Yet more glorious days to be thankful……
On Saturday 5 September some folk travelled first class, on seats that looked exactly the same as the seats that some of us sat on in second class. And we all arrived in Briare in time to pile into two cars that whisked us all to the Le Boat base in Châtillon sur Loire. Checking in to collect our Vision 4 was rather chaotic; the boat wasn’t ready and as it turned out later, it never was ready for us to take it down the Canal Latéral à la Loire; we’ll get to that later……. Trying to give instructions to nine Aussies, who are too busy talking amongst themselves was a tricky task, but between us we think we got the gist of most of the instructions, especially the bit about low bridges – duck! and the grey water and toilet-waste going straight in to the canal – eeurgh! We all walked up to the main streets and made a frenzied raid on one lone fruit and veggie stall and the local supermarket which was at the point of closing for the day, ah yes, the trading hours in France; or should I say lack of trading hours. But we managed to stock up on enough food and drink to see us through a couple of days until the shops (what shops?) opened up again on Monday. We hung around for hours waiting for the barbecue to be cleaned and to get the go ahead to set off. Then with Instructor Peter from Norfolk on board, to run through the necessary instructions, we went for a short spin down the canal and back, to see if one, or more of us, could drive and turn around the 14.97 x 4.65 metre beast of a thing; and we’ll come back to that later too…….
Having deposited Peter of Norfolk back at his office, we set off in the wrong direction, as instructed and recommended, back to Briare to check the place out and to see for ourselves the incredible aqueduct built in 1894. It has a pavement beside the waterway and is lined with columns and elegant iron standard lamps and a lovely view down to the Loire River below. Until 2003 it was the longest navigable steel aqueduct in the world at 662 metres long and it was a sight to be seen, though not necessarily to navigate over. Captain Terry was at the helm, but with a bump and a scrape on entering the narrow bit of water, he was quickly deposed in favour of Captain Rodney. The rest of us thanked Kath for taking out insurance to cover us for every bump and scrape to that brute of a boat. Rodney, with much concentration and a hint of a little tongue sticking out the corner of his mouth, managed to get us safely to the other side and after tying up in the centre of Briare, we all went for a stroll around the small town. There were some very pretty baskets of flowers along the way, but nothing open except for a small bar. We made the unanimous decision to stay and eat there, only to be told the cook was on holiday and only drinks would be served. So drinks it was.
When we got back to our boat, the local harbourmaster wandered over to tell us that we couldn’t ‘park’ the boat there as we hadn’t booked a spot and hadn’t paid. Luckily no-one else had booked and so for a small fee of €15, she let us stay there for the night and as we hadn’t managed to find a restaurant open on Saturday evening, we opted to eat some of our provisions on board and appreciate our paid-spot on the canal, while watching an otter diving in the muddy brown water beside us. It must have been an otter with a very strong constitution, because none of us wanted to swim in that water, knowing what was going in there….
Sunday, Virginia’s birthday; a pleasant day. The sun came out, but so did the clouds, so it was one of those jumpers on, jumpers off sort of days. But it was still a huge improvement on what we had been ‘enjoying’. We sailed back to Châtillon sur Loire to pick up a water hose that hadn’t been stowed on board, but we couldn’t find anyone at the Le Boat office and neither could another two boats who had ‘stuff’ missing on board. By 10:30am, we gave up waiting and via various phone calls told them to come and find us somewhere down the canal, We had 130 kilometres on a 19thC canal with 26 locks to negotiate by next Saturday morning; we weren’t going to hang around all day!
Breakfast consisted of fresh baguettes and any cheeses, pate, cold meats, eggs and tomatoes that hadn’t been eaten the night before. Lunch consisted of the same, but without the eggs and with the addition of some award-winning goats cheese, purchased by Virginia at the only place open in Belleville sur Loire. And then the next day’s breakfast was the same again, and the one after, and the…… Everyone was exclaiming how wonderful it was to be eating French cheeses on the first day and on the second day, but after three days of it, Wendy was heard to exclaim “No more fucking cheese”. I guess variety is the spice of life, and Sunday evening proved to be full of variety. We all walked into Saint Thibault to a nice restaurant set right on the west bank of the Loire River. We started eating at 8:30pm and endless courses later, finished eating about 11pm. The food was good and it just kept coming, each course proving to be desirable, even the cheese. But desirable is not always good when eating that late on a small tummy. I didn’t enjoy the meal when it came back up at midnight and there were consequences down the track and we’ll get to that later…..
Monday was all about food, much like the whole journey really. Pete, Virginia, Rodney and I accidentally took the long route, via the main road, up the hill to Sancerre; it was a warm day too, which made the walk harder and slower. But it was worth it, Sancerre was a nice village, famous for its wine, which we’ve since managed to buy in Sydney. There was a small supermarket and a butcher or two, that were actually open, so filet steaks were purchased to pop on the barbecue that night. We all had drinks in the main square and lunch too and some of us paid to climb up the Tour des Fiefs, a 14th-century bell tower for lovely views over the surrounding countryside.
Then we walked downhill through the vineyards, the shorter route back to the boat, and we stole grapes off the vines as we wandered. That evening, as Terry prepared five steaks for Kath, Lindy, Wendy and Paul, I opened the butcher’s parcel that Pete and Virginia had bought for the four of us. It wasn’t steak, it wasn’t even beef, it was pork filet. Hah! Lost in translation and there’s more of that later….. We sliced it and marinated it in honey, soy and ginger, threw it on the barbecue and it was delicious. Who needs a Michelin starred restaurant, except when the gas runs out on your boat? We finished off the evening reading aloud ‘porny poems’ that we had composed during the day; some proving to be far more graphic than others. Yes, Terry’s was the most explicit, but thankfully short. And Paul turned out to be quite the poet, having the ability to just keep creating poems off the top of his head and they actually rhymed.
Tuesday was more of a problem, starting with our door handle falling off. We still needed a water hose, we now needed gas too and I do believe that my vomiting episode on Sunday evening created another technical issue on the boat. I said there was more to come. Peter of Norfolk said he would bring the missing items to us at La Charité sur Loire. A white van arrived, which we thought was him, but it wasn’t, and everyone got fed up waiting around. So, because Rodney and I had already been to La Charité on our campervan travels in 2012, we offered to stay on board so that the other magnificent seven could head into town for a wander about. Peter of Norfolk turned up just as they were all leaving and had his head bitten off by Kath, who was most unimpressed that she had repeatedly asked if him if we had plenty of gas for the barbecue, when we picked up the boat. Then the local gendarmerie turned up to ask if we had seen a white van. We had no idea what they were asking, it was all lost in translation for Rodney and I, so Peter of Norfolk played translator and it turned out the white van was being driven by a burglar who had just broken into a nearby house. Rodney was able to give them a vague description of the driver and the van in English to Peter who passed it on to the police in French, and they set off into town to continue their search. Peter then had to get down to the dirty work of the technical issue. After Rodney, Kath, Terry and I had showered in the morning, our drains proved to be blocked and the water in the sinks and showers wouldn’t drain away. The dirty water was swilling around the small bathrooms in our cabins, rather than out into the brown canal. We had to pull everything out of Kath and Terry’s room, to access the pump and drains under their beds and Norfolk Peter did a fine job of clearing the blockage….. which turned out to be ‘probably’ my stomach contents from Sunday night, sorry folks.
Finally, with drains flowing, a water hose and two full tanks of gas stowed on board, we fare-welled Peter yet again and Rodney and I hopped onto two of the bikes to cycle into La Charité sur Loire to find the others who were already tucking into lunch in the middle of the little town. Another stock-up on cheeses, etc. was accomplished during a stroll around town and then we got a wriggle on and motored down the canal to Beffes. Thankfully there was a restaurant open and I opted for an early dinner at 7:30pm with Rodney, rather than have a repeat of Sunday night’s performance. Then Pete and Virginia sat at the next table at 8pm, followed by the final five at 8:30pm. The poor owner seemed very confused that we appeared to be together, and yet we’d all turned up at different times and sat separately; but I think he was pleased to get some business and stayed opened late for us.
On Wednesday we woke to church bells ringing loudly, every 15 minutes, no chance of a lie in that day. We set off through yet more locks to Marseilles les Aubigny to find the Wednesday market……which didn’t exist, and the canal lady couldn’t explain why. Ah well, the eclairs from the bakery tasted good as we floated on down to Le Guétin. We only had five bikes on board, so Kath, Terry, Lindy, Rodney and I cycled up to Apremont sur Allier, a one-star French village. It was a pretty ride and the village was charming, so we stopped for drinks before cycling back to the boat and handing over the bikes for Wendy and Paul to do the same.
I managed to buy the last two baguettes in a Tabac, the boulangerie now being closed, and we had a major eat up of leftovers, reasoning that our next two stops would be in larger towns that must have proper shops and some good restaurants…… wouldn’t they? The lock in front of us at Le Guétin was enormous, and we all agreed it made sense to tackle it straight away, rather than first thing in the morning. There are only certain hours that the locks are open and lock keepers also have to close for lunch at noon, along with any stores. It would also help us get in to the city of Nevers fairly early for a good mooch around the next day.
The lock is a double-step one; you enter the first gate and rise up when the gate is closed behind you. Then the gate in front opens and you enter a second, higher lock, the gate closes behind and you rise again before exiting through a third gate into what seems to be a river in the sky. You are now on an aqueduct, the Pont Canal du Guétin built in 1838, which is 343.25 metres long, only 17.6 metres wide and is supported on 17 pillars and 18 arches, high above the sandy beaches of the River Allier. Wendy didn’t travel with us, she chose to walk the towpath beside us and take photos, but we did pick her up again at the far end. With everyone back on board we motored on to Plagny; as close as we could get to the turn off to Nevers and settled in for the night.
Thursday morning at 9am, we turned up the side canal which would take us in to the port of Nevers. We all had a good wander around a city that didn’t seem to have much to offer, apart from St Bernadette, the young lady who put Lourdes in France on the map. Sometime after she had died and been buried, her body was exhumed, a number of times, and now lays in a glass case in a chapel in the convent of the Sisters of Charity of Nevers. I found it rather creepy and rather sad that her body kept getting dug up, I hope she is now resting in peace.
A barbecue was planned for the evening, so the hunt was on for steak again. At the market Rodney and I bought our own this time as we really did want to eat cow and not pig this time. Terry bought enough for seven at a butcher in town. I will add at this point that Terry’s command on the French language (much like ours) is not particularly accomplished. That evening, on board, with bread, salads, potatoes, etc. all ready for consumption, the steaks were pulled out of their wrappings and thrown on to the sizzling barbecue…… in the dark. With forks raised Rodney and I tucked in to the most beautiful tender filet steaks, while the poorer people tried desperately to chew Terry’s offerings. Terry had boasted about the good price he paid, seemed like too much of a bargain for a filet steak to me, when he told us what he had paid his butcher. It turned out he had bought what the French call ‘faux filet’. ‘Faux’ being the operative word!!! During our travels around France these last four years, we have come across many a cheap lunch-time deal involving faux filet and it really needs to be cut very thin like a strip steak, as it’s usually very tough, though it can be quite tasty. Sadly the seven thick fauxs could not be chewed and ended up in the bin, while Rodney and I enjoyed the melting of a soft tender steak in our mouths. Much abuse was thrown that evening. The salad was good….
Friday morning began with a really chilly misty start but turned into another blue-sky day. We set off from Nevers with the sole intention of getting to Decize in time for the Friday market, and enough time to look around the city on our last day. It was quite a long stretch and quite a few locks to tackle, but the last section was a lovely avenue of 300-year-old plane trees beside the mirrored water of the canal which led to the Le Boat Marina. We managed to get berthed and all walked into the centre of town for 11:30am just in time to catch the last half-hour of the market and before all of the shops shut at midday. Ah well, that’s France.
In the afternoon, some of us went for a last cycle ride, some of us got some packing done, and all of us tarted ourselves up for an evening out at Michelin starred restaurant, Le Charolais. I strongly recommend to any readers of this essay not to go to Le Charolais; it was mentioned in a Michelin book of restaurants many years ago, but has never received any stars. There was a table of six diners already there when we arrived, and another three people arrived to dine later in the evening, but all of the other tables, and there were many of them, remained empty. The waitress even turned people away when they asked for a table. We can only assume that the owners like to have a mostly empty restaurant, or they didn’t have enough food to go round. The place was stylish, and the table beautifully laid, so we listened intently and eagerly when the waitress advised us of the entrée options. Fish. So we all had fish. The main course option was beef, or…….fish. After the steaks the night before some folk opted for the fish for main course too; bad decision. It looked like the same fish cooked in almost the same way as the starter. There was no choice for dessert, we were all handed a plate covered in a little bit of everything that came out of the fridge, a bit of mousse, a bit of cream, a bit of ice cream, a bit of tart and on the side a stale fat waffle that looked like it just came out of a plastic packet. Lindy got the giggles and that set me off; well it really was a dreadful meal and every one of us could have created something better. We then assumed that the chef must have been on holiday and we should have eaten at the pub opposite. That night we sat up late chatting and laughing about the evening and the next morning, as we all dragged our bags off the boat and boarded taxis back to Nevers, the rain came down and so ended our week on the Lateral Loire Canal.
And so to the sailors along the way. Terry shredded branches and leaves as he sailed us literally through overhanging trees one day and he was also the master of the zig-zag cruising style. Rodney was the sailor who needed to constantly concentrate to keep that wheel straight. Paul the calmest sailor on board was unfortunately the creator of the best crash of the week and crikey, he made it a good one on entering a narrow lock. But he was also quite creative on land, managing to pull the ropes along the canal and tie up the boat, all whilst riding a bicycle!!! Virginia was the only lady brave enough to attempt taking the wheel. The rest of us girlies were just that, we chickened out and didn’t even attempt to control that beast. And Pete seemed to be the happiest behind the wheel, apart from when he turned the boat sideways and blocked the canal from one side to the other, just as another boat was exiting the lock gates in front of us. But he did win the award for being the only sailor who didn’t actually bump the boat. And that was quite a feat because the steering system really was rather dodgy. When the need came to change from the steering wheel to the bow thrusters for more sideways accuracy; the switch over almost always resulted in a complete loss of control before the bow thrusters cut in and it could take so long that a perfect 90° turn could be completed accompanied by much squealing from those of us that weren’t steering at the time. It was madness and laughter all rolled in to one.
As for the ladies, Wendy, Kath, Lindy, Virginia and I managed to keep our ‘home away from home’ fairly clean and tidy. There was a good supply of clean glasses on hand (almost) at all times, and Lindy made her bedroom (which was the lounge/kitchen/dining room) available at all times to all of us. We were also very good at sprawling out on the padded mats on the front of the boat, whenever the weather warmed up.
There wasn’t much in the way of stunning scenery to see along the way, there was very little in the way of bars, cafes and restaurants, plus a near complete absence of stores of any sort. But friendly hikers and cyclists on the towpath would wave and shout bonjour, which somehow made us feel a little like a tourist attraction, especially when we busted some fancy sideways moves in front of them. Watching the approach of a nuclear power plant come into view, pass it and then watch it fade into the distance over the first three days, kind of made for interesting viewing. This section of the Loire holds no interesting chateaux or 3-star villages, it is mainly farmland, cereal crops and forests. The Lateral Loire Canal was after all, an old industrial highway and the derelict warehouses en route bore testimony to that.
But it is now a very peaceful area, used mainly only by pleasure boats and just floating along (albeit in a zig-zag motion) between an avenue of trees and passing lock keepers cottages, provided its own quiet charm. The joy of the journey was the company of friends, the crazy conversations and the endless laughter. Being surrounded by good friends, both old and new has to be a good way to travel. Thank you to the gang for giving us that week of hilarity and happiness in our lives. I think we all have good memories of a short journey through a tiny patch of France, even without our Eileen.
