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...

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.