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.