GO TO INDEX

2002 JOURNAL

 

ARTICLE EIGHT

The last week at St Jean de Losne before heading down the Rhone River presented us with some quiet and some raucous times. We had waited at St Jean longer than planned since we expected a Canadian couple we wanted to see, to return from Strasbourg on their 24m luxemotor barge Mea Vota. I had taken my French barge masters ticket a couple of years earlier in a group that included Helen, Ian McLean’s wife. We were keen to meet Helen’s husband and their three children, Alister 12, Wendy 8 and Eleanor 6, who had accompanied their parents for the previous year on Mea Vota, which the family had just sold. Their return to St Jean was planned for the 24^th so we had about a week to finish the small jobs around the boat, varnishing, painting, splicing new lines on fenders, and catching up with friends. The work periods were quiet but the social occasions were raucous as usual.

Rounds of lunches, dinners and drinks were punctuated by visits to other people’s boats and even some outings to fairs at neighbouring towns, since we had access to our 14 year old Renault 21 voiture (car). August is a period of fairs and religious celebrations and many nearby towns had organised and advertised events. These normally take the shape of a centrally placed market with stalls offering local produce; wines, honey, cheeses, meats and breads; and entertainment in the form of parades, musicians and firework displays. In many cases an outdoor café serves simple but inexpensive meals while the bar does a roaring trade in beer, kir (white wine and cassis) and soft drinks. Entertainment carries on through the evening until 10.30 when the fuses to the fireworks are lit.

Eventually the revelling ended with a ‘grande feu d’artifice’ (fireworks) over the river at St Jean followed by a long dinner at Gilles restaurant ‘L’Amiral’ and we were off, early on the morning of Saturday 24 August, to meet our guest, Grace Piccardi, in Avignon on Monday, 2 September. This meant a journey of some 450 kilometres, all of which was to be current assisted, as we were travelling downstream. The first section of the trip was to retrace the passage to Chalon sur Saone through which we had recently passed on our way back from Paris. As we did not want to stay there we made an early start, went straight through Chalon and travelled all day to reach Tournus by 4.30, after an eight hour cruise.

Arriving in Tournus we passed the first mooring, a quai with no services near the bridge that spans the wide river at this ancient city, and drifted downstream to check out the Port de Plaisance. As usual, it was full of small and medium size boats taking up far more room that they needed by leaving over generous space between themselves. Even with extensive movement of a number of small craft we would have been too big so we turned 180 and went back to the old quai. Here too the boats were spread apart and it took a strongly worded request to ‘please move or have us come alongside’ that finally caused action. The only boat that needed to move had only to drift up about 4 metres to let us in and provide each of us with sufficient space. This was completed to the muttering of the owner’s wife, who had now lost her piece of shade from the overarching bridge. C’est la guerre !

We took a quick walk through town to get fresh bread and familiarise ourselves with the many attractions listed in the charts. The town is positioned between the coloured roofs of Burgundy and the dun coloured stone and pottery topped buildings of the south and was so strategic the Romans built it up as an important staging and storage centre during their 500 year occupation of the region. Now it is a light industrial base, but it owed its development after the Romans to monks who made it an important monastic and religious centre. The French Revolution’s administration summarily took over the religious buildings and sold them off to bourgeois merchants, and many remained intact which can now be visited as museums.

The next morning we also departed early, eager to make large distances while the weather was pleasant and the river was helping us along without being tempestuous from late summer rain. We received a boost of about 3 - 5 kmh throughout the journey south, allowing us to run the engine at medium power and conserving fuel while still travelling at about 15 kmh. With some 30% of power in reserve we achieved 17 kmh (about 8 knots) at one stage and for long periods cruised at 15 - 16. During the trip we consumed 7 litres of diesel fuel per hour - just under a litre per kilometre, whereas we average just under 5 lph doing 7 kmh on canals and about 10 lph at full revs.

Macon was our staging point for lunch, while we planned to reach Trevoux before shutting down for the night. This would mean that in two days we would travel 170 km - just 16 hours of travel at an average of just over 10 kmh. The lower average speed is explained by the sometimes long waits at the huge locks that punctuate the trip sometimes to allow monster commercial ships to catch up and take precedence. The monster locks are 195 metres long and 15 metres wide and can accommodate a number of standard 38m peniches, whole fleets of pleasure boats or just one hotel boat. They drop Van Nelle in steps of 10 to 20 metres from the higher upstream river level to the lower level downstream. Each ecluse along the Rhone is accompanied by a hydro electric power station that both harnesses the power of the river and provides free electricity. The great benefit to boaties is the reduced current during times of ‘crue’ or flood, caused by rain or snow melt. Despite these barriers, the flow can get up to 7kmh making it treacherous for underpowered boats to stop at locks and to navigate bridges. Despite huge floods in eastern Europe (Austria, Hungary) at this time, we were unaffected, since these flood waters fed rivers that flowed east from the mountains that border France and not into the centre of France.

Macon is a very impressive city and a centre of wine production for Cotes de Rhone and Burgundy vintages. Indeed, it is famous for it’s Macon varieties and the huge national wine fair held each year. Founded in the 11^th century, Macon was an independent state until bought by Saint Louis (King Louis 9) in the mid 1200s after a bloody fight with rival city, Dijon. Several changes of management followed as Burgundian lords fought Northern kings for power and prestige but it finally acquiesced in 1455 and as part of France, got on with improving it’s wines. We took a quick walk through the town to discover it’s ancient wooden house, carved panels decorating and completing the external walls, and even received the bonus of some brilliant organ music as we visited the cathedral during the late morning service, enhanced by masterfully rendered Bach toccatas and fugues.

We departed Macon, determined to spend more time here on our trip back up the river next year, and headed off to meet up with friends in Trevoux.

John and Jan met us in Trevoux and helped us with our lines at the stone quai, as again, the port was full of small boats. We don’t mind being excluded from these ports if there is a safe alternative elsewhere, since we carry sufficient water and a generator to provide power if we are not cruising. In this case we stopped at the quai which has a sign at the extreme other end (it is about 150m long) warning of the precedence reserved for hotel boats. There were none in at the time so we happily tied up and visited the nearby boules competition that was in swing at the time. I was fascinated by the extreme concentration of the hundreds of four person teams - all trying to win through to the top positions to take away what looked like pretty ordinary plastic trophies. The women’s teams were just as focussed and aggressive as the men and provided great studies for close up photos.

We enjoyed a long dinner on board that night with our friends and the next day explored this fascinating small town that is overshadowed by an extremely old fort. Partly in ruins, it still has a couple of towers that can be scaled and offer wonderful views of the surrounding country side and the winding river on which it is built. The Saone river, on which we travel from Chalon to Lyon, is huge. The Rhone, from Lyon to the Mediterranean Ocean is even more impressive as it opens out into straight stretches 10 km long and 500 - 700 metres wide.

We were now close to the Rhone as it joins the Saone at Lyon, just 31 kilometres south from Trevoux and we were made aware of the fact as, the next afternoon, we noticed a couple of big carts of linen (sheets, towels, mats) brought out of a truck and rolled to a concrete ramp very near our wheelhouse. I took this as a clue and looking back realised the port was now nearly vacant and so we moved the boat. Shortly after, a hotel boat arrived.

Now we are pretty impressive in size at 88' or 27 metres and the hotel boats made from converted commercial peniches (barges) are even more so at 38 metres, but the Rhone River hotel boats are really impressive ships. Measuring 110 metres long, they take up the space of more than 4 of us ! They are not the sort of boat you want nudging up alongside at 3.00am - which is possible if you take one of their moorings, since they travel at night to allow their passengers the greatest amount of time ashore during the days.

We explored the balance of the town that sunny afternoon until rain stopped play and retired aboard for another fun filled dinner with Jan and John. During our stay here we also met Bruce and Jane Berriman on their 60' yacht Tiger Moth out of Auckland. Bruce is a member of the America’s Cup Race Committee for New Zealand and he lives and owns property now in Newport, Rhode Island, USA with his American born wife Jane. They were heading south to put their boat in storage so he could fly out to Auckland to sit in judgement of the transgressions of the various competing nations. On board as guests were John and Anne, he the past commodore of the Auckland Yacht Club - hosts to the challenge this year. We were to see them again in Lyon, take a table at a restaurant and have some pleasant hours chatting over drinks on the back deck of Van Nelle. Bruce of course had met many of the crew members from Australia’s challenges including Scottie McAllister and Chink Longley form RFBYC.

Sad to see our friends John and Jan head the wrong way (north and back to St Jean de Losne), we cast off our lines the next morning and headed for the City of Lyon, second in size to Paris. Despite this boast, Lyon is a manageable size with only 1.2 million inhabitants and it is known as a gastronomic centre with great historical significance.

Originally a centre of silk material manufacture, Lyon at one time boasted over 18,000 silk weavers and its buildings were huddled around tiny, narrow alleys through which the finished cloth was carried to the dying factories and the warehouses of the merchants. These narrow alleys, once useful for keeping the silk out of rain and the city dirty streets, became pestilent over the ages, but in very recent times, and thanks to the town council and the Minister for Culture in France, the area has been classified a historical monument and is now being completely refurbished. Houses here are now sought after and very expensive and their passage ways opened up to tourists to walk through to discover the charms and vagaries of middle ages architecture.

Overlooking the old city is the Fouviere Basilica, the church of St Jus, built to provide divine protection to its donor. The church is an amazing wedding cake of a building, highly decorated on the outside and positively amazingly over-sumptuous inside. From its courtyards one gets views for 10s of kilometres and of the roofs and spires of the city below.

Nearby (a 10 minute walk), is the ancient Roman theatre and it’s attendant museum of Roman history. The theatre, like many others of it’s kind throughout the south, has been rebuilt to a safe standard and enhanced by modern lighting and sound, to provide modern theatre groups the chance to perform in front of thousands of present day spectators in an ancient setting. Unfortunately there were no plays or concerts that week since the Lyon Festival had finished a week or two earlier. We spent hours in the museum and walking over the stage before again taking the cable car back down the very steep hill to the ancient city and its modern day bars for a beer.

Drinks on board and dinner in town with Bruce, Jane, John and Anne capped off a great day in Lyon where you moor right in the centre of town under weeping willow trees - all for free.

Eager to get down to Avignon on time we set off the next day after shopping and checking our email. Unfortunately, the international roaming internet program I use has been updated with access only to high speed, local toll free numbers. This does not always suit the slow speed of the mobile phone modem and connection is difficult on the move. I found an internet café where the owner was happy for me to plug into his phone line since it would cost him nothing. That way I was able to do the banking, send and receive email and check our website .

We departed at 1100 and now were let loose on the might Rhone, having left the comparatively smaller Saone River behind. Pushed along by the 4 kmh current we rapidly made Andance where we tied up to a slope-sided quai and made use of one of their three boulangeries for fresh bread. This is a really pretty little town that has considerably enhanced its river frontage which is now a row of very attractive refurbished stone warehouse / homes. Just for something completely different, that night we dined on home made hamburgers - with the lot !

We planned to stop the next day in Valence as we had read much about it in our guide books and charts. Unfortunately there was nowhere suitable to stop in the town so we continued on to Viviers, arriving at 7.00pm. Travelling at ‘night’ is no real problem as the few locks stay open until 9.00 or 9.30 and it is still light at that time, although the days are now getting shorter. We had grown used to the sun coming up at 5.30 and staying that way until 10.30. To have the sun go down now at 9.30 is disappointing.

Viviers is a small river town off the main stream by 500 metres with a (very) small port and a large stone quai. The sight of huge steel piles and the knowledge that this was a very attractive and remarkable well kept historic village made us realise that it was also a probable haunt for the huge hotel boats. We moored up inside the steel piles, allowing for a big boat to be outside us and protected from it by the piles, having had to threaten a recalcitrant boat owner who had parked right in the middle of the only available space. We finally moved him to one end, allowing room now for us both, and we closed down for dinner.

The next morning we found the tourist office, gained a walking map of the town and spent a couple of lazy hours in the sun, discovering the many charms of this stone village. It has a cathedral on the top of it’s hill, since a bishop moved in here hundreds of years ago. When we stepped inside we were embraced by the sound of the rich notes of the organ. The organist, a young woman, was practising and we took advantage of the fact to enjoy a private concert. Leaving the church we wandered down the main street to discover a pottery where we were able to acquire a matched set of stone bottles, complete with pourers, for oil and vinegar.

On arrival back at the quai we discovered the other boat had gone but standing nearby were 4 huge tour busses. That could only mean one thing as we were shortly advised by one of the drivers - the imminent arrival of a monster boat. We decided that prudence was the best course and after scrubbing the decks clean of the sap from Lyon’s weeping willows, we set off for Port L’Ardoise.

Disappointment here to some extent as the suitable spots for boats our size had just been taken. No problem, there was a concrete loading dock opposite, quiet and secure, which we took advantage of and it offered shade which we used to sit under in order to keep the drinks cold. During this period the temperatures were exceeding 30 degrees and humidity was also high. We did not bother to explore this area as it appeared industrial and there were no glowing descriptions of it in the reference material on board. The next morning promised another hot day so we set off to enjoy the cool of the 14 kmh apparent wind caused by our passage.

We left L’Ardoise early and headed down river for Avignon and were overcome on our arrival.

Avignon is a truly beautiful city. Our approach from the river was bordered by forts and as we turned the corner of the Rhone into the tributary branch that leads back to the centre of town, we were confronted with the ruins of the legendary ‘pont d’Avignon’ the bridge of Avignon made famous by the song. Overlooking this site are the towns defensive ramparts and beyond them the Palace of the Popes and the cathedral. Spread around the town is a very intact wall, punctuated by guard towers.

We passed the four remaining spans of the original 22 span ‘pont d’Avignon’ humming "sur le pont, d’Avignon, tous les danser, tous les danser" and rounded the spur jetties of the port which we passed in favour of the fully serviced quais. Finding a suitable spot just behind an ocean going yacht bearing the stars and stripes, we gently nosed Van Nelle into the quai against the current and Maureen stepped ashore to secure the bow line to the waiting bollards. Quickly a stern line and springs were attached with the help of our neighbours from the boats positioned fore and aft, and we were secure in the dress circle of this fabulous place. Within minutes we had connected to the electricity and water and were raring to get to grips with the town.

Avignon served as the centre of catholic religion from 1304 to 1377 with seven Popes reigning here as they built and extended the palace, the cathedral and the commerce of the city. The famous bridge connected the papacy to France and was guarded at each end by their respective warriors. The Popes had been forced to flee Rome over squabbles about land and power but their enemies were not long standing and eventually they left France to take up residence again in Rome.

The old walled city can be bicycled around in less than an hour and bisected in 20 minutes. The streets run at crazy angles out from the major boulevarde that runs through the centre, starting near the huge square that stands before the Papal Palace and the Cathedral and flanked by the Mint. This square is the focal point of tour groups and is constantly alive with free concerts given by musicians eager to sell their professionally produced CDs.

Running off the square, the main boulevarde is full of the famous name shops of Europe and the little streets running away from it, full of tiny restaurants, bars and boutiques. Around every corner is another sight of antiquity and charm. Outside the walls the modern city has expanded with a new TGV (fast train) station that looks like a modern airport and many supermarkets and large specialty shops. Exploring Avignon could take a week and you would still have much to see and do. Every day there is a fresh food market in a square or under the city walls where new fruits and old favourites gleam, fresh from the gardens of the region.

As we had our next guest arriving at Avignon in a couple of days, we chose to leave the interiors of the papal palace and cathedral for a tour of discovery with her and turned our attention to the walls, fortifications, streets and markets. We also rode to a nearby town with the crews from the boats before and after us to experience the fun of that town’s agricultural and cultural fair. While much of the fete was centred around the impressive displays of local produce and its production, the start turn was the arrival in the arena of the parade of antique horse drawn carriages and carts, complete with passengers and conducteurs in traditional costumes, including a full wedding party, priest and donkey.

Three days passed in a flash as we got to know the Americans - Hayward and Charlotte from North Carolina and Arno and Monika from Germany. The Americans had sailed three quarters of the way around the globe, also going extensively from south to north as they circumnavigated. They came on board for drinks. bearing a bottle of Jacobs Creek, bought duty free in Darwin after they had sailed there from Queensland and before departing for Indonesia. Monika and Arno were on their annual boating period, returning to Germany a couple of days later to go back to work in order to finance their next year’s travels. After a day or so, Bruce and Jane arrived, keen to soak up the town before flying out for the America’s Cup.

A slight hiccup occurred to Grace’s arrival schedule since her train from Rome to Nice arrived late, missing the connection to Avignon. We received a call from her just after the train she should have been on departed from Avignon with us standing on the platform wondering what to do next. We discovered there was a train from Marseilles to Avignon in an hour that took less than 30 minutes to cover the distance so we sat at the station restaurant for refreshments and waited for her arrival. Within minutes of her successful arrival we had her ongoing tickets organised and were off to the boat in a taxi. French Champagne on arrival and since it was getting late, an early dinner that extended until after 1.00am.

The next day we left the boat for the grand tour of the Papal Palace.

Visitors get a hand held tour guide machine like a tape recorder included in the price of the ticket and at each point of interest during the 2-3 hour tour, a number on the wall is used to start the commentary of that area by the machine. In this way you can take your own time and by using the major and minor numbers offered, learn more or less and take more or less time. The palace is enormous and lavish. Mostly unfurnished (since it has had different purposes over the intervening hundreds of years including being a gaol and an army barracks) it is rebuilt inside and out so that you can visit it in it’s entirety and learn what each room was used for and by who. It was not only the Popes that travelled here but also their clerks, managers, army and other bureaucrats. The vast Catholic empire was ruled from here and since in those times the church ruled the monarchies, it was the centre of the Holy Roman Empire. It is said that Rome is wherever the Pope is and he (they) were at Avignon.

The famous pont d’Avignon was inspired by a peasant named Benezet (later sainted) who was called on by God to build a bridge here. He impressed the local ‘king’ by moving a stone that eight men could not shift and laying it as the foundation stone of the soon to be 22 arch bridge. Carried away on numerous occasions by the flooding Rhone River, it was rebuilt time and time again until 1668 when they gave up and built elsewhere. Where the song now says "On the bridge at Avignon, all are dancing all are dancing", it originally was written as "Under the bridge...." (Sous le Pont rather than Sur le Pont) since the path on top was unpaved and dangerously narrow. The famous regional dances that were celebrated here were actually conducted under the first span, safe from weather and the danger of falling off or impeding traffic, hence the story.

All too soon, time was pressing as we had a number of key towns to pass through on our way to Aigues Mortes, from where we had arranged Grace’s return travel to Italy. We departed Avignon after 5 days, vowing to spend more time there on subsequent journeys. We headed south once more, this time to Arles where we stopped on the floating pontoon provided for pleasure craft. This is just across the river from the main part of the old town in which is found a remarkably well preserved Roman Arena (where bull fights are held) and an Amphitheatre (where plays and concerts are held). Electricity and water are provided on the pontoon which leads up to the high town walls and a conveniently located bridge on which one can cycle into town.

The day we arrived the markets were in full swing so we spent time wandering through the antique stalls on our way to the Arena. After buying tickets that lst three months and give access to about 7 attractions including three museums, we toured the arena, the theatre, the Arlatan Museum, the Van Gogh espace (there are no Van Goghs in Arles despite his enormous output from here) and the huge and highly decorated church in the main town square.

Seeing the colourful posters advertising the bullfights for Friday, Saturday and Sunday, I was convinced I had to see one of these bloodthirsty spectacles while they are still allowed and so bought my ticket. In high demand, almost all of the 12000 seats were sold. Being a single I managed to get a reasonable seat and went away wondering what it would be like.

The weather was beautiful and we arranged a BBQ on the back deck in order to provide the accompanying food to the bottle of Chateauneuf du Papes which we bought at the Avignon palace. The name means the new castle of the popes and the wine is the most highly regulated in the French industry. Famous for it’s flavour and association with the papacy, Chateauneuf du Papes is a full bodied red, full of power but smooth with it. A perfect accompaniment to grilled or roasted meats.

During the afternoon, a neighbouring yachtie advised that the officers of the port had been around and were concerned that Van Nelle was too big for the pontoon, which I later discovered is reserved for boats up to 12 metres. They showed no signs of returning and as we and the pontoon were perfectly safe we thought no more about it until the next morning.

The next day during breakfast saw the return of two men, looking very concerned about our size. They had no alternative to offer and I made it clear that I would stay until a suitable mooring was provided, pointing out the available space at the area reserved for the monster hotel boats. It was decided to visit the offices of the VNF (who ‘own’ the rivers) in order to discover alternatives. Unfortunately the ‘chef’ was absent until after lunch so a meeting was arranged for 2.00pm. Meanwhile I went over the river to the reserve to check out if Van Nelle could take a space there without hampering the hotel boats. I discovered a suitable place (I thought) and took that information to the meeting.

While I was away from the boat however, a customs launch pulled up on the outside of Van Nelle and her officious officers boarded her, demanding the ship’s papers of Maureen. She obliged and they made it known that while we were registered in Holland our Australian flag was improperly hanging off the stern. They take it seriously that the correct flag should be shown to advise the country of registration and on my return warned of the transgression and possible fines if flag etiquette was not adhered to. It is a common practice here among pleasure craft that the country of origin of the owner is shown rather than the registered port but obviously the customs officers have a job to do. They didn’t comment on the fact that we were wearing the blue Australian flag and not the more correct red ensign !

The meeting with the chief of the VNF was unsatisfactory as they could only offer a place outside three commercials (OK for us but not suitable with a guest of cautious nature), a place at the base of a 30' ladder up the walls (also unsuitable to us all) and they advised that the depth at the commercial quail was too shallow, a fact I had been unable to determine due to the silt in the water. We were advised however that there was a suitable place at Fourques. This town is some 8 km by river as we have to back track up the Rhone to the beginning of the Petite Rhone and then navigate it for some distance. This brings you back to the back of Arles about 1 kilometre from where you started. We wanted to remain close since the bullfight was the next day and the girls wanted more time in the shops, so we set off.

Fourques was entirely unsuitable. The quai indicated no longer exists and the alternative was inaccessible due to the current and besides, was far too small. I reckon I can put Van Nelle in some pretty difficult to navigate spots but this one was not worth the risk. We sailed on to make the village of St Gilles by 6.00pm. While St Gilles is a busy rental boat base and winter harbour, the town is not interesting.

None of this turned out to be bad by the way. We had to go in this direction to make our pre-arranged itinerary and we were now on the canal and off the river system, protected from the floods the VNF and city officials had suggested were on the way by the lock system. In retrospect their ploy might have been to get us to move, but despite this, we were actually doing what we wanted to do with a slight diversion.

The next day at St Gilles, we craned the scooter off the boat to take me into Arles for the bullfights while the girls took the bus to nearby Nimes, another very historic and attractive large regional town with Roman ruins, which is not on the canal.

We are now of course in Provence, the area made famous to many by the books of Peter Mayle - ‘A Year in Provence’ and ‘Toujours Provence’. The overwhelming impressions are: the change of architecture to low, dun coloured stone and tile buildings; royal blue and yellow dominant colours everywhere; Roman ruins everywhere; fortress towns, walled cities; extensive renovation and preservation of historic buildings; people in regional costumes and fresh produce. This is the Van Gogh area (Arles was where he was hospitalised and cut off his ear) and where he produced more than 350 paintings in less than a year. Despite this, there are no Van Gogh paintings in the town.

This is also the area of the Camargue, the famous sprawling wilderness of marshes and wild horses. The people here are darker and speak with a harder, more nasal twang. There is a great deal of Spanish and Moorish influence in customs, clothing, architecture and food and there are tourists everywhere ! Even us.

I rode the little Peugeot scooter towards Arles, eventually joining the extension of the autoroute (while being rudely honked at by passing lorries) that led into the historic town. Most of the main streets were cordoned off by hordes of Police Municipale and Gendarmes but they treat scooters like pedestrians and I was able to ride directly to the main entrance of the arena. Surrounding the huge Roman gladiatorial centre, large crowds were taking advantage of the sunshine and the many bars and restaurants to indulge in late lunches of yellow piles of rice, prawns and chicken paella and jugs of sangria, the Spanish spiced wine. A very loud and not too expert brass band played loud bullfight type music in the square outside the main entrance to entertain the crowd as the time approached 5.00pm and the start of the event.

The arena inside was packed with about 12,000 people and the carefully raked sand floor was decorated with two oval shaped white lines and a large W brand in the centre. Shortly after 5.00pm the big (and very professional) band struck up ‘Toreador’ from the opera ‘Carmen’ and the event started with the parade of the combatants. First the two beautifully groomed horses with their equally beautiful riders shepherding the 3 matadors, followed by nine toreadors and then the picadors on their heavily armoured horses. Other costumed participants followed in swirls of bright uniform colours and then they all melted off the centre of the ring to the protection of the inner fence that is punctuated by guarded entries through which the men can escape the rage of the bull in the ring.

A man enters the arena carrying a huge sign indicating the name of the first matador, the size, age and breeder of the first bull and as he slowly revolves it so the crowd can confirm the first of six fights the matadors and toreadors engage in muscle stretching exercises accompanied by balletic flourishes of their yellow and pink capes. The main man - the matador uses a red cape but he is preceded into the fray by the toreadors or ‘wanna be’ matadors whose job it is to wear off the bulls first energy.

The bull is released into the ring and the crowd now erupts into shouts and whistles. The toreadors, some six of them, take it in turns to goad the bull to charge them as they step nimbly out of the ring behind the guarded exits. Now the matador enters and does some initial passes of the bull which is at this stage full of spit and anger.

The sign of a top bullfighter is the limit he moves his feet (to move further from the path of the bull or to position himself back or forward and the closeness he stays to the bull as it charges. I saw three matadors fight two bulls each and two were experts. One, El Juli, looked to be about 19 years old, the other perhaps 20. El Juli had the crown on its feet with both bulls by getting closer and closer and moving less and less except to pirouette as the bull charged past. In the end, he stood inches from the head of the bull with its horns circling his waist as he passed his cape behind his body so that the bull was swinging his head back and forward across the front of his waist. He executed his bulls with a single lunge that had both bulls drop dead instantly. The crowd erupted to its feet with a huge roar, waving white handkerchiefs and cascading flowers hats and garments into the ring.

Bullfighting is not, in the end, a pretty sight. The bull is weakened by the picadors plunging spears into their necks and toreadors sticking short spears into the same spot. Blood streams down their flanks as they charge, again and again at the annoying capes and the man behind it. But you have to admire the skill and bravery of the bullfighters and the heart of the bulls, which, handled by great matadors, do not suffer long. The picadors who sit on heavy horses clothed in armoured skirts wait for the bulls to charge their mounts before sticking them with their spears. In most cases the horse is well protected but once during this day a bull got in under the skirt and the horse had extreme difficulty walking out.

I had extremely mixed feelings during the event but in the end I was glad I had been able to witness such an age old, brutal and primitive blood sport before it is banned as it must eventually be. During the day, attendants were urging the audience to sign petitions to protect the sport. Many did not.

We left St Gilles the next day for Aigues Mortes. This fortress town is described as ‘rising from the plain like a ship, washed up on the Camargue’. One minute you are slowly cruising through seemingly endless, flat plains of reeds and rice paddies surrounded by lakes and salt marshes, the next a perfectly symmetrical walled town, complete in all detail stands before you. It is surprising and stunning. We passed a number of boats tied to the banks of the canal as we approached the town and stopped just short of the commercial harbour for a chance to explore ahead before the option of turning was eliminated. Just as well we did since the port de plaisance was completely full of small rental and private pleasure boats. Not an inch to spare. We untied and entered the port, using it’s space to revolve on our axis before retracing our path to a reasonably flat section of old lock wall, directly opposite a supermarket.

As we tied up and unshipped the bikes for an exploration of the town we exchanged pleasantries with a single woman on board her Dutch Tjalk across the canal. American, Kate Hill has been in France 15 years, cruising in her lovely boat 'Julia Hoyt' and conducting cooking classes in her canal-side farmhouse, 'Camont' near Agen. An author and now scriptwriter, she is actively planning a television series about her adventures in the canal and throughout the kitchens of Gascony. We exchanged dinners over the next two days with her coming over for a BBQ that night and her reciprocating with a delicious warm salad the next, preceded by a visit to a little oyster restaurant I had found in town for aperitifs and oysters. The oysters here come from the Etang de Tau, a lake system about 30km from Aigues Mortes - so they are FRESH and they are HUGE. There are of course different sizes but I ordered two dozen Grande and a bottle of the local Rose and we sat sliding the monsters down our throats for an hour or so. Explosions of sea water and soft, supple flavour. Absolutely wonderfully delicious.

The town itself is almost exclusively turned over to tourism, especially at this time of the year. Inside the walls are rows of very neat houses that have been there since the crusades since this was just one of the huge numbers of crusaders castles built to drive out the infidel moors and hold the land for France and God. The streets that separate the houses are narrow and lined in the centre of town with shops of every description, all filled with attractive clothes, artifacts, foodstuffs and tourist friendly articles. Beautiful designer clothes, bags and shoes are made here and art shops also abound. Every second shop is a restaurant and they mostly specialise in the specialities de terroire. It is not expensive. Our 2 dozen huge oysters, shucked immediately for us were accompanied by bread, butter, lemon and a bottle of Rose for 30 Euros. If you could get anything like these oysters in Perth, they and the wine would cost double the local price.

The wines here are known as the Vins de Sables - wines of the sands, as they are grown on reasonably poor sandy soil. They have the technique pretty right however since the wines are fresh, drink now whites, roses and reds - perfect accompaniment for the local specialities of seafood and terrines.

We retired to Kate’s lovely Tjalk that night for the warm salad, accompanied by the queen of French white wines - a Montrachet. The wine the English queen is supposed to prefer, this is the peak of Burgundian Chardonnay production. It exhibits a long, smooth character of intense fruit and rich oak flavour but not a bit like any Australian Chardonnay. I’m not going to say it is better than the great Hunter or Margaret River whites but it is different, intensely elegant and leaves you crying that you don’t have more of it (till the next buying spree). We also opened a bottle of Chinon, a local and very specialised wine from south of the Burgundy area, closer to the med. Light and soft and very drinkable. The meal finished with an intense fortified liqueur wine into which one dips chocolate coated biscots - hard biscuit fingers- as a dessert of a difference.

We are learning that less is more in some cases. An elegant but simple salad made up of small, full leaf lettuce topped with boiled new potatoes, strips of cured fish and chicken, accompanied by goats cheeses and drizzled with a dressing made of home made vinegar and local cold pressed, virgin olive oil and followed by biscots and liqueur. Simple, fresh, filling, fabulous flavours and fine wines to round it off. Wonderful stuff.

With a Canadian couple heading up from Italy to join us in a couple of days, we decided to stay put in Aigues Mortes (which is only 24 kilometres from the airport they are to arrive at) so that they can discover this amazing place with us. This was also time to say a sad farewell to Grace who had spent a week with us on this part of our voyage of discovery. As usual, our decision to stay proved to be prescient since, as we woke on the day Grace left, the heavens opened and a huge thunderstorm swept the canal, raising the water level several feet and accompanied by very high winds. Fortunately, Grace was spared a long, wet bus ride, a change of conveyance to local train, then TGV then another change to Inter country train before getting to Rome the next day, by Kate who was heading towards Avignon and was able to drop her at the TGV station for a direct link to Nice and then Roma.

I love it when a plan comes together. I also love being delightfully surprised by finding areas that exceed every expectation. While most people think of France as Paris, Champagne and Burgundy, I am starting to learn that there are so many areas that are better than the one you just left that time here is never going to be long enough. Thank goodness we don’t have a deadline.

Next: The Canal du Midi, the Etang de Tau, the Mediterranean and of course, more food and wine.