North Holland

10th October, 2011 (Tony)

With the wind howling a gale (almost) and the weather unpredictable we shelved the idea of a bike ride and instead wrapped ourselves up in cosy motorbike gear — our new helmets are lovely and warm — and set off up the west coast hoping to get to Den Helder. The contrast in scenery was amazing. As we headed out of Alkmaar we passed through a mighty forest, easily comparable to anything we've seen in France. The trees were straight and tall and although it may be a small conserved area one soon realised that there was no shortage of sizable timber for the shipbuilding era back in the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries when the Dutch navy comprised a formidable fleet. The forests were eventually depleted of course and there are very few remnants to be seen nowadays. Then we raced across some typically verdant farmland towards the coast. Suddenly we found ourselves in a broad expanse of sand dunes that seemed to go on for miles and miles. It reminded us of being in the middle of Stradbroke Island, or the Simpson Desert, except we were on a beautifully paved bikeway. The bikeway itself was amazing and they have no qualms here about motor scooters and small motorbikes like ours using the same path as cyclists. Further on we came across a dyke that followed the coastline for many kilometres. We stopped and clambered to the top where we struggled to remain upright in the wind. The scale of this man-made structure was staggering. Almost thirteen metres high, the face sloping down to the boiling ocean has been paved with giant cobble stones, all laid by hand; a bitumen-like strip extends above the wave-line and above that is another strip of even larger cobbles with some projecting higher to break up any storm wave erosion. The top and inland face is grassed. Thus the industrious people of Holland have increased their land area since 1918 by 7,000 sq km. Almost all of the reclaimed land is below sea level and is criss-crossed with a myriad of small canals to effect drainage. There must be some serious pumps working constantly to empty out the persistent downpours! The prospect of continuing north in a cross-wind that threatened to blow us off our motorbikes seemed foolhardy so we abandoned our attempt to see Den Helder, 30 km short, and returned toSable's comforting warmth via the canal towpath.

Our fascination with Holland's dykes began in Lelystad, in Flevoland, where we visited a museum to their history and construction. A wonderful movie portrayed the painstaking, back-breaking work as hundreds of labourers and machines battled the waves and tidal current to build the major dyke and close the gap between the North Sea and the Zuiderzee (now known as the Ijsselmeer) in 1933. It was no small feat but once accomplished it provided a much calmer inland sea to deal with. The work continued into the 60's and early 70's. None of it would be possible today due to workplace health and safety codes. A most impressive engineering marvel. The land appears very fertile and on our journey through Flevoland we saw many farmers harvesting onions, potatoes and carrots as well as silage.

Lelystad is also the home of the Batavia, a replica of the original ship that sailed from the island of Texel (near Den Helder) on her maiden voyage to the East Indies and was wrecked near an island off the coast of Western Australia in 1629. Almost all of the 332 passengers and crew survived the sinking of the ship but then followed a gruesome tale of mutiny, murder and barbarity involving the systematic killing of 120, many of them women and children. Eventually the remaining survivors were rescued after the captain and a few sailors completed an epic voyage to Jakarta to raise the alarm. The mutineers were captured after a furious battle, court-martialled and most were summarily executed. Two less-guilty mutineers were punished by being marooned on the Australian coast. Why didn't the commodore raise the Dutch flag while they were at it? If they had we all may have acquired a better grasp of the language and boast Dutch ancestors instead of British. The wreck was discovered about 1963 and relics and what's left of the hull are diplayed in a museum in Perth. A very gruesome tale indeed; and one we knew nothing about prior to our visit although the story has been recorded in a TV documentary. Walking about this tiny vessel one could only wonder at the stamina and courage of anyone undertaking a six month voyage to the far side of the globe in those times. It was difficult to imagine how 300+ people could possibly fit on board. How cramped they must have been. Only the children would have been able to stand upright. In a dry dock across the road a replica of a man-o-war four-master is being built. We walked around the scaffolding and admired the skeletal frame of the keel. The size of the timber beams and the carpentry that had gone into shaping and aligning the frame left memorable impressions. No chainsaws! All the carvings, sheets, rigging, blocks and tackle are being made by hand using traditional materials and tools.

Out of the blue, after weeks and weeks of shitty weather and strong winds, all of Europe was surprisingly blessed with a couple of weeks of gorgeous summer sunshine — some days topping 29C. We took advantage of the calm water and sailed across the Markermeer and right into the heart of Amsterdam. With difficulty we eventually found a mooring in Westerdock, close to the city centre. But being rafted onto an old, rusting hulk seemed far from satisfactory so after twenty four hours we moved up the Zaan to find our winter mooring port. Zaandam is only twelve kilometres out of Amsterdam so we caught a train back into the city one day and hopped on a get-on-get-off waterbus and cruised the canals — a great way to take in all the sights and explore the city. Much better than walking, especially on a hot, sticky afternoon. We've yet to decide whether Amsterdam warrants any special rating. It's certainly not in the class of Paris, or London.

We are delighted with our port in Zaandam. There are lots of boats of every variety, mostly owned by locals, with only a few live-aboards. Sable will be moored-up alongside Inevitable her six-year younger sister ship — also Delta Marine built, and almost identical though a couple of metres longer. Her British owners will be living aboard through most of the winter and along with the harbour master will keep an eye on Sable. Zaandam is a very pleasant town and all facilities are very handy to the port; and Schipol Airport is a mere twenty minute train ride away. But we weren't ready to stop cruising. So we set off, back through Amsterdam and up the Noordhollandsch Kanaal to Purmerend. We took the motorbikes for a spin to check out Edam, Volendam and Monnickendam — all picturesque towns that deserve more time to explore than we were able to afford. We also stopped at a cheese factory near Edam and bought some of their product: Gouda. Figure that out, cause we can't. But the cheese was good. Perhaps we'll find some Edam when we go to Gouda. Our final destination for the year was Alkmaar, a lovely city, where we have spent four days. On Saturday afternoon we strolled in to the town centre just as a huge parade got underway to celebrate the freedom of the town from a siege by the Spanish in 1573. The colourful parade with lots of bands and floats with everyone in period costume is held every year around October 8th. We understand Queen Beatrix was also in town but we didn't see her. And so, back to where this tale begins... our motorbikes are now stowed aboard and we're about to depart back to Zaandam — for the winter. We'll be back in April to set off through the blooming fields of tulips. Until then, our best wishes to everyone.

Friesland

20th September, 2011 (Sally)

We have been cruising through a water wonderland as we explored Friesland, hundreds of kilometres of canals, large lakes formed from the peat diggers over the years and the inevitable polders, paddocks formed by the industry of man with water filled drainage ditches bordering and bisecting every one. The grass is green, the cows are fat and there is no sign or need of irrigation. Do the Dutch even have a word for drought in their dictionary? And did we mention it is flat. The total lack of any variation in the terrain is something we cannot get used to, but it may change. There is a move afoot to create a mountain in Holland. The rock climbers are keen, the cyclists need it if ever they are to compete and the abseilers are there too. Never mind that it will be only as high as the Eiffel Tower and cost approximately the amount needed to bail out Greece, most Dutch folk if given the choice of flinging money at a mountain or into the bottomless pit of another Euro-zone country would choose the mountain, At least, they say, we would have something to show for it.

Our trip north took us through several of these lakes which are nature reserves and home to a myriad of water fowl, we cruised past flocks of swans, ducks, geese and grebes. So used are they to the constant traffic that they barely moved from our path. This is a stork breeding ground as well but like all sensible folk they are spending the winter in warmer climes. We can visualise them on the roof tops and chuch towers of southern Spain. Flocks of geese have also formed and taken the same path, perhaps they are telling us to do the same and I must admit our thoughts are turning to home and the warmth of the Australian sun. Various friends in the boating community had spoken to us of summer evenings spent moored to quiet canal banks in Friesland, enjoying magical sunsets with only the sounds of nature and that was what we were planning and hoping for. Unfortunately for us the tailend of the hurricane that was lashing Scotland and Northern England bought a fortnight of squally rain and some good breezes to this area so we spent more time sheltering in town harbours than planned and the bike map I had purchased stayed folded and pristine.

We spent a couple of nights at Sneek (pronounced Snake) where we had a mooring right in the middle of town. Unfortunately Tony wricked his back doing nothing more strenuous than picking up a rope so he spent most of the time recovering in a chair watching some of the rugby WC from NZ while I explored on foot. Such a pretty town, surrounded by water with numerous bridges. The two or three that lift are manned permanently and never cease to be opening and closing. Quite a profitable business as a 2€ charge is made on each boat. The bridge-keeper stands ready with a clog attached to a fishing line and as you approach he swings it out to meet you and the appropriate money is expected to be deposited. Sneek is one of the eleven towns on the famous Elfstedentoch route, that is a 200km ice-skating marathon which passes through these towns and happens as soon as the ice is judged to be 150mm thick. It is called the Race of Races, with a huge following of media and excited crowds but I can safely say that it is one sporting event that we will be happy to watch from the comfort and warmth of our lounge and preferably not our lounge in Holland.

From Sneek we cruised north to Grou, another safe and comfortable harbour where we we moored next to an Irish couple who joined us for drinks in the evening. Nice to meet up with some folks from the international boating community. We have noticed very few who are not Dutch or German in this area, once again so different from France where every nationality is represented. It was our intention to continue to Leuwarden where we had arranged to touch base with a friend of a friend but the weather finally beat us and at Grou we made the decision to turn back and perhaps spend a little more time than planned in and around Amsterdam. As luck would have it the sun came out and we digressed again to spend a night at Sloten, a charming town with fortified walls and moats still in place. Good weather so I did get the bike out and surpassed myself with a 50km ride through the area of Gaaterland. More exercise than sightseeing and with a head wind home gave the muscles a workout that they needed.

From Sloten to Lemmer, once a busy fishing village before they closed the access to the sea. It is now a tourist destination and a popular stoppping place for boats on their way to Friesland. The canal runs through the centre of town, a narrow passage lined with boats so Sable provided some interest to the cafe crowd as we wended our way past to find a berth in the outer basin. From Lemmer we followed several boats out into the Ijsselmer, the inland sea that has replaced the Zuiderzee, but where they turned towards the open sea we entered immediately into a lock that dropped six metres, which meant we were five metres below sea level. Hope those dykes hold! Apparently most of the people in Holland live below sea level so they must have that right.

Fine and warm again and a chance to visit a couple of areas we missed on the way north, Vollenhove and Blokzijl where I once again could unload the bike and explore. This is the heart of a vast nature reserve so plenty of bike paths to cater for the many who come to observe. I stopped at one little village to watch the reed cutters at work as they bundled up stacks of dried reeds for thatching. Every house in that village and the surrounding countryside was thatched even down to the boat houses and garden sheds. Then on to Giethoorn, where we had tried to stop on the way north. It is called the Venice of the North and I could see why. Canals lined with picture postcard homes, immaculate gardens and a host of little hire boats carrying sightseers. Not a lot of privacy for homeowners but great business for the town. The Dutch do love their homes, houses sparkle with paintwork that looks like it is redone every year and gardens are immaculate. In every village there is at least one shop selling home decorations and every home has well decorated windows and they rarely pull their curtains or blinds — so completely the opposite of the French who live discreetly behind closed shutters, day and night. Sometimes we mistake a home for a shop window display. It's rather embarrasing to press one's nose to a window pane admiring some objets d'art and looking for a price tag only to discover someone reclining on the sofa reading a newspaper.

We have now crossed out of Friesland, stopped one night on a very busy canal with the usual huge barges going past and have digressed again to visit the old city of Zwolle. Here we are moored inside the moat against the city wall and a walk through town has had us checking construction dates of the buildings. Oldest so far is 1609 still being used for its original purpose though the chemist may be a little more up-to-date than the apotheek of 400 years ago. It seems that we have seen such a lot and travelled long distances in the short time we have been in Holland but in reality everything is on such a small scale. The country is small, the land area is only 41,500 sq kms, that is about a quarter the size of the South Island or two thirds the size of Tasmania so most places can be visited from the 8,000 km of waterways. We still have a few more canals to travel and some more sights to see as we turn towards our winter base at Zaandam. Hopefully there is a little more fine weather and sunshine for us to enjoy before we fly home to Aus.

Central Holland

8th September, 2011 (Tony)

With each passing day we are finding the Netherlands more likeable and enjoyable. The people are very friendly and helpful and despite our total lack of comprehension of the dutch language almost everyone is able to converse in perfect English. The waterways are so busy. Practically every family in Holland must own a boat. Mostly they are yachts — there are marinas and boat harbours everywhere packed with thousands of sailboats. There can't be many Dutch people who haven't experienced the thrill of sailing. And they have the most perfect open water areas to do it. Every bridge across a waterway in Holland has a lift-up section to allow tall-masted boats a free passage. Sable fits under most bridges but we are constantly amazed at traffic hold-ups, even on motorways and railways, while a bridge is opened up for sailboats and big commercial barges. We have encountered very few boats like Sable yet she replicates a typical "Dutch Barge". However there are lots of traditional old-timers, mostly Tjalks, complete with big timber masts and brown canvas sails and dagger boards. I guess few Dutch folk live aboard their boats so are inclined to favour smaller, 10-15 m cruisers which are ideal for weekends away with family or for month-long ventures. Everything is so neat and meticulously maintained. No waiting for the rain to ease before mowing the grass — if it's supposed to be mowed today, today it is. Even painters are busy applying a lick of paint in between showers.

We love the yummy grain-filled selection of breads and the beer is excellent. But we miss croissants and baguettes, gourmet delicacies such as foie-gras; confit de canard; rabbit; soft and blue cheeses; and of course, patisseries. And just when I've learned to understand French wine labels the choice of French wines is considerably diminished, replaced by varieties from all around the globe and even more confusing. Most of all I think we miss the tranquilitiy and serenity of cruising French waterways where life moves at a much gentler pace and the towns and villages have a rustic, almost abandoned, sort of feel; and you sense you are alone in a picturesque world where time has been forgotten. All the same it is doing us a world of good to discover a new country and culture. The countryside is luciously green and fertile. And flat. The best way to see Holland is on a bike and we have made a number of extensive forays, often forty kilometres or more, to discover wonderful places and attractions. Our motorbikes have not been off the boat since we left France.

We approached the lovely old city and regional capital, Utrecht (pictured), from the south and moored up to the canal bank and walked into town. Perhaps we should have taken our bikes as it was a much longer walk than we expected. The old original centre of the city is charming and fun to explore. The canal continues right through the city centre but is narrow with numerous fixed bridges too low for Sable. A huge ten-year project is underway to construct a new canal linking the southern and northern approaches whilst retaining the existing old canal as is. What a boon to the tourist traffic that will be. As it was, we detoured around the city and moored on the Vecht at Maarsen, about 12km north of Utrecht and biked back around mid-afternoon to check out what we may have missed on our walk. On the outskirts of the city we were astonished to come across a long line of floating cabins rafted to the side of the canal. Several girls in bikinis were having a natter outside the door of the first cabin and I thought they must be desperate to get a late summer tan. Then I noticed all the cabins had a large plate glass window and inside each was a gorgeous young female posing in erotic lingerie. There must have been thirty or so (although I can only recall twenty-eight). Ignoring their beckoning gestures we cycled on into town and discovered a whole new modern heart to the city that we had missed by mere metres on our walkabout. We had a coffee and snack and set off to return to the boat shortly after 4pm. Obviously, factories and other workers must knock-off about that time because along the full length of the esplanade in front of the cabins there was not a vacant car park, blokes were promenading along the footpath and almost all of the cabins now had curtains drawn across their windows. Several girls were still negotiating in their doorways. Seemingly on Friday evenings many young Dutchmen, sensibly, dispense with the sex quest before heading for the pub, or home. That must save a lot of disappointment!

Another exhilarating bike ride took us far out into the countryside around several large lakes. The waterside properties were quite stunning, both architecturally and garden-wise. Most appeared to be holiday homes, or else everyone was at work in the city, but generally they were substantial houses on prime real estate allotments. This area was once on the New Holland Waterline. The remains of large forts are dotted throughout the region. They were constructed to defend the country west and south of the line and vast areas were able to be flooded quickly to keep invading armies out. The line was used successfully against the Spanish and French in the sixteenth century but in 1794 the area froze and the French crossed the ice in the depth of winter. It was planned to be deployed in WW2 but German paratroopers and the panzer army swept around the area before the defenders had time to react. We enjoyed a stopover at Breukelen, a beautiful small town in whose honour Brooklyn, New York was named. We also found Weesp a very pleasant town and spent the best part of a week there. All in all the Vecht is a really nice waterway. We would have liked to linger at Muider, another attractive lively town, but finding a mooring there for a boat as long as ours was impossible so we headed out into the open water of the Ijlmeer where we could see the buildings and bridges of Amsterdam but then turned east and moored for the weekend at Naader in the largest marina in Holland. Expensive but superb. Naader is the best preserved example of the classic star-shaped fortifications common to many towns and the town itself is delightful. For two consecutive evenings we revelled in perfect summer sunshine, dining on the top deck until well after sunset. What a pity it couldn't last!

We decided there is enough time to make a sortee up into Friesland before wintering Sable in Zan Dam, near Amsterdam. So we have headed up the broad waters that separate the original coastline from Flevoland, the vast area reclaimed from the Zuiderzee since 1918. Flevoland was created entirely out of water, mud flats and sandbanks by building dykes around it to protect it from the sea. Much of it remains below sea level. The channel that was created between Flevoland and the mainland carries a lot of commercial barge traffic and is also a fabulous recreation ground for yachting and all water sports. It is also rather exposed and inclined to get choppy in windy weather. And in this terrible European summer there has been a lot of wind. We see it every night on TV, massive storm fronts moving across the Atlantic towards the British Isles. And the Channel acts like a funnel blasting the fury straight on to Holland. Luckily we had the wind on our tail most of the way and the following sea caused us little discomfort but we felt for the boatees struggling in the opposite direction ploughing head first into a half-metre swell. We bit off a couple of long days in order to get the ordeal over with, stopping overnight at Harderwijk and Ketelhaven. Thankfully we are now safely back in the calmer waters of canals and are looking forward to exploring Friesland, home of the Friesian cow and which from all accounts is an attractive area to visit.

Belgium and into Holland

23rd August, 2011 (Sally)

The three days after the family left us we spent in Gent{Ghent] depending on which school of thought one belongs to. It has some interesting museums, not only for the displays but also the architecture where they have built inside one: a town house; and in another: an old convent, very light, airy, modern interiors yet still retaining the integrity of the original buildings. The Castle of the Counts, is worth a visit. Situated in the centre of town one would think it was there to protect the townsfolk, until you notice that all the cannon face not outward to the enemy but inside to dominate the town and tell them in no uncertain terms that "Might is right." Apparently the city at one time tried to retain its city state and as a result they got a castle that garrisoned 1,500 soldiers. It also displays the most gruesome collections of medieval torture instuments including a guillotine complete with sack to collect the lopped off heads. A good history lesson for the grandsons. One should not go past Gent without a visit to the cathedral to view "The Ghent Altarpiece" painted in 1432, famed as a very early oil painting but also renowned as the art work that has been stolen the most times. After viewing it I chanced to find in the local bookshop the story of its adventures; or misadventures. Intriguing reading.

Just out of Gent, 80kms from Antwerp and another 80kms to the sea, the river Schelde is tidal so we arose early to be at the first lock to travel downstream on the outgoing tide. Not the most exciting scenery, but with the current running we made it almost to Antwerp, stopping at a riverside quay 20km upstream as the tide turned before carrying on to complete the journey next day. An adventure in itself negotiating the big lock into Antwerp Harbour, two large commercial barges, one oil tanker, a hotel barge, another smaller work boat and then little us squeezed in at the end only to emerge out into the enormous stretch of water full of huge, busy traffic that is just one of the harbour basins of Antwerp. It was a relief to pass through a couple of raised bridges into the peaceful seclusion of the pleasure boat harbour.

We stayed for a week in Antwerp, a city that is often overlooked by travellers, but one that we would highly recommend. The city centre is abuzz with cafes and restaurants, and in true Belgian style they are busy from early morning to late at night. The old warehouses on the waterfront have in many cases become trendy cafes as well and right beside our mooring was a spectacular new city museum, with the tenth floor a terrace with panoramic views over the harbour and city. Two of the floors are devoted to the developement of the port from 1500 to present day, wonderful old paintings and maps plus plenty of models of ships past and present. On Friday we attended a lunchtime organ recital in the cathedral and found to our delight that we were in the midst of a truly wonderful exhibition of paintings. Prior to the French Revolution various guilds maintained their own altars in the cathedral, and they all were adorned with paintings and sculptures by the best artists of the era. Under French rule many of these masterpieces disappeared, some ended up in Paris, others went to the new museum in Antwerp while others were sold. While the Art Museum in Antwerp is being renovated some of the paintings, 14 in all, have been brought back temporarily and are being shown for the first time in 200 years in their original settings in the cathedral. A very memorable experience.

Another memory we will take away is the three hour harbour cruise where we got up close and personal with the workings of a very busy modern port. Ships from all corners of the globe, off-loading fruit from Africa, granite blocks from Brazil and India, coal, wheat; a wharf with 6,000 old cars going to Asia; and millions of containers. We had almost finished the tour when we stopped to allow an 800 tonne floating crane to pass through a lifting bridge before us. Do you have any idea how big that is? We were on the third floor of the cruise ship and it dwarfed us. All this was in preparation for the next day when we farewelled Scott, welcomed aboard Pat and Paul Pritchett from Christchurch and left Antwerp via the port. At least we had some idea of what to expect but as long as you keep right out of the way everything goes very smoothly. From the busy wharves it was a short distance and we were in Holland — flat fields, dykes and windmills.

The next day we took the advice of one of the locals we had met in Gent and left the canal to take the 'so-called' prettier route through the wide estuary of the Oosterschelde. This is a huge tidal estuary, [35,000 ha] which since a disasterous flood in 1953 has been controlled by the Oosterscheldekering, a huge buttress dam with sliding gates built right across the mouth to the North Sea. Unfortunately for us there was a strong crosswind blowing that day (about 15 knots), fine for the sail boats and cruisers but not good for a flat bottom barge like Sable. We rolled and sloshed our way across the open water; glasses went flying at one stage, cupboards and drawers slammed open and shut and our water bed looked as if it was going to roll out of its frame. Pat said it was reminiscent of the recent earthquakes in Chch. Fortunately Paul is an experienced sailor so he provided the moral support for Tony, I retired below and after all the glasses were safely transferred to the sofa and chairs lay on the lounge floor and waited for calmer seas. It took ages but we eventually made it through the last lock into quiet waters and safe harbour at Bruinisse with the welcome sight of the friendly harbourmaster to guide us into our berth. The whole estuary is renowned for its mussel and oyster farms so it was a quick trip to the quay-side fishery for a bag of the freshest, tastiest mussels and a large gin and tonic for all. When we left two days later it was fine, clear and no wind at all so a much calmer ride to the pretty but very popular town of Willemstad. So many boats, six deep in the inner harbour, ranging from the very modest to the "gin palaces" that require a wardrobe to match. Lots of old genuine barges too, lovingly restored with masts and sails in place. It would appear that everyone in Holland owns a boat and if you want to strike up a conversation just ask them about their boat, especially the older ones. It was our first chance to take the bikes and ride out into the countryside. Pat and I had a lovely ride along the top of the dykes looking over farms and fields until we came to the huge locks that control the commercial traffic going through from Belgium to Rotterdam. It is such an interesting sight that they have built a viewing platform overlooking the three gigantic locks. We sat there for an hour watching the constant stream of barges, the largest was 135m x 17m wide and carried 6,600 tonnes of fuel and it only half-filled one lock. I can see that cycling in the countryside will be something we will do often as there are well marked and well maintained and very well-used bike trails everywhere — most wider than French country roads.

Dordrecht was our next stop, Holland's oldest town with a historic harbour full of old ships, restored or part restored. All the old warehouses have been renovated into smart appartments with the gantries that hauled the cargoes to the higher floors still in place. It was at Dordrecht that Pat and Paul left us to travel to Ypres to visit the WW1 battlefields, and we welcomed again Kristy and Matt for a brief stay-over on their way home from two weeks in USA. We took them onto Gorinchem another pretty town where we moored close to the centre. They walked into town one night to sample the night life and introduced themselves to some of the locals, an intersting experience for both cultures. What a wonderful holiday they have all had, and I suspect the travel bug has bitten hard. We now have had on board 10 of our 12 grandchildren, could be a bit of pressure on the remaining two.

We now are on the smaller waterways of Holland, a few cargo barges but nothing like the huge ones that were on their way to Rotterdam in the rivers; and hopefully school holidays are over so we may not have as much competition for a berth. At the moment we are moored at Vianen, you won't find that on a map, but it is the headquarters of Kabola, makers of our heating system and we have progressed from a repair and service to the existing one to a full replacement. If our previous boiler was a Bentley the new one is the Rolls Royce. Holland's winter weather may just stretch the former, ten-year-old one too far. So far we have found Holland much as we expected, the countryside is flat!!!, dykes are prominent, and windmills are prolific. The towns are neat, everything that can be painted is painted — and repainted every year by the look of it — so different from the shabby weathered look of France, people are very helpful, friendly and all speak excellent English so we are having no trouble making ourselves understood. However I am resorting to the dictionary before and after every trip to the shops, some words are similar to the french but most are literally Double Dutch. The markets are full of Indonesian food. I plan to try and decipher the ingredients to try a few recipes but at the moment still struggling with the basics. All good fun and what travel is all about. New experiences, new recipes and when all else fails log onto Google.

In Flanders Field

30th July, 2011 (Tony)

Our passage through the 5.7 km Riqueval Tunnel was a bit nerve-wracking. This is the tunnel that the Germans seized early in WW1, filled with barges and used for an ammunition dump and later, hospital. It begins just beyond the bridge that Sally wrote about in our last newsletter. The relatively narrow bridgehead over the top was of enormous strategic importance as the canal cuts through a deep, long, hand-dug channel for many kilometres both north and south of the tunnel. Squeezing two large armies through a 5.5 km crossing would have been a nightmare. It took American help with their large machinery and drilling equipment to force the Germans to evacuate the tunnel and it was a miracle that the tunnel survived. The town of Bullecourt straddles the summit above the tunnel. It was practically demolished in one of the last scenes of combat in the days before the armistice was signed in November, 1918. The tunnel was the brain-child of Napoleon who turned the first sod in 1801. Because of its length and the difficulty to sink ventilation shafts exhaust-emitting engines are prohibited. Once upon a time men dragged barges through, then donkeys were employed. But since 1906 after the advent of electricity tugs using a huge electric winch pick up and re-lay a chain to tow barges and pleasure boats through the tunnel; one way at a time. The journey takes two hours and vessels have to line up in order of size behind the tug. In front of Sable was a large commercial barge, and behind we towed a smaller pleasure craft. The skipper of the commercial insisted we needed only one line and that it should be hooked to his port stern bollard. I assumed he knew what he was doing and kow-towed to his greater experience. Mistake! As we feared, it was impossible to keep Sable on a straight course and her port stern scraped along the left-hand side of the tunnel relentlessly. Thankfully, after a couple of hundred metres the second mate on the tug lept off onto the footpath and wandered back to check that all was in order at the tail of the queue. He immediately recognised our predicament and asked me to start our motor and advance to slacken the tow rope and ordered the commercial skipper to move our line to his centre bollard. From then on it was much easier to keep Sable away from the walls but the commercial continued to scrape the whole way and as soon as we emerged we were pleased to moor up to the bank for the night and down a calming tipple.

We stayed several days in Cambrai another large town completely destroyed in WW1 but largely restored in quaint Flemish style. Throughout most of July afternoons were whiled away in front of television, glued to the Tour de France. What a fantastic outcome! However, we managed a sortie on the motorbikes to explore the countryside around Cambrai one rare, sunny, afternoon. Whilst most of France seemed to be baking in sunshine, in the north we barely have seen the sun all month. Perhaps this dull, cloudy, drizzly weather is typical of the Benelux countries. Final French port of call was Valenciennes, a lovely, lively city full of students and young people revelling in their summer holiday festivities. There we picked up Scott and Matt — the advance party ahead of the impending family invasion. Gillian and the girls were soaking in London, and later Paris, for a few days after the family had spent a fun-filled couple of weeks in Ireland. Next day we set off down L'Escaut, spent an extraordinarily windy night pinned to a seawall virtually on the border and then passed without ceremony, or notice, into Belgium. Or perhaps we were noticed, for the police stopped by as we were fuelling up to tell us our tyre fenders were illegal in Belgium.

Canals in Belgium, for the most part, are serious highways for transportation of every conceivable cargo. There are few barges here. They use ships — huge vessels, rarely less than 120m long and often 10 to 14 m wide, many are sea-going. Stay clear! At Tournai a kindly resident who obviously spends most of his retired days watching the river traffic came down to show us how to lock our ropes onto the cleats on the quai to prevent Sable being swept away in the wake of a passing ship. We were grateful for his advice as we tossed about alarmingly all night long. Sally thought Tournai was a nice city — I thought it was the pits. We enquired at the big lock down the river about the possibility of slipping up the Canal de L'Espierre to Roubaix, back in France, to collect Gillian, Kristy and Paula. We were assured it was ok and they would arrange for a lock-keeper to lift us through three locks into France whereupon the French would take over. We entered the narrow canal and waited at the first lock more than two hours before the lock-keepers arrived. They then informed us the first lift-bridge in France was out of service and we should go back. Despite the lock-keepers' insistence that the canal behind us was wide enough for Sable to do a U-turn it took three vain attempts to convince him otherwise. No option other than to go up through the lock where we easily completed our U-turn and back down again and out to the Escaut once more. The girls took a taxi from Roubaix and we met them four hours later at Bossuit where we were pleased to get off the Escaut and into the canal to Kortrik; through a massive lock that I estimated took thirteen million litres of water to lift us the 9.5m into the Flemish sector of Belgium. Belgium hasn't had a proper parliamentary sitting for more than ten years because they can't agree on the language that should be used. But in Flanders, almost without exception, everyone can converse to us in English, which is more than can be said for the French speaking Wallonians.

Kortrik is a great city with attractive street scapes and busy shops. Unbeknown to us we arrived on the eve of Belgium's national day. No kind of celebration was evident — the whole town was dead. So it was just as well we hired a car the night before to tour the WW1 battlefields. With hardly any traffic on the road we set off to visit Messines, Tyne Cot cemetery, Paschendale, and Polygon Wood where the Australian 5th Division Memorial is situated. We also payed our respects at the grave of Sally's great-uncle, Alan Bisset, killed in action 20 October,1917 at Vlamertinge, near Poperinge. By mid-afternoon all seven of us needed some spirit-lifting comfort which we acheived by way of a feast of crepes and/or waffles and icecream at a cafe in the square at Ypres. We then walked the ramparts of the city before filing into the large crowd to observe the moving playing of the Last Post at the Menin Gate. Next day Scott and I drove to Fromelles where on 19 July, 1916 the Australian 5th Division lost 5,553 men. I have long been fascinated by the well-documented story of Fromelles and the discovery in 2008-9 of 250 bodies buried in mass graves at Pheasant Wood. Peter James and I visited Fromelles in 2008 just as the archealogical investigation was about to begin but was hampered by bad weather. So it was poignant to return and see the new cemetery (picture).

To Gent. This city rocks! One day is not enough to celebrate Belgium's national day here. We arrived to find a ten day festival in full swing. The streets and quaysides thronged with crowds in party mood. A number of stages around the city centre featured bands and musicians of all genres belting out their tunes before admiring fans. Restaurants and bars did a roaring trade with every available spare piece of space filled with tables and chairs that were constantly occupied day and night. Suddenly it was all over and it took two days to dismantle the stages and clean up the mess. With Gent in introspection and last day together we took the family by train to Brugge for the day. The market was buzzing in the square when we arrived but by the time we'd had lunch it was all stashed away into semi-trailers and off to somewhere else. Every day Brugge is packed with thousands of tourists. It's so busy and so crowded what can one do, except sit down at a street-side bar and sip and survey. Kristy, Scott and Matt are off to USA and Gillian and Paula are on their way home. It has been a wonderful couple of weeks. When we recover we'll head to Antwerp, one of the busiest ports in the world. Now that's scary!

Quiet on the Western Front

12th July, 2011 (Sally)

Bottles to Battles. It was with great reluctance we left Champagne. Who said, "Too much of a good thing is wonderful." However first things first, a ninth birthday to celebrate and a local patissiere who speaks no English. Suellen's French is basic, however sign language conquers all and the resulting gateau, Une Grande Gateauticked all the right boxes. This was Joey's second birthday celebrated in France, so we know what is expected, and a can of escargots, all 60 of them, among the parcels certainly brought a smile to his face. The snails went home in the luggage and have since gone to school as "Show and Tell"; the comments after that could be interesting.

Only a few kilometres north of Reims we were at Berry au Bac, and turned east to travel along the foot of the Chemin des Dames. This was the front line of the German/French standoff for most of WWI and also the scene of the infamous Nivelle offensive of April 1917. After months of being bogged down, General Nivelle convinced the French government that he could break through the German lines in 24 to 48 hours. After intensive artillery bombardment, the French attacked and were met with withering machine gun fire. By the time the attack was called off two weeks later, the casualty list numbered 102,896 dead, 65,132 wounded among the French, another 5,000 from a Russian brigade and 7,000 Sengalese. It took 300 trains and one month to evacuate the wounded. The troops eventually mutinied, which resulted in 554 death sentences, most of which were never carried out and Nivelle was replaced by Pétain, but his name will always be remembered as one views the numerous cemetries and memorials that line the Aisne.

At Bourg et Comin, we moored to celebrate the ninth birthday, and suddenly one becomes aware that there is a totally different agenda when travelling with children, no longer are we looking for a shady tree to enjoy a pre-dinner appertif, but rather a grassy bank for a game of soccer, and the floating pontoon is not an ideal mooring but rather the launching site for an amada of boats made from corks, toothpicks and paper sails [I knew I was saving those corks for a reason] and every scrap of bread is now food for ducks, swans and any water bird that is on this stretch of water. From Bourg et Comin we turned into the Canal that joins the Aisne River to the Oise, a gentle climb through fields and woods to the summit tunnel then out the other side to start the slow descent. At the summit we moored next to the large reservoir which feeds the canal and saw it had been made into a massive playground and water park. Hard to believe why when the population of the village would be less than 200. The next day, Sunday, was hot, over 35 deg and they came in their hundreds, we joined them late, after a leisurely lunch and nap, and at 5pm the park was still crowded. Sunburn! I can't remember when I last saw so many red sweltering bodies, not a scrap of sun lotion in sight, and still they lay there getting singed making sure they got the very last rays of the sun. Our Slip Slap Slop message has not reached these shores.

We stopped at Pinon, another good soccer pitch, but also a train station for a trip to Laon, a walled medieval city dominated by its cathedral. Laon is perched on a rocky outcrop, reached by an exciting fenicular train trip, and the cathedral is known for the forty seven statues of oxen that stand at the top of its towers. It is remakable not only for the sculptures, a reminder that it was oxen that pulled all the stone up the slopes to build the cathedral but also for the short time it took to build — less than fifty years. Elsie, who never goes anywhere without a book, was more impressed with it being the coolest place in town to sit and read. We made another side trip to Compiegne to view the Chateau de Compiegne with its sumptuous furniture and huge gardens. Most of the furniture dates from Napoleon's time, but it is also remembered as the place where Marie Antoinette was introduced to her future husband, Louis XVI.

Our final mooring with the family was at St Quentin, and you can imagine Joey's face when he saw right next to the canal the biggest water park we have seen in France, so that was first stop on our agenda. The men were not allowed in wearing board shorts but the remorseful staff found some speedos for them to borrow (I suspect from the lost-and-found bin). Just as well no photos were allowed. Tony Abbot would have been proud of our men in budgie-smugglers! Next day it was in the hire car and off to visit Villers Bretonneux, Australian Museum and War Memorial and also the newly reopened memorial at Le Hamel. The three generations paid our respects to my great uncle whose name is listed on the wall at Villers Bretonneux, along with 10,981 others who have no known grave. A very sobering experience. We then went on to Amiens where Suellen and I took the two children on a boat tour through les Hortillonnages, a colourful, 360 hectare patchwork of marshland market gardens that were originally dug during Roman times. They are now private allotments and as you drift through them on flat-bottom punts one can view well tended vegie plots, some colourful flower patches and others where the occupants are content to relax and let nature prevail. Meanwhile the two guys were "walking with the ANZACS" at Pozières, the Lochnagar crater, the British Memorial at Thiepval, and the New Zealand Memorial near Longueval to name a few. We all met at Amien cathedral, the biggest in France, and opted to dine at a restaurant overlooking the canal — a traditional meal of Moules and frites {mussels and chips}. The next day it was a bit more of the same, another trip to the water park, then off to inspect the seldom visited Australian 4th Division Memorial near Bellinglise — the last place where aussie diggers fought in 1918. We then continued on to the bridge — the only bridge across the St Quentin canal retaken intact (pictured) — which features in a famous photo of Britsh troops massed on the, then barren, banks of the canal being addressed by an officer. A stop at the entrance to the Riqueval tunnel, then to the Newfoundland Memorial Park where the original trenches and shell holes, though now grassed-over, have all been carefully preserved. Having the car also meant a quick deviation to look at Arras, rebuilt after the war in resplendent Flemish style.

Our last day with the car we went in a totally different direction. Fresnoy le Grand, although a small town has several attractions, our intent was the Textile Museum, and what a find that was. A room full of old wooden looms, that until 2004 were in full production of traditional furniture coverings and wall tapestries. Some of the designs were incredibly intricate and it took months to produce the hand-punched cardboard patterns for the weavers to follow. When production ceased they were heritage-listed and today are all frozen in time as the last stitch was made. The whole family was fascinated. In the same town we found the factory outlet shop for le Bourget, french underwear and stockings. Suellen stocked up, excuse the pun, and then it was on to le Creuset, cast-iron cookware. Ooh La La! The car was looking decidedly full by the time both our parcels found their way into the boot. Being sale time the prices were reduced a further 30%, a fraction of what one pays at home. Of course then came the inevitable problem, packing; the small bags that arrived a couple of weeks before were now heavy, cumbersome and numerous.

Our final reminder of their time with us was a tour of the St Quentin basilica that they had kindly booked for us before they left. We joined a small walking group and were taken up a narrow spiral staircase of over 200 steps to emerge into the roof cavity. All rebuilt with prestressed concrete beams and new woodwork with a timber catwalk the length and breadth of it. Then we exited onto a small balcony to admire the view over the town and surrounding countryside. I don't have a fear of heights but that was a little too high for comfort so was pleased to retreat inside. However next step was out another door and a full walk around the circumference of the roof, looking down on flying buttresses and gargoyles. Stomach churning stuff, my respect for the builders of these magnificent cathedrals has increased even more.

Champagne Again

25th June, 2011 (Tony)

After some long days cruising up the lower reaches of the Marne we were delighted to discover a brand new floating pontoon specifically built for pleasure boats, with free power and water, at Nanteuil on the north bank of the Marne. Is was to Nanteuil, in September 1914, that General Joffre sent the taxis he requisitioned in Paris. Five hundred at a time, the convoys of little red taxis delivered five soldiers each to this small village. It was a bold stategy that provided a big enough force to successfully drive a wedge in the German army's advance and thwart their plans to overrun Paris. It was a significant victory, albeit brief, for the French in what was to become a long and bitter war. Today, Nanteuil is recognised for having the first, or most western, champagne vineyards — all Pinot Meunier. This signalled a point to slow down, savour and sample the ambience, the beauty and tastes of champagne. It wasn't long before we had the motorbikes off and zoomed once again up to Mont de Bonneil where we enjoyed a picnic with most of our family last year; and to revisit the caves of Boucant Thierry. My backpack conveniently holds a half-dozen case so why buy any less? Especially when more family is due to arrive... Thus we meandered — to Chateau Thierry, Binson-et-Ourquigny, Reuil, Damery and Epernay; sampling and shopping along the way. Our trusty motorbikes took us up to many of Champagne's beautiful, and bountiful, villages: Chatillon sur Marne, Cuchery, Fleury la Rivière, Venteuil, Cumières etc, villages that are mostly beyond the reach of bargees without motorised transport. It would be a tragedy to travel through Champagne without visiting them.

This year, using Richard Juhlin's excellent, Champagne Guide (a gift from Debbie and Mark last year) we resolved to visit and buy champagne only from producers mentioned in the book. At least that narrowed the field to 528. The other 4,200 can wait for another time. So far we've managed to tick only twenty four — all highly recommended. Another half-dozen we sampled via the supermarket. There were several others that weren't open. We're not sure if that was their loss or ours. Another year...

After a very pleasant weekend stopover in Epernay, where we walked the town several times, did a tour of Castellane's extensive underground caves and climbed the tower, and lunched sulubriously washed down with a half-bottle of Gosset Grande Réserve, we set off up the Canal Aisne à Marne. It is such a pity there is nowhere to moor at Ay because it is home to some prestigious champagne brands — Gosset, Bollinger, Henri Giraud, Richard Fliniaux, etc, etc. However a mooring to the bank at Mareuil sur Ay, though tenuous, is only a couple of kilometres further on. It also is the base for several well known names, such as Billecart-Salmon. So a jaunt back to Ay on the bikes wasn't too strenuous considering the reward of more champagne to replenish the cellar. We paused long enough at Tours sur Marne to wander around the town and look, but not sample, the headquarters of five-star récoltants based in Tours. From Condé further ventures on motorbikes into the gorgeous countryside enabled us to explore Bouzy and Ambonnay, two towns that are not only a must-visit for their picturesque beauty but also for the renowned champagnes that emanate from their cellars. We parked-up at Sillery to await the arrival from Australia of Gray and Suellen; and Elsie and Joey. Gray and Suellen, and Sally a couple of times while we were at home, have been attending Bernadette O'Shea's champagne appreciation classes in Brisbane. Consequently they have developed a fine sense of taste and knowledge of champagnes that are a cut above the ordinary — if there could possibly be such a distinction. Not surprisingly, the day after they arrived they revelled in the opportunity to take a motorbike ride up to Mailly Champagne, Verzenay and Verzy to seek out for themselves some excellent bottles of bubbly. There are a couple of highly-rated producers in Sillery who also contributed to their haul. And to prove to the kids that we are not totally champagne-obsessive we biked them up to Fort de la Pompelle an authentically restored fort which, like Verdun, never fell into enemy hands.

And so to Reims where Gray and Suellen had appointments booked in advance, courtesy of Bernadette (author of Champagne and Chandeliers), for escorted tours of the maisons of Taittinger, Mumm, and Ruinart. I accompanied them to Taittinger; and Sally went to Mumm and Ruinart. In every instance we were all treated like royalty and on departing were handed a gift pack of their special nectar. Our fridge is labouring under the constant strain of trying to maintain at least two bottles of champagne cool for sampling each evening. It's ok for the food to go off as long as the champagne is cold! We are all agreed; the standout champagne tasted so far is a Louis Roederer Brut Premier. Enough of that... I know how bored you must be with our infatuation with this region and its solution. We were in Reims for the Fête de Musique, an annual celebration of every form of music that coincides with the summer solstice. We all enjoyed a lovely meal outdoors at a restaurant in the middle of town before joining the throngs of locals relishing the free musical entertainment throughout the city, although we retired long before they did.

The weather throughout June has been cooler than the fabulous days we enjoyed in April and May. And there has been a lot of rain, which no doubt has brought relief to the farmers and vignerons who only a month ago imagined they had been transported to Australia's outback. Next, they'll be complaining they can't harvest the already ripened grain crops. Yesterday we bade farewell to Champagne and set off up the Aisne

Yonne and Beyond

6th June, 2011 (Sally)

Myra left us at Chatel Censoir, another familiar stop, where we moored under the shade of an ancient church set high above the canal and then it was on to Mailly la Ville where we finally got to ride through the Irancy area, grapes and cherry trees with the crop starting to ripen and a good picnic spot looking over the expanse of country. Another ride took us to Carrière Souterraine d'Aubigny, or as translated, the underground quarry of Aubigny. For 2000 years they have been quarrying limestone from this site, some of the old sacophagi are still there but it was in Napoleon's time when huge amounts of white stone were needed to remodel Paris that it really came into its own with 1,000 men working there. Today it is known as the upside down cathedral and it is easy to see why. Once inside you are dwarfed by the 20 metre high rooms which extend in all directions with displays of the old tools used, carts which transported the stone to barges and a very impressive display of the stone carvers' art. Apparently the water in the stone evaporates on contact with the outside air so all workings including the decorative carvings were done underground not only with fairly rudimentory tools but also with smoky oil lamps. Thus finished, the stone's surface calcifies and remains hard after exposure to the atmosphere. A new full size staircase was under construction, a beautiful example of the stonecarvers' art. We noticed a compressor discreetly tucked away to make the job much easier for the modern artisan than with the original mallets and chisels.

I decided to share my big sister's birthday with her so took a train to Paris for the day, as one does, and we had a fun day walking up towards the Eiffel Tower and down the Champs Elysée with a few hours in the Maritime Museum and a nice lunch at a sidewalk cafe. Fourteen hours later I arrived back on Sable with aching feet and a backpack of books from W.H.Smith Bookshop.

We left the Nivernais and joined the river Yonne at Auxerre, a very picturesque city but also a very popular one. The only berth available was on the outside of Gulliver, a barge we met on our very first year. Gulliver now has new owners, a delightful couple from California and we shared drinks and experiences on our top deck, again. From Auxerre it was down the river to Villeneuve sur Yonne, [the new town on the Yonne]. This new town was built for Louis IX, in the 1200's, so the name is a bit incongruous but a delightful stop with the old cobbled streets and ancient gates. It is better known for its restaurant, a remodelled mill-house on the quay. I had read about it in Gourmet Traveller years ago and had tried to visit once before only to find it closed. Its main claim to fame was it was the brainchild of Leslie Caron, of Gigi fame, who took a very old rundown ruin and renovated it to its present glory. We were delighted to see it open again under new management, I googled Leslie Caron and saw she was born in 1931 so it's understandable that she is no longer involved. However the new owners did us proud, a delightful meal and the original building has retained all the charm and character that we expected.

At Sens we had a two day stop, time to cycle out to buy a load of begonias to replace the pansies. Keeping the flowers going is a battle in the constant heat. The driest spring on record as we are constantly told. Good for us but disastrous for the farmers, with wheat crops a shadow of their usual yield and only a little hay being harvested. Some maize crops may not survive at all. From Sens we decided to put in some long days to get us out of the Yonne and down the busy Seine so we passed-by Joigny and stopped in Migennes, at the junction to the Canal de Bourgogne. A good stop but a noisy one as it is one of the busiest railway junctions in all of France with trains rattling past day and night. And after another long day we reached the junction of the Seine where instead of a comfortable mooring in the town marina — we had to leave that for the early arrivals — we moored-up on a very ordinary stretch of river bank where we were we caught every passing wake of the numerous freight barges. Needless to say we did not linger and very early the next morning we were on our way. Once again we have been sharing the waters and more impressively the locks with big barges carrying all the building materials into Paris. In this age of carbon footprints and economics of transport you can only admire how much and how effeciently it is being carried. We were held up at one lock for three hours while the commercials went first. It was on the third change we crept in behind three barges and beside a quadrupel gravel barge. I estimated that there was at least 3,000 tonnes of freight in the lock with us. How many trucks does that take off the road? It is interesting to observe that some of the bargees have become quite political with banners on the sides of their vessels with slogans such as "This replaces 26 Trucks on the roads" and "40 times less pollution than on the roads."  So it was with a sense of relief we turned right at the junction of the Marne and found ourselves in the much smaller and friendlier river. Now here we are at Lagny. We spent a delightful two days here last year when the townsfolk were in the midst of a river festival. The town is just as cute, four great boulangeries, three very good butchers and one of the best markets where I stocked up on fresh peaches, apricots and nectarines. The first of the season, bought enough for a family of six, but I daresay they will not be wasted. Now we are on our way to Champagne. In a day or two we will see the first vineyards, almost like coming home...

Nivernais and Morvan

20th May, 2011 (Tony)

When we cruised the Canal du Nivernais in 2007 we were limited in time and had a deadline to get to Vermenton to obtain our licences. This time however we have no constraints and since turning off the Loire at Decize we have intentionally dawdled in order to explore the greater environs of Burgundy. It's not all grape country — in fact only a very small portion of this beautiful region produces wine. We paused overnight at Cercy la Tour and rode our push bikes around the village and up to the lookout high above the town. But at Panneçot we lingered for a couple of days in order to explore deep into the surrounding hills on our motorbikes. On a magical, summer's day we set off for one of the most enjoyable rides ever — far up to the very heart and among the highest hills of Bourgogne; through Moulins-Engilbert, on to Chateau Chinon the largest town in the Morvan where we stopped for a delicious lunch at a hotel restaurant. From there it seemed illogical not to continue to Mont Beuvary, not only one of the loftiest lookouts (821m) in the area but also the site of famous archaeological diggings of an ancient Gaul settlement later occupied and extended by the Romans. The place was never attacked or ruined, just eventually abandoned. Julius Caesar visited the same place, only 2050 years before us. Looks pretty much the same... As we swept around a bend near the top of the mountain we were astonished to discover an absolutely stunning, modern museum dedicated to the history and relics of the site. This building must have cost at least four million euros. A spectacular edifice of glass and polished granite. I was so gobsmacked I forgot to take a picture of it. What a find! From there it was all downhill back to Sable, a 105km ride through some of the loveliest scenery we've come across.

We continued our cruise to Chatillon en Bazois and reconnoitred on motorbikes through another extensive area of the Morvan, finding by chance a huge dam at Lake Pannecière on the Yonne where we sprawled on the grass for a picnic lunch. We tried to locate the source of the Yonne near Mont Beuvary, which like the Seine, bubbles out of a grotto but we somehow took a wrong turn. We did however come across the Rigole which feeds water from the lake to the Canal du Nivernais at its summit, crossing several valleys on impressive tall aquaducts. At Chatillon en Bazois we met up with Terry and Ruth whose Tchalk, Verwissling, usually moors directly in front of us in Roanne. They took their boat to Migennes last winter to carry out some repairs and are now on the return journey to Roanne. Sally's sister Myra arrived there on the bus and with another couple of Brits in the port we all sat around in the evening sunshine for pre-dinner drinks and in no time at all, less than three litres in fact, solved all the problems of the world. Obama, Cameron, Gillard, Key should all take a canal cruise in France...

At Baye you feel as if you are on top of the world, well almost. Moored to a seawall, one overlooks a big lake — storage water for the canal. We relished a glorious evening dining on the top deck watching sailboats tacking back and forth. Next morning we chugged through the three tunnels and commenced the arduous descent down the sixteen-lock chain to Sardy, then on to Chitry les Mines. We learned only a few days before our arrival that Ted Johnston's wife, Guislane, passed away last year. He was pleased to see us again and it wasn't long before we were reminiscing about acquaintances and relatives back in Nerang. We also couldn't pass up the opportunity to indulge in a meal of steak and chips at his sister-in-law's quayside cafe and to meet his son and daughter and grandchildren. Ted is still fighting beauracracy for approval to build his new ship's chandlery but he continues to operate very successfully from the cramped quarters above his home. My credit card account can testify to that. Everyone who has ever cruised the Nivernais will fondly recall the lift-up bridges that must be wound up and down by hand and the gorgeous scenery between Chitry and Clamecy. Nothing much has altered though a few of the lock-keepers cottages have fallen into disrepair. Sadly, the canal itself is silting up and is now quite shallow in many places. All right for the many hire boats and just ok for Sable but any vessel drawing more than a metre stirs up a constant stream of mud. The entire canal is in dire need of dredging but I imagine no one wishes to fund such a massive undertaking.

At Clamecy we jumped on the train one morning to Auxerre and hired a car. The Avis lass demanded I sign a form declaring that the vehicle was faultless and strode out to the garage and fetched a Ford C-Max. I noted a couple of spots of bird shit and dutifully strutted around examining the body (the car's, not hers) whereupon she declared, "Seulement sept kilometres!". She was right, there was only 7km on the clock! It must have been delivered by train the day before. So Sally, Myra and I spent the weekend exploring even more of the Morvan, venturing up to Vezelay with its remarkable 11th century abbey, a site revered by all pilgrims embarking on the long trudge to Santiago de Compostela. We continued to Quarré les Tombes with its bizarre collection of ancient limestone sarcophagi encircling the church and then to Brisson for a very sobering and solemn visit to the Museum to the Resistance. What brave heroes. And what an amazing labyrinth of forests and valleys the Morvan comprises; and very beautiful too. Little wonder the Nazis found it difficult to track down the marquis; but when they did their reprisals were brutal. We cheered ourselves up by paying a visit to Vauban's own personal chateau at Bazoches. What a delight. All the furniture and rooms are pretty much exactly as they were in the 1700's. Particularly amazing was the huge hall (nowadays a ballroom) which Vauban used as his office and where he and his engineers designed and modelled the numerous fortresses for which he became renowned. His descendants still comfortably occupy a wing of the modest-sized chateau. One of the best in terms of authenticity and condition we've seen in France although the gardens, originally designed by la Notre, no longer exist.

No visit to (White) Burgundy would be complete without a stroll around Noyers an absolutely postcard picturesque village full of old, very olde, half-timbered houses. Likewise Chablis, a very pretty town surrounded by France's finest chardonnay vineyards. So it was lunch at a fine restaurant we visited almost exactly a year ago. After dropping the girls back at the boat at Clamecy I returned the car, now not so new with 880 km on the dial. A top weekend atop the tops. But we're not yet entirely done with Bourgogne — there's still the appellation of Irancy and the vineyards of Auxerre to come. I intend to update the website at Auxerre where hopefully internet access will be better.

Ambling down the Loire

5th May, 2011 (Sally)

Two weeks of cruising and we covered 100kms, not a record for slow travelling on the canals of France but certainly a new record for us. The weather has been superb, day after day of cloudless skies with unseasonable warmth giving us plenty of excuses for lingering at pleasant canal-side stops and opportunities for bike rides along tow paths or more adventurous rides through the hills and villages on our motorbikes.

The final social function at Artaix with our port friends was well attended, about 60 people sat down to an extended lunch under the shade of the trees. French, English, American and of course Australian picnic and barbecue food was on offer, all washed down with various wines ranging from the four gallon fill-your-own cask to some delightful bottles produced from the cave of Thierry, our french friend who is renowned among the port people for the quality of his cellar and the hospitality with which he shares it. By a dent of manouvering I managed to find myself sitting next to him and was rewarded with several samples from his never ending supply. Next morning all the other boats had left and the spot was too peaceful to leave plus it was close to Marcigny which has a very lively Monday morning market. A whole aisle of live animals, chickens, day-old and fully grown, quail, ducks, pigeons and rabbits all competing for space and for attention from the dozens of kids wanting to pet them. We thought some of our grandchildren would have bought them just to set them free.

The vegetable stalls are always where we make our purchases, spring produce just coming into the markets now. Strawberries in huge quantities. The smell wafts in the air and draws one towards the stands; white asparagus, the first of the season; lettuce, three for a euro, every sort of tomato and huge bunches of green globe artichokes at a euro each. This year's goal: conquer artichokes. We came out with too much food,[whats new] and then stopped just for a look at the Emile Henri factory outlet. Oh Wow! Stand after stand of cookware. I counted twelve displays, each one laden with different colours and designs. Unfortunately, or fortunately, Sable is so well stocked that I really do not need or have room for another thing but with a little help via requests from some family members I was able to satisfy my craving to indulge in some retail therapy. The only stipulation to them is: I buy it, you get it home. The countryside behind Marcigny, the Brionnais,is an area known for the wealth of Romanesque churches all built in the 11th and 12th century. An inventory of more than 90 chapels or churches in this style in such a confined area tells of the religious history that blossomed from the mother church at Cluny. We took our motorbikes and did just some of the Romanesque Road through villages with names such as Semur en Brionnais, St Didier en B, Varenne, St Chrisotphe en B, and St Foy. Lovely rolling farmland with one product, Charolais cattle. Everywhere you look is a field of cows with small white calves at foot.

From the Roanne à Digoin Canal into the Loire Lateral Canal, all familiar ground to us as this is our fourth time over this particular stretch, but we usually have been in a hurry to leave port or else racing the winter home, so once again a chance to tarry and to explore further. Bourbon Lancy is a town that promises much but sadly failed to deliver. It is an old spa town with numerous Victorian-age hotels in which one resides to "take the waters." They sit firmly along the Aire de Therme like a group of disapproving dowager ladies sniffing their disdain at the modern world. We paused in town for a wander around the medieval heart but were not encouraged to stay. Vichy, the other Spa town in the vicinity, has clearly reinvented itself and stolen all the business as the waters are designated "medical treatment" only and one needs a doctor's prescription and a three month reservation to find a place,

At Gannay sur Loire we joined a small flotilla of British boats, and settled in for three nights giving us a chance to watch the "Wedding" live and in good company. The BBC did an excellent coverage. Why the rest of the world needed to send 8,500 press to do the same thing makes one wonder. We enjoyed it all but my one defining moment was a short clip, after it was all over, of a young verger doing cartwheels down the red carpet in the abbey. It was like "Thank goodness that went off without a hitch." Gannay brought back some memories for us, as it was here, almost four years ago we tried with our almost non-existent french to buy some herbs to grow on the boat. They tried to sell us currant bushes and grape vines if I remember rightly. Now of course with my lovely pots of persil, menthe, estragon and ciboulette I feel at least we are making some progress. Gannay also had another claim to fame, the tree of Sully, which is 500 years old and sat at the junction of three regions. When we last saw it more than three years ago it was a sad relic of its former glory, a shell of the trunk with a concrete core, capped with a conical slate roof. Today it is a collapsed heap of rubble, sadly the tree of Sully is no more.

We have now turned off the Loire, at Decize, and are climbing the Nivernais up to the summit at Baye where the sixteen lock ladder down the other side awaits. However that is still several days away and as long as this wonderful Spring weather continues we will slowly, ever so slowly, continue this wonderful journey.

Spring Fervour

16th March, 2011 (Tony)

Spring is in the air. The moment we arrived back in France we were amazed to find the trees in blossom and new leaves bursting from their buds. Everyone remarks that this year spring is two to three weeks ahead of normal. Most delightful is the chirpiness of the birds — they sound very happy — except the ducks. Each day we are treated to a spectacle on the water outside our boat of virile drakes behaving like Lakemba youths, sexually assaulting desperately fleeing ducks — who don't seem to be enjoying it one bit, or either bit, for there seems to be always two drakes for every duck. I guess in a few weeks the males will be mooching about in bothersome gangs while mum rears the ducklings on her own. Generally, the weather has been glorious. We were back into board shorts and short-sleeved tops last week, with several days topping 30C. For the first time ever, in Roanne, we erected the awning over the top deck and lunched outside. Here's hoping it augurs well for a long hot summer.

We have been busy during our two weeks in Roanne getting Sable ready for the summer ahead. Sally has been stocking up provisions, filling all the cupboards and even demanding more shelves. This week I turned my hand to sheet-metal work, cutting and bending new aluminium hatch covers to replace the fibre-glass coating which had deteriorated badly. We were supposed to be in the lock Friday morning at nine o'clock but we woke to a frost and found the boiler pump wasn't working. Thankfully, we have a spare new pump on board and an obliging young tradesman from Thermi Service across the road fitted it before lunchtime. We cast off at 1pm and cruised gently down to Briennon, about 15km and three locks, in brilliant sunshine and past countryside already lush with new growth. On Sunday there is a picnic at Artaix (about 15km further along the canal) for all the bargees still remaining in Roanne. Those not ready to cruise will come by car. They had another picnic in the port last weekend, everyone trying to outdo everyone else with barbecued delicacies. There is such an eclectic mix of nationalities — but all with a common interest. We couldn't pass up the chance to partake, especially as we may not see many of them for two years or more. Other years, we have been among the first to get away but this year about fifteen boats have beaten us. Adrian and Lorna, our Kiwi neighbours who kindly cared for Sable over winter while we were in Australia, were one of the first to depart, planning to head down the Rhone to the Midi.

We've already had two lots of visitors to stay. Mike and Lenore contacted us in Australia before Christmas after enquiring about a boat for sale in Roanne. One can easily walk around the port in less than half an hour but when we did it with Mike and Lenore it took more than three hours as we paused to greet friends and introduce them to the barging community. Everyone is so friendly and sociable. I think Mike's concerns that owning a boat in France might be a rather lonely existence were soon dispelled. They spent their second day in port inspecting several boats for sale. Eleanor, moored right next to Sable, seemed very appealing but they resolved to buy Elizabeth, a barge that had first attracted their attention when they saw it on the Midi about eighteen months ago. Elizabeth's happy owners immediately seized the opportunity to crack open the champagne. Then the four wandered down to break their good news to us and we immediately seized the opportunity to celebrate the occasion by cracking open more champagne. Mike and Lenore then took us out to dinner at L'Astrée a fabulous restaurant we've neen trying to get to for four years. It was a splendid repast washed down with some great wine. When we left the restaurant none of the taxis I called wanted to answer the phone so we staggered home and started on the cointreau, whereupon Mike proclained, "I can't live like this!" We think he will...

On Sunday, by a fluke of circumstance, an Aussie couple parked in the carpark near our mooring to lunch at the restaurant across the road and to have a look at the port as someone had told them what a great place Roanne was. They noticed the "For Sale" sign in the window of Whisper, just two boats from ours. They had a very favourable inspection, then continued on to Mossiac to undertake a boat handling course. A week later, Peter and Lynne from the Gold Coast arrived to experience first-hand living aboard a barge and to check out a couple of boats they had seen on the internet (including Whisper which, after inspection, they rejected). They also kindly shouted us out to dinner at Le Tournidon another excellent restaurant. Again, superb cuisine and luscious wine. They stayed with us for two nights and inspected several boats in the port before leaving for Toul and then Holland to look at other boats. I'm sure they too will soon be proud boat owners and revelling in this arduous life — well someone has to do it. Otherwise all the boats would rot... The sequel to this saga is: Eleanor has been sold to a Swiss couple; and just an hour before we left port we heard the Aussies have made an offer, from Mossiac, on Whisper. It could turn out that three sales of boats have been executed around us in the space of a week. And not a broker involved! They'll be spewing! I guess it says something for the strength of the AU$. All of a sudden Australian buyers are being welcomed with open arms. Adieu to three lovely couples whom we befriended via the barging life. And bon voyage to the newcomers. Thus, one's circle of friends grows.

Briennon is a pleasant port and is the base for a hire-boat company. There is not much to the town though. A hundred years ago it boasted an enormous roof tile factory. Most of the product was transported by barge to distant destinations. In its day Briennon would have been quite a thriving community. The kilns were shut down for good in 1964. Saturday, we dawdled about ten kilometres further down the canal. It's really nice to take lots of time to get to know the Canal Roanne à Digoin. On every other occasion we seem to have been anxious either to get going; or get home to Roanne, always covering the 60km in two days maximum. We've often been intrigued by Iguerande, a pretty village across the other side of the Loire. High above the village at the top of a hill an 11th century Romanesque church (it's almost 1,000 years old!) stands sentinel over the valley. A huge walled graveyard leans down the hill below the church and together they create a fascinating landmark visible for miles. So off we went on our bikes to explore, take in the magnificent view and exercise lungs and muscles that haven't done much for some time. Just a jolly 22km jaunt, but we are looking forward to repeating the exercise on Monday to go to Marcigny and visit the Emile Henri factory where ceramic cookware is made and dishes can be procured for a fraction of the price asked in retail stores.