we have seen when you have time to really explore.

We are now moored in Dole, the old capital of Franche-Comté before they upset Louis XIV by daring to defend themselves against his army. He eventually gained their territory for France and promptly punished them by making Besancon the new capital. Also the birthplace of Louis Pasteur with his original home now a museum. Probably one of the prettiest ports we have stayed in, the view from our window is the flowered river banks, the multi-level tiled roofs of Dole and the newly renovated cathedral tower. And if that isn't pretty enough its colourful floodlighting at night complements the view from our own private dining room.

The high area of Jura is accessable from Dole and the tourist office was advertising a day trip for 56€ on the 'Swallow' line up to St Claude. This line took fifty years to build and with its thirty six tunnels and eighteen viaducts one can see why. It looked interesting and when we went to inquire were told we needed to reserve at the tourist office. Well, we were already at the train station ready to go so with a day pass for 12€ we took exactly the same train to Morez then by bus to St Claude and okay we didn't get the gourmet lunch but we certainly did it a whole lot cheaper. What a fascinating area, we were nearly on the Swiss border, mountain meadows set among forest, cows everywhere, this is the heart of their cheese making area, and towns clinging to the sides of steep gorges. St Claude is set deep in a canyon and is a sizeable town compensating for its lack of building sites with a jumble of multi storey units. Not the most attractive of towns but fascinating just the same. In just two weeks they have the festival when the cows are brought down from the mountain pastures to their winter quarters. People line the streets and the cows are decorated in flowers for the trip. It sounds a lot of fun but of course it signifies that the summer is coming to an end; and with it our time in France for another year.

The Doubs

10th August, 2009 (Tony)

Our trusty little motorbikes have proved their worth over the past fortnight, enabling us to make excursions deep into the surrounding countryside. On our reconnaissance foray up into the Vosges mountains to find a place to watch the Tour de France my bike ran out of fuel about a kilometre beyond a solitary service station. Fortunately, in turning around to face downhill the bike restarted and we managed to purchase the only five litre jerry can in stock. It now accompanies us on our journeys as our excursions are often more than eighty kilometres, the extent of a tankful of fuel, and service stations along the routes we prefer can be a rarity. For example, we headed off one glorious sunny afternoon from Dannemarie, through gorgeous woods and farmland, into Switzerland, briefly, and back through quaint little villages that would normally be considered beyond reach by bicycle, especially when the temperature was well into the thirties. And from Montbéliard we ventured up to Ronchamp to admire the remarkable Chapelle Notre-Dame-du-Haut sited at the top of a hill overlooking the old mining town. The original gothic church was destroyed by artillery in WWII and the community, comprising mostly families of Italian and Polish coal miners, sought to rebuild it. To their consternation, the Bishop of Besancon had other ideas and appointed a committee to find a modern-style replacement. Le Corbusier (France's equivalent to Frank Lloyd Wright; or Antoni Gaudi) was eventually commissioned to design the new church. The starkly simple result is stunning. I had seen photos previously but seeing the real thing was a profoundly moving experience. The interior would probably seat no more than a hundred worshipers but the east end sanctuary is replicated outside with an altar and pulpit facing out to a natural grassy ampitheatre that could accommodate ten thousand. Completed in 1955 it now attracts hundreds of visitors daily, despite its remote situation. For a time we considered it was beyond our reach too, but we're glad we made the long journey, seeking out less-busy roads and avoiding highways. What a highlight. I am curious to know if it cost less than reconstruction of the original design, a fact discreetly omitted from all the information. They certainly raise a fortune from visitor fees at 5€ a pop plus miscellaneous sales of souvenirs, and snacks. (See photos on our web site.)

The bicycles have been getting a good workout too, now that we are drifting ever so slowly down the Doubs towards year's end. On one occasion we set off along the tow path — which incidentally forms part of the Velo Europe, a bikeway that extends from the mouth of the Loire near Nantes to Budapest — and I paused at a lock to wait for Sally to catch up. To my astonishment I looked down and noticed the head of a small dog up against the sheet-piling at the edge of the canal. Poor thing had obviously been immersed there for some time and had no chance of climbing out by himself. Lying prone, Sally reached down and dragged the wretch by the scruff of his neck, whereupon he staggered about for a few moments trying to make a connection with his leg muscles, shook himself and promptly headed off, we thought, towards home. However, several locks further upstream he appeared to be quite lost so we alerted the lock keeper to his plight. We made enquiries a few days later and learned that he was in the care of a vet who had established that he had an identity tattoo although no one had, as yet, claimed him. He was a young wiry-haired terrier, clearly someone's pet. We have no doubt one of the students working the locks will adopt him if his real owner fails to turn up. Everyone in the employ of VNF seemed to know about the incident. It seemed likely that he may have fallen off a boat, but he wasn't viewed as a prospective crew member on ours!

At Montbéliard we rested up for several days to await the arrival of cousin Paul and his wife Pat, from New Zealand. They dragged their cases more than a kilometre through the town and were soon relishing the warm summer sunshine. Hardly noteworthy for much else, Montbéliard has the finest display of flower boxes and hanging pots we have seen in France. They are magnificent, as are the gardens in the park between the river and the canal. Next day we retraced our steps through four locks and turned off into the Canal de Belfort. Barely used any more, VNF would only allow us to proceed through the first two old manually operated locks, for which they provided us our own exclusive éclusier, to Trévenans. From there it is eleven kilometres to Belfort so Pat and Sally rode pushbikes while Paul and I exercised the motorbikes. Belfort proved to be an interesting town. It has a modern town centre full of classy shops and smartly dressed shoppers, most of them young. The ancient citadel and walls, again a Vauban masterpiece, provide spectacular views over the town and surrounding countryside. In the Franco-Prussian war Belfort resisted all attempts to capture the city and in 1870 remained in French territory. As a mark of gratitude to the brave defenders, Bartholdi, who among other things conceived the Statue of Liberty, was commissioned to sculpt a tribute. His Lion du Belfort, set into the wall above the city, is something to see and, eerily, bears a striking resemblance to Simba. I wonder where Disney's animators drew their inspiration... It's a shame that canals, like the one to Belfort, have fallen into disuse for many bargees without motorised alternative transport must miss seeing great places of interest. I guess there are not enough boats using any of the canals in France.

We resumed our journey downstream, arriving in L'Isle sur le Doubs where for two days we did nothing — it was too hot to leave the shade of our awning, except for a late afternoon walk through the park and to the top of the hill overlooking the town which once-upon-a-time boasted a huge factory that produced bolts and nuts. After WWII demand for such essentials dwindled. Nowadays they are imported from China, one supposes. The Doubs is a small river, although it can become a raging torrent when it floods, as it did a few years ago and swept marinas and bridges into oblivion. But it is absolutely beautiful. Steep, rocky cliffs covered in forest rise from each bank as the river winds its way down the valley. Sometimes it can be rather shallow so one needs to be vigilant noting the chart and following the channel. We arrived in Baume les Dames, a pretty town whose claim to fame is that it was here that the world's first steamship was launched, to find the port practically full. We rafted up to an Aussie boat belonging to a couple who have been enjoying this idyllic lifestyle for ten years and have no idea when they may give it up. Then a Dutch boat rafted onto us. Drinks on the top deck extended almost til dark. Alas, drama this morning, the Dutch cast off and chugged three metres and ran aground! (A draft of 1.5m is not a good idea for boats in French canals. Better to be long and shallow-drafted than short and deep!) No worries, Sable became a tugboat and we had the chance to put to use the 50mm tow rope I purchased, at great expense, in case we ourselves ever got into difficulties. Like a compliant camel the towee quickly ceded its 'stuck-in-the-mud' attitude and was soon off up the river. From behind it looked a bit like the little dog romping off to freedom...

Alsace

July 28th, (Sally)

The last two weeks have been a wealth of different experiences. Hard to know where to start, except that the very reason we were in Colmar keeps coming back to mind. We had planned to be in Colmar to watch the Tour de France come through on the 17th of July so it was with relief that we finally moored in the town with a few days to spare. The 15th of July we decided to make a survey of the Col de Schlucht, one of the higher climbs that the cyclists would do on the day so set off on our trusty little 50cc motorbikes for the 50km trip. Out through Munster, famous for its cheese and storks. Storks in Alsace are meant to bring good luck [as well as babies] so they are encouraged to roost on buildings by erecting large steel baskets for them to make their nests in. In Munster they are quite a drawcard and one can sit in the main square over lunch while the birds circle around bringing food to their young. From Munster it was a picturesque run up the mountain to find a host of hardy fans in their camper vans had already arrived 48 hours before the event. With no facilities in sight except a ski chalet/restaurant which was doing a roaring trade one would have to be keen.

The next day I visited the Unterlinden Museum in Colmar to where pride of place is the Isenheim Altarpiece painted between 1512 and 1516. Amazing things one discovers in every town we go to. The rest of the day we enjoyed the ambience of Colmar as they all prepared for the big day. It was a scorcher, 35 deg so nice to relax under a shady umbrella and watch the world go by. The great weather however did not last over for the 17th. We set off at 9.00am and as it was looking a little overcast put an extra jumper in our back packs. Just as well as, by the time we climbed up and up through the forest we had to stop and put on every article of clothing we had. It was freezing and it did not get better. We reached the Col at 11.00am to find the camper vans now numbered 200, 3kms of cars lined the approach way and it was starting to rain. Our chosen spot was 200 metres down hill at the last corner before the summit, so there we set up, with a good view of the track and all the fanfare that accompanies it. For four hours we stood there, getting colder and colder. The carnival of sponsors cars starts about two hours before the actual race, and it is a good natured display of elaborate floats throwing out giveaways to the crowd — boxes of chalk to decorate the road, hats by the hundred, key rings, bottles of water, biscuits and papers. All good fun and the crowd gets right into the spirit. Interspersed among this are the merchandise vans doing a great trade in umbrellas and ponchos plus a myriad press corps and photographers. There was a certain level of excitement when the first helicopter arrived overhead, we knew they must be near, then suddenly there was a flash of colour followed by several cars. What was that? It was the leaders. And they were going up hill! Then the peloton poured past. What a spectacle, just a rush of colour almost impossible to pick an individual. So that was it, four hours in bitter cold to watch six minutes of the race, and we would not have missed a second of it. Of course then it was a mad scramble to get back to our motor bikes and try and get away before the rush. The line of cars was now 4km, so we were competing with pedestrians, cyclists and the first few motorists but we did it, then a flying trip down the mountain in time to get back into town and see them after the finish as they headed to their team buses. The next day we did it all again and saw them leave Colmar via the main streets of the town when they all leave in a rolling start. Once again we were in time for the carnival at the beginning and could see the full entourage that accompanies them.  Like all the major sporting events one is always struck by the huge number of people involved and the amount of money invested. Colmar proved to be a real highlight for us, the town itself is delightful, half timbered houses, a wealth of cobbled streets and close proximity to some gorgeous wine villages which we explored once again by motorbike. Ribeauville and Riquewihr are two of the most well known, and both worth a visit though we found Riquewihr on a lovely Sunday afternoon just a bit too touristy for us.

As we left Colmar we met an English couple on their narrow boat who were also venturing onto the Rhine. I shudder to think of them sharing a lock with a super tanker or a fully laden barge which we did on the way south. We had a very uneventful but hard working day against the current as we travelled from Colmar to Mulhouse where we moored up in the centre of town. Mulhouse has none of the charm of other cities in Alsace but it does have one of the best museums that we have seen. What the Louvre is to art the Cite de l’Automobile is to cars. A marvellous collection of over 400 cars dating from 1890’s all in perfectly restored order. The story behind the collection is almost as fascinating as the collection. Two brothers, Hans and Fritz Schlumpf had a woollen mill in Mulhouse and one started the collection by buying up Bugatti’s. He had one of his mills discretely converted into a workshop and employed 40 craftsmen, all sworn to secrecy, to restore cars. The cars arrived in trainloads, but he kept only the best and was on the point of displaying them when the wool business collapsed and his 2,000 workers were unemployed. The brothers fled to Switzerland, the workers broke into the factory and found the cars so decided to open it up to the public. Fortunately the cars were never sold off to pay the debts as they now form the basis of a growing collection which includes 127 Bugattis, countless Rolls Royces and other priceless classic brands too numerous to mention.

Mulhouse was also where we had planned to meet up with Delphine, our Rotary exchange student from 1994-5. Now where did all those years go? She and her partner, Francois, arrived last Saturday afternoon on a direct flight from London to Mulhouse in time to enjoy Champagne on the deck of Sable, a barbecue meal and a rousing game of Mexican Train. On Sunday, as they had a hire-car, Francois offered to show us the Route de Cretes through the Vosges mountains. What a spectacular drive that is, the Route de Cretes was created by the French in WW1 to supply front line troops and its purpose is made all too clear as you pass the sites of several Military Cemeteries and the memorials to the bloodiest battles that took place in this the Southernmost length of the Western Front. Whereever one goes in France it is hard to escape the bloodshed that has taken place. We stopped at Grand Ballon, the highest point in the Vosges and walked the trail to the top for some stunning views of the Alsace Plain, the Black Forest across the Rhine and a wonderful clear view of the Swiss Alps. From there we continued on and turned to come down through the route of the Tour to Munster and on to the small wine village of Turckheim where with Delphine’s know-how we avoided the tourist strip of restaurants and found a vine draped courtyard where the food more than matched the ambience. So there you have it, a fortnight of great sport, great art, great sights, almost great weather, great company and great food. Almost forgot to add that Ribeauville is renowned for its Reisling so the wine was pretty good too.

The Rhine

14th July, 2009 (Tony)

It's Tuesday, Bastille Day, and we're in Colmar. The fireworks went off last night long after I was sound asleep in bed. Sally claims to have seen them. For many it's an extra long weekend for lots of businesses close on Mondays. The town is buzzing with tourists, many like us here in advance of the Tour de France circus which arrives Friday and leaves Saturday. All the shops are having summer sales but there are few shoppers. We expected enthusiastic promotion of the Tour but the funny thing is only half a dozen businesses have taken up the theme. Weird. The old part of town is gorgeous, picture-postcard perfect. Quaint old half-timbered houses authentically restored and decorated with window boxes blooming with geraniums and petunias loom over small squares crowded with inviting restaurants and cafés. German is more widely spoken than French. Back in the 1700's it may have looked similar but with the tiny canal being used by the tanners to wash hides which were then strung out to dry in the open lofts in the houses above, not to mention the markets of fish, horses and animals in the streets, and the dung, it certainly would have smelt different. Today it was lovely. We headed out on the motorbikes to reconnoitre the countryside in preparation for Friday's 13th stage of the Tour. The nearby villages are enchanting, surrounded by vineyards producing Alsace's finest reislings. This evening (5pm)we attended a concert, "A Homage to Sviatoslav Richter" performed by the National Philharmonic Orchestra of Russia. The venue was a fifteenth century church converted into an auditorium. The program featured piano concertos by Rachmaninov and Prokofiev, finely delivered by Denis Matsuev. Simply marvellous...

Strasbourg is a tale of two cities. The old part, like Colmar, is absolutely delightful but is so crowded with visitors, exploring the streets becomes quite exhausting. Occasional pauses for a drink or patisserie seems to be the most effective antidote. The cathedral (I know, I said it would have to be good) is vast. A hundred and fifty years ago it was the highest building in the world. It is still the fourth highest church. The carvings and sculptures on the exterior stonework are exquisite and quite enthralling. The new Strasbourg, however, is very new, very modern, very stark, and not very French. None of it would win an architectural prize, in my opinion. The sheer extravagance of the EU Parliament buildings and all the departmental office buildings that by necessity go with it boggles the mind. There was not a worker to be seen in any of the buildings — the parliament only sits twelve times, for five part-sessions a year in Strasbourg — presumably they are all on holiday; or twiddling their thumbs in Brussels at this time. I fancy Strasbourg would be a wonderful city in which to live. The trams and bikeways are fantastic and the outer suburbs are very attractive — smartly kept germanic-style homes on 500m2 blocks with profuse gardens.

The stretch from Sarreguemines to Strasbourg was really pleasant, if somewhat crowded at times with hire boats. It is great to see the canals being utilised at last. We stopped a night at Mittersheim which has a nice port and then Sarralbe before reaching the expansive summit ponds which were created as part of the Maginot Line and we then turned east into the Canal de la Marne au Rhin. At Xouaxange (don't ask me how to pronounce that) we ventured by motorbike up into the mountains to St Quirin, perportedly the most beautiful village in France but we could nominate a dozen more worthy, and Arbreschviller where we caught a petite train up into the forest. This was interesting as the trees were predominantly a type of fir, tall and spectacular, and still being selectively felled and milled for their good looking timber. We stopped again at Niderviller, famous for its china-ware, and biked into Sarrebourg to admire once more Chagall's stained glass masterpiece.

Now retracing our steps in a hireboat in 1999, we slipped through the two tunnels to emerge at the top of the St Louis-Arzviller Incline Plane. This is an engineering marvel, built only in the 1960's to eliminate seventeen locks. A giant bathtub on rails transports vessels up or down a slope of 42 degrees, through a vertical lift of 44.6 m. Thence to Lutzelbourg, a tiny town but so pretty it looks like it should be part of a model train set, especially as trains roar out of a tunnel very close to the canal as it wends its way through the gorge. The ruins of an ancient chateau perch atop a pinnacle of rock above the town. A walk up there deserved the reward of a well-earned drink afterwards in the town tavern. At Saverne a jaunt to one of the ruined chateaux high in the hills called for the use of the motorbikes. The splendid panorama from there covered almost all of Alsace, to Strasbourg and across to Germany.

Tackling the Rhine to get to Colmar was always going to be a challenge. It is 64 km from Strasbourg lock to the turn off to Colmar and there is nowhere for a boat like ours to stop. There are several yacht clubs along the way on the German side with marinas for runabouts and day cruisers but vessels of Sable's size are not welcome. The Rhine is contained in a man-modified channel at least two hundred metres wide with sloping concrete sides. Giant double locks that rise 12m, each 185m long, one 12m wide the other 24m wide plus a hydro-electric generating plant straddle the river every 15km or so. The locks operate twenty four hours a day for commercial ships. Pleasure boats may use them, when there is room, between 07:00 - 19:30 hours. The water is surprisingly clean, Clutha green and flows at minimum 4kph on a quiet day. We prepared ourselves for a 12-14 hour non-stop journey, setting off at 6:30 am in order to be at the first lock and out into the Rhine by 7:00 am. All our plans were thrown awry at the second lock where the 24m wide lock was closed for repairs. A queue of huge commercial barges was lined up ahead of us, all having to wait for the 12m wide lock. It was our bad luck that three of them were doubles (one pushing another) each 180m long. They take an age to squeeze into a lock; and there were boats waiting to come down so each changeover took more than half an hour. We were obliged to wait through five passes before a 118m minnow's turn arrived and we, along with two other pleasure boats, followed him in. At 6pm with 21km and two locks still to go we were dog-tired and I guess Sable ought to have been too as she had been grinding away at 1900rpm in order to maintain 6kph. Providence provided a small floating pontoon that some small passenger boat must use from time to time and we gratefully moored up to it and called it a day. We slept like logs, occasionally stirred by the churning of passing barges as they growled past us during the night, but we were soon wallowed back to sleep in their wash. Refreshed, we set off again next morning at 6am and made it into the canal to Colmar by 10 o'clock. This canal is restricted to 6kph but it is a very pleasant three hour cruise along a waterway abundant with wildlife and clear enough to see fish despite the weed. By 2:30 pm we were enjoying coffee and cake in downtown Colmar. Scrumptious... Watch out for the Aussie flags as the riders approach Col de Schlucht on Friday.

Luxembourg and Germany

June 28th, 2009 (Sally) 

We collected Rotary friends, Mervyn and Glenda, at Metz and found time for them to see some of the sights before heading off downstream the next morning. First stop Thionville, where the only mooring available was a finger wharf right in the middle of town that was occupied by the town youth and their toys. i.e. jet skis. They moved over for us and we tied-up and headed into town for a quick look. By the time we returned so had they, and the quay was awash with enthusiastic jet skiers and their families. Sable being a convenient height, was being used as a seat and one lovely lass had stripped down to a bikini and was using Sable for a photo shoot. All good fun and though we did cop a bit of wash from exuberant skiers by 7pm it was all over and we had a pleasant night. Our next stop was meant to be just before we crossed the border into Luxembourg but at the last lock we were told to move on as that 17km stretch of river was to be lowered two metres as part of a major works program. Just a few kilometres on we found a marina close to the village of Schwebsange. Like all villages on the Moselle it is a vintners village but this one has the added attraction of a fountain that in festival season gushes wine for all to enjoy. Much as we would have enjoyed that spectacle it was just as well for our health and well being that it is not festival season at the moment. We were all taken with the neatness of the village, it looked like a recent entry in Tidy Towns but as we ventured further into Luxembourg we found the whole country to be the same. Nowhere was there a piece of litter or graffiti and every house and garden was a picture.

Our knowledge of Luxembourg was woefully inadequate but with the aid of a friendly waiter in Luxembourg City we did fill in a few gaps but no one was able to tell us why they have two flags, one of which is almost identical to the Dutch flag. Very confusing. Our impressions of Luxembourg was that it was a very desirable place to live and others seem to think the same. The population of Luxembourg City is 90,000 of which 67% are foreign citizens. Also, another 90,000 cross the borders to work in Luxembourg every day. Finance management seems to play a big part in their economy. It was not the only similarity we felt it had with Switzerland.      

As we cruised downstream the next morning we looked at the village of Remich and reluctantly decided that with the amount of activity on revamping the bridge and a little ferry boat crossing from one bank to the other there was no room for us and admired it from afar. However only 3kms further on we were turned back by the lock keeper with the news that the Moselle and the Sarre were closed! For a week! Major maintenance was being carried out on numerous locks so back we went and found a magic spot right opposite Remich on the German side of the river. It was no hardship to spend a week there, the ferry was free and crossed as soon as it had passengers. On one morning as I crossed over to buy our morning croissants the pilot said he would wait for me to shop, and he did. We spent the time on a little bit of maintenance, some dining out under the long esplanade of shaded tables, and another trip to Luxembourg City (bus fare 1.50€ for 25 km trip!) to explore and hire a car for two days. Just to satisfy ourselves that the rest of the trip would be hassle free we took the car over to the Sarre Valley and checked that all the work was going to be finished on time. At the little village of Mettlach we discovered the German home of Villeroy and Bosch. (Villeroy was from Luxembourg and Bosch was German; they have factories in both countries, founded in the 1700’s.) It is obviously the favourite shopping centre for many, and why not. The whole main street is a plethora of outlet stores of which Villeroy and Bosch occupy four. We had fun and Sable now has a new dinner service and the old one has been banished to the store cupboard.

The next day to satisfy a whim we took the car and drove through the northern part of Luxembourg and into Belgium to visit the sites of the Battle of the Bulge in the Ardennes. It started on December 16th 1944, the day Tony was born, and was Germany’s last major offensive in WW11. With 800,000 Americans taking part and 19,000 casualties it was the bloodiest campaign that the Americans took part in and is obviously a major stop for many American tourists. The German objective was to break through the Allied lines at the crossroads of Bastogne and get control of the port of Antwerp, therefore leaving four armies without a supply line. We visited Bastogne, where the memories are very much alive — a WW11 tank and US jeep in the square — and then went across the high plateau through some lovely forest and farmland to La Roche en Ardennes. It also sports a US tank plus the biggest museum devoted to the battle but apart from that has refashioned itself as an outdoor centre for active sports. Mountain biking, kayaking and canoeing were very much in evidence but it was apparent that the favourite sport, as in all Belgium cities, is sitting in the town square with a large Belgium beer.

Day eight of our enforced stop and while we were preparing to leave I took the motor bike for a run into Nenning, our nearby German village, and visited the roman villa that I had seen a sign post directing one towards. Wow, in this minute village is the best preserved roman mosaic floor outside Italy. It was only discovered in 1852 so had been under dirt for 1500 years and was in almost perfect condition. Measuring 160 m2 and made up of three million individual pieces it was the centrepiece of a very wealthy Roman palace. They have discovered enough of the foundations to build a model of the villa. The original was 140 m long and must have dominated the whole valley. I was open mouthed when I saw it and could not understand why it is so relatively unknown.

From Nenning to the confluence of the Moselle and Sarre is through ever-increasing acres of vineyards, new plantings going on some of the steepest slopes we have seen. We turned into the Sarre and made our first stop at the pretty town of Saarburg. The town is delightful, built over an old water mill with bridges crossing the mill race and geranium boxes on every available surface. It seemed that everyone in town was sitting down in the area called ‘Little Venice’ to the largest ice cream sundaes imaginable and it was apparent that this was a regular treat. French people are not fat. Don’t ask me why, but it is so obvious when you cross the border and see the increasing girth of so many other nationals. In spite of the fact that we were parked under a P sign we were told to move on by two of the townsfolk. As we have no German we were able to look suitably nonplussed and eventually they gave up. One lady even tried to enlist the help of a group of young guys to translate for her. They were far more interested in the bottles of beer they had with them than acting as pseudo policemen so we stayed very comfortably where we were.

The Sarre is a busy commercial river, feeding coal to the steel mills at Saarbrucken and Dillinger and taking loads of steel back down to the Rhine. We passed barges coupled with a pusher barge carrying 5,000 tonnes of coal. Those ones measure 175 metres long and 11.5 wide so one gives them a very clear berth. Good to see though as the equivalent amount carried by trucks would put over 200 semi-trailers on the road. On the lower reaches it is a pretty river with steep tree clad slopes on either side, vineyards too but in smaller numbers. However as one reaches the steel manufacturing area the giant mills and furnaces are a defining part of the landscape and we were not inclined to linger too long. After Saarbrucken we were back into cruising country, small locks and canals again, soon the signs changed to French and we were back in France. Not only were we back in France but at the very first stop, Sarreguemines, the annual festival of the river was in full fray. Street stalls, food and music everywhere and try your hand at every sort of water sport. What a welcome back. We moored right next to Kiwi bargees Roger and Ruth, on Romany, whom we met last year on the Meuse, ordered a wood fired pizza and sat back to enjoy the spectacle and catch up on news. Thank goodness the Wallabies thrashed France the night before.

Metz and Moselle

June, 13th 2009 (Tony).

Metz is a gem. Notwithstanding that France is the most popular tourist destination in the world and despite all that we have read about places before we get there, Metz, "City of Light," came as a complete surprise. This city is gorgeous and worthy of its distinction as winner of the European Floral First Prize with extensive botanic gardens and parks. Brimming with young people — it has a large university — and three thousand years of history, it proudly displays an eclectic mixture of striking architectural forms. Lorraine was ceded to Germany in 1870 after Napolean III's debacle (known as the Franco-Prussian War). It was thus spared from damage in WWI and was returned to France under the terms of the Treaty of Versailles. Metz bore the brunt of some heavy shelling in September 1944 when Gen Walker's 20th Corps, part of Patton's 3rd Army, forced the Germans out of town, again. The city has retained some splendid relics of its German period of governance including the portentious railway station and Governor's residence, and 'fairy-floss' protestant church which stands in defiance of the prominent catholic cathedral (built 1200 - 1500). It takes something special to get me to venture inside a cathedral any more, having seen a few in our travels, but St Etienne's has the highest nave in all France (42 m) and 6,500 sq m of stained glass, including a number of stunning windows created by Chagall. Chartres is nothing compared to this! And the whole building is in remarkably sound condition — a must see! If I ever mention another cathedral, believe me, it will have to be good.

After the near-disaster with the gas rupture, we set off down the Moselle from Epinal and paused for several days at Charmes where we rode our bikes to the top of a hill overlooking most of Lorraine. A large monument to commemorate General Castelnau's forces' successful resistance to the German invasion in August, 1914, albeit brief, dominates the summit. His temporary triumph here caused the enemy to concentrate their attention on Verdun, almost visible, slightly further west. Charmes has a delightful mooring place, marred only by about a hundred motorhomes parked adjacent to the quay. Presumably there must have been a rally of some kind for so many to be gathered in the one place. We were joined at Charmes by Allan and Bev, 70's friends from Christchurch, NZ. It was great to catch up on news and reminisce over the fun times we had at the tennis club. They spent several days aboard as we gently (I almost said quietly, but that wouldn't be accurate) cruised on downstream to Toul.

Toul was largely disappointing. Somehow it didn't live up to expectations, the cathedral for all its intricate design and ornate stonework is in a dilapidated state and the town centre seemed to lack any liveliness or character. Vauban's fortified star-shaped ramparts enclosing the old town are admirable and we enjoyed a cycle ride around them. How many man-hours went into building such places? They must have presented a daunting image to would-be invaders. The water in the port was crystal clear but full of weed. Our English neighbour dragged out about half a ton of it with a grappling hook. I am not sure if the authorities would have appreciated his efforts. I rather fancy they would have been dismayed for he left it in stinking piles for them to clean up. Still, better than round our propeller.

After Richardmenil, where we spent a very pleasant evening, the canal splits in two. The right branch, presently closed, leads round to the Canal Marne au Rhin, which we will enter in a couple of weeks on our journey to Strasbourg, whereas the left fork leads directly into the river Moselle. Almost immediately this becomes a major commercial waterway although it meanders serenely through unspoiled, heavily forested countryside. Barges, some as long as 135m and carrying up to 4,500 tonnes of grain, coal, gravel, scrap steel etc abound. It is quite intimidating to be waiting at a lock, only to have the gates open and to be confronted by one of these enormous hulks bearing down on our little tub. Some are so laden and low in the water it is amazing they remain afloat. Because we intend to go down the Moselle and return up the Sarre (their confluence is in Germany and we will be, for a day or two, in Luxembourg) we are unlikely to return to Nancy which is on a canal about midway between the two rivers, in Sable. So we took the train, with Allan and Bev, and spent a day exploring this lovely town. Nancy has a grand town square with elaborate wrought iron gates and wonderful statues, and nearby, beautiful parks and gardens. The roses were an absolute picture. At Allan's encouragement we visited the museum of fine arts and were impressed with the scale and quality of the paintings displayed. There is no shortage of museums and art galleries in France, just choosing which ones to see is a challenge.

We seem to have developed a penchant for climbing hills. Mont St Michel, at Toul, conceals a massive old fort now almost completely overgrown by trees. In its day it must have been a formidable barrier and garrison. There are thousands of similar edifices all over France. The trees, no doubt younger than me, unfortunately obscured what should have been a fine vista. Not so at Mousson. The highest promintory for miles around stands sentinel over Pont a Mousson where in 1944 US troops suffered more than two thousand casualties forcing a bridgehead over the Moselle. After a long, steep climb to the summit, encircled by the ruins of a huge chateau destroyed in the 16th century, one is rewarded by a magnificent panorama of the Moselle from Toul to Metz and beyond. But the real surprise was discovering a very neat and beautiful hamlet nestled beneath the old ruins. We surmised that most of the inhabitants must be retirees as every yard had a vegie garden to die for as well as raspberries, red currants, cherries and other delicious fruit. Most of the houses appear to have been rebuilt since WWII when virtually everything was blasted to smithereens by artillery.

About a week ago the canal between Roanne and Digoin breached, again, almost two years to the day since the last one, leaving a thirteen kilometre section devoid of water. VNF hope to effect repairs by mid-July but we have heard rumours that it may take until September to fix. We feel sorry for the twenty or so boats trapped in the port. Two we know were planning to leave the day after the bank burst into the Loire. Sad state of affairs. Sable and her previous owners were trapped in Roanne for seven weeks in 2007. Since leaving Roanne in March we have had very few wet days, although it has often rained at night. Mostly the weather has been great. Last week however a cold wind, unseasonal I suspect, frustrated our endeavours to venture far into the countryside. The upside to that was to remain indoors and watch hours of French Open Tennis, live. And Pres Obama's visit to Normandy and the D-day 65th commemoration. Hopefully that wind has now blown itself out. Last evening, at 9:30pm we licked ice cream sundaes, in broad daylight, in the town square. Summer is here. Today we expect close to 30°C so a barbeque up on top could be the go with Rotary friends Merv and Glenda fresh off the TGV from Paris.

Canal des Voges

May, 29th 2009 (Sally).

Well here we are 300km north of St Jean de Losne, at the town of Epinal in the area of Lorraine. Our departure from the dry dock at St Jean was not quite as quick as the proverbial champagne cork, but as speedy as one can be at 8kph in a fifty tonne boat. The interest in the workings of a dry dock had paled significantly after four days of inactivity, firstly in waiting for the workmen to return to work and then for one other boat to be finished so as soon as we were out on Tuesday morning it was non-stop north. The Saône travels from the Voges 400kms to meet the Rhône at Lyon and it was the upper reaches that we were on. It is often called the prettiest river in France and we can see why. With a gentle, meandering course it drops very slowly — only 59 metres in the whole of its navigable reach — and is a fisherman's paradise with many people either sitting in boats or in quiet little spots on the banks. A favourite dish of the region is Pochouse, a river fish stew. I tried it at one riverside restaurant, very tasty but lots of bones. The larger towns of Auxonne and Gray were soon left behind and we found ourselves calling at much smaller villages. Ray sur Saône, just a small deviation from the main river was a picture book mooring. Manicured lawns to the water, freshly painted houses, flower boxes all in bloom and all crowned by a well maintained castle. We walked the village, climbed to the castle to enjoy the spectacular view then dined at Chez Yvette, the local restaurant. The meal was très ordinaire. Oh well, you can't expect perfection all the time. For the first time ever we could not find a boulangerie, shock, horror, a situation we thought was unheard of in France but as we proceeded further into the sparsly populated area it was more and more common.

We had one more stop before we reached Port le Saône where we had arranged to meet our good friends Margaret and Peter James who were travelling by car from Germany. They were with us last year after the Somme and had a week of cruising on a very industrial canal so it was a delight to introduce them to the unspoilt scenery of this area. Because of their car we had to do a few hop-steps of catching the car up with the boat but fortunately the tow path was all sealed and Tony did a few miles by bike while we either waited for him or took control of Sable and met him further up. At Corre, a tiny town where the river Saône finally becomes unnavigable and where we transferred to the Canal des Vosges he found of all things in such a small village, a bike shop. 10 or 15 kms a day on the old rattler must have been enough to persuade him it was time to upgrade so now we have a third bike which handles much easier than the old one.

The Canal de Vosges is an interesting waterway, built between 1874 and 1882 after France had lost possession of Alsace Lorraine as they did not want to go through enemy territory. It gave good access to the industrial regions of Toul and Nancy and in its prime carried three million tonnes of freight. One is still able to see the evidence of industry, villages with names like La Manufacture and Forges les Bains but sadly the industry is all gone and all that remains are large derelict buildings and old water mills leaving the waterways for the benefit of the few pleasure craft owners, like ourselves. The villages are slowly dying with shops mentioned in our guide books no longer there and many empty houses. The most obvious was Fontenoy le Chateau. In 1840 there was an embroidery industry there that employed five hundred people. They supplied the Royal houses of Europe and the East but that is long gone and the town is reduced to one small grocer, rows of empty shops and an embroidery museum which unfortunately was closed. So sad as it all sits among the most beautiful stretches of waterways. One cruises in solitude through pristine forests of firs, birches and oaks with only the sound of birdsong and the very occasional passing boat.

Our first night with our friends we moored on a jetty belonging to a riverside resturant and after promising to return for Sunday lunch took off to explore nearby Vesoul, reported to be a town of historic interest. The town was franticly busy, people everywhere and it was only after great difficultly we found a car park and discovered the big attraction was the annual Vide Grenier. The whole block was taken up with private stalls selling their junk, old clothes, old shoes videos, books etc. We returned to the river for a delicious lunch then proceeded upriver to another small village to find it also full of people. Crowds everywhere and as we walked into town it was obvious we were in the middle of another Vide Grenier. Once again stalls full of junk, but this was country junk, old horse harness and tools mainly, and it was certainly attracting the crowds. One would wonder where they all came from as the village itself consisted of only twenty houses.

The climb from the Saône valley to the plateau above is steep, 34 locks in 50kms, all more than 3m deep, a good workout for the upper body, then a 11km stretch across the top before a ladder of 14 locks that takes one down to the Moselle and our pleasant mooring here in Epinal. We had driven here the day before to farewell Margaret and Peter and at the same time made a reservation at the port for Sable so when we were met by an officious looking lady off one of the boats who told us to moor to the far bank, Tony decided to ignore her and take the prime position opening onto the park. All settled in, power attached and the Capitain arrives, off the same boat, "I sent my wife" he says. Woops, slight mistake. Hurried apologies and all is forgiven and we are allowed to stay.

Monday, we made an epic journey back to Roanne and Lyon to finalise our certificates of residency. Left here at 5.00am by train to Nancy, another train to Lyon, change to Roanne then after collecting mail and our certificates a fourth train back to Lyon. Tuesday was a medical which pronounced us healthy enough to stay in France, for a fee that surely fixed all France's problems from the GFC, then another long train trip back to Epinal. About a 1,200 km round trip. Hopefully the effort was all worthwhile, no need for visas in future and we now have a seniors card which gives us a 50% discount on train travel. Lyon, as in our previous visit was a delight. No signs of financial crisis there, shops all full of wonderful fashion and plenty of well laden shoppers. Must be infectious as we came home loaded with several large shopping bags and the man of the boat was heard to mumble, "Get me out of this town before I spend more." Can you believe it?

Epinal, (pop 40,000) is a lovely city and has been a pleasant rest stop for almost a week, though not without its drama. One morning Tony noticed a strong smell of gas emanating from the front hatch and quickly discovered that the (British) gas regulator had literally fallen apart. A very likeable young gas-fitter turned up and soon located in town a regulator, which to all looks and purposes seemed identical to the old one. However he failed to notice that the pressure capacity of the new was less than half that of the old. Consequently, when we test-lit the stove the extreme pressure burst both the tap and the burner, as well as a joint underneath. While the lad dashed back to the bow to stem the flow, Tony was blowing out flames like a 64 year-old puffing out the candles on his birthday cake! Successfully, thank God. After a day's toil the young tradesman has replaced the regulator, fitted a new hob and fixed all the joints, sometimes working in the most excruciating confinement. Typically, there is 1mm difference between the size of copper tubing used in UK and Europe. As there are no manufactured components to marry the two he had to stretch and weld several joints. We expected a bill into four figures, but no, it was their fault so the brand new hob and more than eight hours labour were complimentary. Nice guy! We're thankful we still have a boat! Today we're heading to Charmes. Doesn't that sound pretty?

Dry Dock

May, 10th 2009 (Tony).

What a fascinating place to spend a week — in a boat yard. As a boat owner it is obligatory to be a jack of all trades — mechanic, carpenter, plumber, electrician, painter etc. I am fortunate to have spent many years looking over the shoulders of some highly skilled craftsmen and I am thankful that along the way I made mental notes of how to effect many "tricks of the trade". Now I am in an intriguing new domain, foreign to me, observing boilermakers, welders and fitters busily, well casually more like — this is France after all — going about their work. There are four boats in the dry dock. One is having a complete overhaul and on another a new steel skin fitted over its original hundred-year-old iron plates. Originally they would have been 6mm or 8mm. To pass survey, underwater steel must be more than 3mm thick. (Sable's bottom plate is 12mm steel). She had already been in the dock for two weeks and the job is about half-done so when the dock was flooded to allow another boat to exit and Sable and another to come in the holes in the old rusted hull became obvious as she took in more water than her bilge pump could cope with. Her frantic owner was rushing about trying to borrow bilge pumps to keep the floor above water while we could only look on, helpless aboard our own boat, and note the rising level on the new steel sides. The new pieces have been precisely cut and rolled to fit the shape of the old hull and tack-welded in place. But boats in-and-out drives the commercial reality of a dry dock. This was the third changeover for her — but the most enduring. The final welding started a couple of days later. A big job. And very impressive to watch. When completed she will have a new 5mm steel skin containing the old hull.

However, what exacerbated the problem and made everything a compelling drama was the coaxing required to the tugboat that followed behind Sable. Her draft, being deeper than the dock at its sill, meant she would need some extra encouragement to enter the dock beyond the gate. A large crane was on standby but could not alone bear the load. No worries, the owner of the yard fetches up a 38m commercial barge, fastens the stern securely to a couple of bollards, rudder virtually against the dock gate, drops it into gear and revs her up and presto! The huge propeller churned hundreds of cubic metres of water over the top and before long the dock was 300mm above the canal level. It still took more than an hour to nudge the tug the final six metres and for a diver to position the supports under her. Lord knows what a calamity would have ensued if those stern ropes on the barge had broken for her bow reached almost right across the basin and was only a few metres from boats moored on the other side. How they will get the tug out again I have no idea. Watch this space...

Next morning we were roused from our bed at 6:45 am by the humungus roar of a water blaster tearing into the hull of the tug. By 8:30 the tug was done and they started on Sable. This is a serious water blaster! I have no doubt it would cut your boot off if it was carelessly misdirected. By 11:30 Sable's bottom was scrubbed clean, and understandably looking a bit raw. By mid-afternoon she was dry enough for an apprentice to gingerly apply a bit of paint. Presumably he was newly indentured as he was only entrusted with a miniscule roller. We had always imagined that above the water-line would be our responsibilty but when I enquired of the boss if he would sell me the paint he graciously explained that they would do the lot. We were not only relieved but delighted that we could contribute to France's futile effort to contain unemployment. And when I later saw the lad on his back, on a trolley, painting Sable's flat underbelly, with barely half a metre clearance, I was moved to appreciate his enthusiasm to have a job. Nonetheless, by 5pm the next day he had completed the first coat.

We arrived in St Jean de Losne a weAek early and spent several carefree days moored to the town quay, on the River Saône. The shipyard sent around a tradesman to look at our boiler (the mechanic at Montchanin to whom we were recommended showed up the first day we were there, as promised, but then never got back to me) and found a valve had simply seized. A small adjustment with a spanner and a squirt of grease soon fixed the problem. Once that was done we slipped out of this town which has virtually no appeal whatsoever and cruised up the river to spend a couple of days at Auxonne, where Napoleon went to military college which still looks exactly the same as it did then, a town that does have some character and charm. The Saône is a wide, mighty river, and it is not uncommon to come across commercial barges up to 110m long plying cargoes from the Mediterranean as far up as St Jean de Losne. Further upstream the locks revert to the old standard 40m in length. The scenery was gorgeous and the weather perfect. As soon as we get out of dry dock we intend to head up the river to Gray where we will begin our summer 2009 cruising adventure into Alsace-Lorraine. Our only date-link is to be somewhere near Colmar or Besacon when the Tour de France passes through about 17-18 July.

The last two Fridays have been public holidays: May Day; and the 8th marks the anniversary of the signing of the armistice. Work on Sable is completed and she does look better for it and hopefully should not need to dock again for four years. So here we sit, confined, on a boat that doesn't rock. But we do! We have no choice but to remain in dock until at least Monday when hopefully the next boat will be due to come in. Not that we're in any hurry but the environs of a boatyard are more akin to a railway marshalling siding than a beautiful canal. It took us half a day to scrub the grime from the top of the boat — gunk blasted off our own hull plus the dust from grinders, welding slag and miscellaneous detritus that accumulates around such sites. Yesterday we had to empty the grey water tank by bucket brigade. I hope the black water tank can contain itself until we leave! Showers are now rationed until we can replenish the water supply. All going well, we should be out of here tomorrow.

Canal du Centre

26th April 2009 [Sally]

Two weeks of glorious spring weather and we have seen the trees change from bare stalks to a fine mist of green and they are now all in full leaf. The change from winter to spring is a delight to all but for us who are unused to seasonal changes it is even more so. In the month of cruising we have seen the primula, blossom, forsythia and tiny violets on the banks give way to displays of iris, peony and great swatches of wisteria clinging to walls. The crops are also responding and on either side we see the green of winter wheat and yellow canola that is bright enough to hurt one’s eyes. The absence of water fowl has been marked, save for the occasional male duck. All the mums must be nesting so we expect that in the next few days we will see a plethora of newly hatched ducklings to take up the surplus bread we accumulate on board.

Our time on the Canal du Centre was very leisurely; we reached Montchanin at the very top of the canal in time to meet up with our first visitors of the season. Kristy our eldest granddaughter and her friend Cameron arrived by train from Paris. They had had a frantic two days in Dubai and the same in Paris so the very sedate form of travel with us was a welcome change. We cruised down through lovely countryside to St Léger d’Heune where we dined at a restaurant we had frequented before. It is run by a young English girl who saw a derelict bar from the deck of a hotel barge she was working on, thought it had possibilities and now six years later she is the owner of a good little business. France must be full of such possibilities but unfortunately the French seem not to see them. The next day we arrived at Santenay, the beginning of the Burgundy vineyards where we gave our visitors a walking tour of the town and then loaded them on the motorbikes and sent them off through the vines. That has got to be one of the best ways to appreciate it all as you are so close to all the action- and there is always some activity. The vines have been pruned over winter to one shoot and at the moment this is being clipped to the support wire. It is slow back-breaking work, just one of the many days of labour that goes into every bottle of wine.

On Friday we took a ten-minute train ride to Beaune. To young people from the Gold Coast where nothing is more than 30 years old a town as ancient as Beaune is such an eye opener, and nothing more so than the Hospices de Beaune. Built in 1443 as a Hospice for the poor it still stands today as a jewel of medieval architecture with its ward room with the beds all made, chapel, pharmacy, and kitchen all sited around a wonderful courtyard. The original donor spared no expense in setting it up and there are several masterpieces of art but the one that stops you in wonder is a 15th century polyptych, 9 panels depicting the final judgement. A wonderful piece of work and an even bigger wonder that it has survived. It was found abandoned in an attic at one stage and in a crazy act of censorship clothes were painted on the naked figures. The Hospice continues to receive a substantial bequest from the original donor, as he also gave them 29 hectares of vines and the proceeds of these are auctioned off in November of each year. One of the biggest events of the year. After lunch Kristy and Cameron went off on a tasting tour of Burgundy’s finest while we meandered around the old streets. Beaune was occupied during WWII and as it was such an important railhead the Frenchv expected fierce resistance when they tried to take it back. On Sept 7th 1944 the Free French surrounded the town and on the morning of the 8th woke to find the Germans had departed so Beaune was liberated without a shot fired. It was then a race to contact the Americans as it had been arranged that they would provide bombing support. Fortunately that was cancelled in time so nothing of the town was lost. Next day we sadly said goodbye to our visitors and put them on the train to Strasbourg, then to Frankfurt and Amsterdam, while we continued our very slow pace.

Next stop Fragnes, about twenty houses, no shops but a wonderful new quay complete with electricity and a very nice restaurant all for 6€  a night. It was such a pleasant place to moor we ended up staying for four days. Quite an assortment of fellow travellers, some Scots, British, and fellow Australians so we socialized, swapped travelling stories and shared an occasional glass of wine in the evenings while waiting for the sun to go down. Fragnes is only 5kms from Chalon sur Saône, so we were able to make good use of the cycles and visit the town. Last time we were there it was cold and windy so on a bright sunny day we decided to do what we do best and soak up the atmosphere with a walk around town and lunch in the square. It took three attempts before we found a table;the financial crisis has not extended to the French curtailing their déjeuner.

While in Burgundy we have explored with both the cycles and the motorbikes.   Burgundy has an extensive network of bikeways;they call it the VoieVere,(Green Way) and have constructed 800kms of well-paved and signposted rides through the most picturesque parts of the countryside. So many more people are using them than even last year, might have a lot to do with school holidays of course. We met a Swiss girl, cycling from Basel to Nevers who had never left the green way. Our efforts are very insignificant compared to that.

Our Anzac Day commemoration was confined to flying our largest Australian flag on our very short mast as we travelled up the Saône to Verdun sur le Doubs and watching the video of the special day Tony shared with Peter last year at Villers Bretonneux. Verdun sur le Doubs is having its annual springtime garden fete today so the square is a collection of stalls selling a huge collection of seedlings both flowers and vegies. We have weakened and now have three new window boxes with petunias, pansies and lettuces. We’re off tomorrow for St Jean de Losne where we hope to get all the maintenance done in time to continue up the Saône to meet our next visitors in May.

The Adventure Resumes

April, 12th 2009 (Tony).

There are few things as pleasurable as cruising along a canal through serene French countryside, the purring throb of a diesel engine beneath your feet, the sun shining through the open cabin doors. For four days since we left Roanne we have had perfect weather. From all accounts the winter in Europe was particularly cold — everyone says so. But now it is well and truly Spring, blossom everywhere and the trees bursting new green shoots which will shortly turn into fresh green leaves; and baby Charolais calves as white as snow. We arrived in Paris on a freezing day. Scarves and gloves were essential accessories, but that was it. Next day seemed like we were on a different planet and every day since has become noticeably warmer and more pleasant. Short sleeve shirts are now the usual garb and it may not be long before we're back into shorts again...

We had the best summer ever in Australia. Five months of glorious weather with barely a day that we didn't swim in the surf; and unforgetable times shared with family and friends. It was wonderful to find everyone healthy and happy. Some grandchildren had grown surprisingly taller — two are now taller than me, whilst others have grown decidedly more beautiful.

On the flight over I must confess we both felt that maybe we had achieved everything we had set out to discover in France and were we just reluctant to let go? But on arriving back in Roanne it seemed as if we had simply returned to a second home. Within an hour friends called to welcome us back and so began a resumption of socialising and catching up with other bargee's doings over the past months. Our neighbours, Christian and Charlotte, had kept a watchful eye on our boat and had obviously scrubbed it before we got back as it positively gleamed. They kindly invited us to dinner the first night. It was so nice not to have to worry about preparing a meal while we unpacked and restored the water supply and got all the pumps and systems operating again. Sable's boiler broke down before Christmas and Christian arranged to have the boat winterized in case the pipes froze, which in light of the cold that occurred they almost certainly would have. However, the central heating still functions but there is a fault with the hot water heating — thank goodness we have an electric back-up for hot water.

So here we are on the Canal du Centre, making for Montchanin where I am hoping a boat mechanic can effect repairs to the boiler and get the hot water sytem running again. As it happens that is just the place we also need to be by 14th April to greet Kristy (No 1) and Cameron off the TGV from Paris. They are on a two-week flying visit to Europe via Dubai and have planned to spend a couple of nights with us and check out this cruising life. Although we have cruised every day since leaving Roanne it has been leisurely and hassle free boating through now-familiar countryside, stopping overnight at Melay, Digoin, Paray le Monial and Genelard — all beautiful towns with marvellous patisseries! Montchanin is the pound, or summit, of this canal. After climbing up through twenty seven locks from the Loire valley the canal then descends through thirty four locks down into the Saône. We have encountered very few other boats so far. It makes one feel slightly guilty that all these lock-keepers turn out for so little traffic. And by-the-way, apart from the shops in Paris seeming to be deserted there does not appear, to us, to be noticeable effects from the "GFC" on the 'local' economy. This year we weren't the first to leave port but there was quite a gathering at the lock to send us on our way. The port folk are an eclectic mixture but all are very friendly and caring.

For a country with so many churches, almost all Catholic, it is astonishing to find Easter is barely observed. Good Friday is business as usual for all shops and tradesmen though Monday is a public holiday. However the canals and locks still operate! Unlike Australasia where everyone is over hot-cross buns and chocolate Easter eggs long before the event, Europeans save for the real occasion. Any hint of Easter is kept under wraps until only a few days before when suddenly the chocolatiers go berserk with amazing displays of chocolate sculptures and animals, as well as eggs and stuffed bunnies, in their windows. The pièce de resistance was a display in Digoin which featured a full size eagle, wings outstretched defending its nest from a marauding snake, all constructed from chocolate and sucre. The Easter significance of the display escaped us but the execution of it was totally lifelike. Needless to say the queues of customers is huge and slow moving as everything is specially wrapped or packaged for gifts to family and friends. And everyone eats chocolate at Easter.

Forget all those tales about French tradesmen being inept and unreliable. Another myth busted. As no one was able to help us get in contact with someone to repair our drier, one day when I was on the way into town I passed a shop selling appliances and advertising that it also does dépanage (repairs). After explaining what we needed to the charming woman in the shop she promised that her husband would phone me later in the afternoon. I had barely got back to the boat and was in the throes of explaining to Sally what had transpired when there was a knock on the door — father and son had arrived and within twenty minutes had our machine fixed. Then, in the weekend, exasperated with our uncomfortable old mattress I got online and emailed a couple of companies for quotes on waterbeds. An outfit less than 35 km from Roanne responded on Sunday and delivered free, a new waterbed mattress before lunchtime on Monday. A trip to the bricolage to buy some timber for the frame etc followed by some basic carpentry and varnishing and by Tuesday evening we were sleeping soundly in a cosy warm waterbed. Just like home! Hey, it is home. And Sable doesn't mind the extra ballast in the least. The biggest pain was getting the old mattress to the dump. French déchetteries are amazing — incredibly clean and tidy and just about everything is recycled. A staff of four make sure everything goes in the correct bin and before you leave they offer you free bags of compost to take home! Our thanks to Jeff and Jane for the use of their car.

On the first Sunday after we arrived in Roanne the port held a Vide Grenier (garage sale) whereby anyone could set up a stall on the quayside to sell off their junk. A number of locals also took advantage of the opportunity to off-load stuff and the playground where we normally play boules on Sundays (picture) was full of trestles laden with trash. I can't believe the amount of crap that changed hands. Bits of old metal, broken tools, discarded furniture, used clothing, you name it... We sold an airconditioning unit we could never imagine using (Sable's previous owners bought it for their dog); our old barbeque; a massive suitcase; plus miscellaneous other junk. After it was all over we thought of dozens of other things we should also have put out. Next year... So the outcome of the sale was an excuse to immediately buy a decent barbeque. We now have a beaut little Webber gas bbq that I can't wait to initiate. Kristy, you're going to eat steak one night in France! With a nice bottle of Franch red, of course. After all, we are right on the border of Burgundy and Charolais. What could be sweeter?