2002 CRUISES

July 15 to August 17

During the next month we had no live-aboard visitors and so devoted ourselves to travel and exploration. That is not to say that we were without company, quite the opposite. When you travel the canals you meet more people in a month than you meet in a year at home !

We departed Nevers after a week, having made our sad farewells to the Palmers shortly after our arrival there. Our next stop was Decize, a fair size town with a cosy canal-side ‘halte fluvial’ just across the street from a large supermarche that had a service station attached. We noticed here that the fuel prices were low this week (they fluctuate 10c regularly) and so decided to try to arrange a fuel delivery.

There are two ways of obtaining fuel in large quantities for a boat like Van Nelle. The first is to buy at canal or river fuel bunker-ships or shore installations (of which there are less and less as commercial barging declines). The second is to arrange for a fuel distributor to send a truck to where-ever you are. We chose the second method since there are no fuel stops within days of Decize and, while we had sufficient fuel for another couple of weeks, I choose to keep the tank more than half full whenever possible. We needed 600 to700 litres and since we have only a glass sight tube and dead reckoning as to the exact amount I ordered 600 litres by phone. I did this at the tourist information office, whose staff were kind enough to find a suitable distributor with the right fuel at the right price - delivered.

Quite often you find that while the street price of diesel is (say) 71 cents at the Supermarche service station, the ‘boat price’ is over 84 cents at a bunker-ship at the same time. We had enquired at the nearby boat rental station and they had offered us the same fuel at 1 Euro per litre. We arranged delivery at 73 cents per litre ! One needs to ensure the correct fuel is used since there are three varieties. Gazoil is the diesel for boat engines, red gazoil (at about 34 cents per litre) can only be used for heating and power generation and diesel fuel is a derivative (at about 50 cents) used for domestic heating systems.

We fuelled up, causing quite a stir among other boaties who had not come across that method of obtaining fuel and were all eager to enjoy the price benefits. Unfortunately, unless there are more than a couple of small boats adding their total to more than 500 litres, the distributors are not keen to send trucks running around the country for an occasional 50 litres. The other trick is that, if you order 500 litres, that’s all you get. You cannot extend the amount with the driver, although you probably can refuse to take the complete load if you have over ordered. The trucks have on-board invoice machines but not remote credit card devices, so it is cash or local cheque. We use our French cheque account for the purpose.

While at Decize, we explored the ramparts of the town (early 12^th century) and the various waterways that join together there. Decize is the start of the Canal du Nivernais, a beautiful meandering waterway that is punctuated by small, pretty towns and picturesque country vistas. We had explored it about three or four years ago with two other couples, on a hire boat from the Locaboat company. Also at Decize is the confluence of the Loire River with the town occupying a sort of island with canals on two sides and the river on a third. Old churches, a monastery turned into a school and narrow streets bordered by half timbered houses make up the scenery, together with a kilometre of walkway between huge plain trees, planted a couple of centuries back.

Gannay was our next stop and by comparison, this is a small village. The little port however is a gem with good water depth at the quai side, plenty of long walls to tie against, electricity and water available free, a toilet and shower block and a port side bar and restaurant. Nearby is the town with a boulangerie for fresh bread, a boucherie for barbecue meats and a small supermarche for the other necessary supplies. It was here that we met some new friends and enjoyed music and parties.

On our arrival we were met by a tall, greying, and very cultured Englishman who jumped off his boat to take our lines, injuring himself slightly on a piece of wire near the bollard as he did so. ‘No trouble’ he insisted and disappeared back to his boat after we were settled. Shortly after, as we were fussing over springs and resetting the bow and stern lines, we were accosted by a very playful and very, very shaggy, black dog with an old plastic bottle, much chewed, in his mouth - obviously wanting a game of catch. We indulged him for a while, which automatically meant meeting his owners, a Dutch couple with a 25 metre Tjalk - a converted sailing barge. Huib and Door Winkel have been floating about for 20 plus years, and like us, were just going where they were pointing, unless something or someone came along to provide a reason for a different plan - or indeed a plan at all.

That evening we were entertained by the Englishman, Bob Fellingham, and one of his crew. Bob turned out to be an accomplished accordionist and his crew member played a cut down cello which he had made. They made excellent music ! We ended up staying several days during which we shared convivial times at the local bar and on the back deck of Van Nelle. Barbecues took precedence over formality and parties started at the drop of a cork. We were sorry to leave but as it happened, we leapfrogged Huib and Door for the next couple of weeks, continuing to enjoy their company and getting some exercise by throwing pieces of old kindling for their dog. We also had time during the days to prepare and revarnish parts of the wheelhouse, which were starting to show signs of grey through the gloss.

Leaving Garnay we arrived shortly after at Garnat, another small village, but near to the town of Bourbon Lancy - a beautiful medieval town that was recommended by our Dutch friends as a place to enjoy lunch. We rode the nine kilometres to the town on our Peugeot scooter and were entranced as soon as we arrived. They were right about the beauty of the old town which was like a small historical world with tiny streets and tiny buildings. In one of the streets we were confronted by live music at an outdoor restaurant which not only looked very romantic but was friendly, inexpensive and had delicious charcuterie (plates of meats and breads), omelettes, salads and cheeses. A bottle of Sancerre (chardonnay) was excellent too ! We enjoyed a lazy lunch and wobbled back to the boat after a suitable wait and walk to reduce the effects of the lunch.

We decided to continue that day to the next town as it was highly recommended, and, after arrival at Diou, found signs pointing to a night market (Fete Nocturne). We explored a bit and then set off for the field next to the camping area where all was in readiness for the night’s entertainment. The local marching band was seated in the centre, playing their obviously very familiar tunes about three times through since their repertoire was not extensive. Even we became familiar with the tunes during that concert. Nearby was a rotisserie with huge hams being cooked while next to it was the bar and the wood fired oven truck that was turning out loaves of peasant bread (pain paysanne). All around the perimeter of the field were other local produce stalls, beer, honey, cakes, meats, woodwork, wines, cheeses and artifacts. We tried the beer (not very good), the cheeses (very gamey), the wines (pleasant) and had huge plates of ham and frites (chips) after fighting through the queue.

Queues are not taken very seriously in France and this becomes a matter of some frustration for us disciplined etrangers. I have arrived at places to be (say) fourth in the queue, only to find that more and more people arrive who know numbers one, two and three in the same line. Soon you find you are number sixteen in the queue and getting further away from the delivery point by the minute. Its at about that time that I take the attitude that ‘good for one, good for all’ is the way to play it, and walk to the head of the queue. You hear some muttered comments occasionally that include the words ‘etrangers’ and ‘connaisance’ and believe that they have recognised that the stranger realises the system and has taken his own action to circumvent it. No one argues in public but sometimes in crowded boulangeries in bigger towns, and certainly in any La Poste agency, things can get a little heated. In La Poste (the French Post Offices) they now have surveillance video cameras and signs that say "Welcome to La Poste. Our staff are pleased to help you. Please do not commit acts of aggression towards them". I have waited for an hour in a queue of only ten people, as those in front try to outstay those who have made them wait before. When you do get to the top of the queue, the girl puts up a sign "Ferme" and closes the section. Fun !

We shared a table with three French people, a woman and two men at the Fete Nocturne. They ran the nearby Renault Foundry, making parts for the cars and trucks. Conversation in French was simple but very satisfying and we talked for over an hour, understanding most of what was being said. We parted as friends with offers of tours of the factory if we were ever in the neighbourhood.

Digoin was the next stop. A biggish town and much written about. We found most of it closed or predictable and stayed only long enough to discover there was very little to discover and so moved on to Briennon.

At Briennon you find a very neat port, overlooked by a story book village furnished with very modern looking red brick buildings. Each little two story brick house and building seems to be decorated by boxes of flowers, all in harmony with the layout of gardens tended daily by employees of the Ville. Near to the port is a very neat Musee du Canal, comprising a full size Peniche (38m barge) which has been lifted out of the water and converted into a museum. It is set in a garden that contains a complete miniature waterway, complete with locks, pont canals (canals across rivers), ascenseurs (lifting docks), sous terrains (tunnels) and radio controlled model barges. I itched to get my hands on one of the control boxes but feared I would not have the skill of the six year olds currently piloting their boats about the mini-fluviale. We retired to the air conditioned museum to listen to an hour of very rapid French explanation.

And then, on to Roanne. I should mention that at this stage we had been travelling down the trunk canal that goes off the main North - South route, to the terminal city of Roanne, once a very busy barge port. The port at the end of the canal is vast as it originally had to handle hundreds of busy barges taking coal and other products out of town and bringing supplies and raw materials in. Since the railways and roads took over the job that was once done by barges, the port has converted itself into a popular and well occupied ‘home port’ and wintering harbour for many private boats of all sizes.

Our friends Lindy and Roger Tindley from St Jean de Losne, an English couple we had spent much time with during the past winter, had chosen to move here earlier in the year as Roger spends weeks away piloting remote control submarines in the North Sea oil fields. Roanne offers better facilities for Lindy, who is left minding the baby - baby boat in this case. We were looking forward to meeting up with them again after a separation of some three months and so looked for their boat as we entered the harbour. We saw it at the end reserved for smaller boats but there was no-one on board at the time. We turned and headed for our berth some two hundred metres away, just near a large marquee that had been erected on the shore side of the port.

We stayed at Roanne for five days, catching up with Lindy (Roger was away working), having grumbling teeth checked by a young and very competent dentist, visiting towns and dams in the area by scooter, and attending the karaoke night market that was held every Saturday night, right next to our mooring (hence the marquee). We invited two new American friends plus Lindy and her daughter to join us on the deck of Van Nelle for a barbecue, and to watch and enjoy the nights amateur entertainment. Fortunately the karaoke finished at 10.30pm so we had no problems having a quiet night sleep.

Our new American friends, Bill and Francis were about to pack up and leave their boat in the care of Jackie the harbourmaster, since Bill had work to do in Dubai. We had other things to do also, especially since the word was out that the Canal du Centre was about to close. This is the canal that we were to take from the top end of the Canal du Roanne to Chalon and thence on to St Jean de Losne via the Saone River. If it were to close before we exited at Chalon we would have to return to Paris and go south via Germany or the Canal Marne et Saone, a detour of about 1,000km. We headed off, ensuring that we made good progress each day so that we could get clear but still enjoy the places of interest still in front of us.

Returning up the Roanne branch canal we again stopped at Briennon and rode the bicycles to the town of Charlieu to see it’s musee and monastery. The town was spared bombing in WWII (unlike Roanne which suffered extensively and has virtually no old buildings), and it offers a beautiful and extensive old town with many venerable ancient buildings set in wide avenues. It also has a beautifully restored Hotel Dieu (hospital) built in the 11^th century but updated over time. It closed as the town’s principal hospital only some 10-15 years ago. This set of buildings now serve as a dual museum - of silk, a local industry - and of the hospital. Run by nuns until very recent times, this was the maternity, surgery and general hospital for the district. It’s wards are large open rooms which, like dormitories in 1960s boarding schools, were furnished with iron beds around the perimeters of the rooms with only curtains for privacy. The original wooden beds were burned in 1950 as ordered by the Mairie since they were infested with ancient bed bugs !

The town still produces fabulous silk materials that are used in haute couture and in decoration. All the big fashion names are represented by examples of their gowns and in the many pictures of ravishing models, wearing the clothes made from the diaphanous or highly ornamented materials. These and the methods of production are all carefully explained in English language written guides.

The nearby monastery is one of the 1600 organisations once managed by its ‘mother’ house, the monastery at Cluny. This extensive network of property and production, run, managed and staffed entirely of non salaried monks, made it possible for the gathering of wealth which was the envy, and finally the property, of the Kings of France. The monks owned huge land holdings, the taxes from which fuelled the growth of their orders. The Kings, wanting part of the action, used the rules of the order to install their own management, usurping the right of the monks to choose their own leader, and thereby making it possible to divert much of the income to their own coffers. This cosy system was however upset by the revolution when the committee of public safety ordered all religious buildings and lands forfeit and sold them off to the highest bidders. Since they were at the same time cutting the heads off most of the nobles (who held most of the country’s wealth) it was pot luck as to who ended up owning the lands and chateaux, many of which were vandalised and their buildings ruined by locals plundering the stone and timber to reinforce or build their own homes.

While the museum is the best we have seen in explaining the origin, daily routines and orders of the monks, much of the original monastery was ruined at the time of the revolution, so that while the cloister and some rooms remain, most of the evidence of its passing is told by the foundations that have been unearthed.

On we went then to Paray le Monial, a religious town with extensive facilities for water borne travellers. One approaches the town centre down a tree lined canal, as long as it is straight. On both sides, seemingly for kilometres, are bollards and straight sided walls of deck height. We chose to stop before one of the town’s bridges in a shaded area that was unfortunately exposed to the traffic on the main road. We tied up and explored forward on foot, finding another port section after the bridge in a quieter place. We moved and explored forward, only to find yet another port - this one with water and power on tap. We chose not to move a third time as we didn’t need the facilities and were quite happy with our position.

Paray has a large Basilica which housed the artifacts and remnants of the life of Saint Marguerite Mary who had a vision of the heart of Jesus and started a custom of pilgrimage to the town in the 18 hundreds that has not died out since. The town is geared for pilgrims and religious groups, mostly in the one star category. They arrive by train, bus and car, to stay in the extensive one star hotels and pensions, camping areas and church owned boarding houses. They attend the basilica and the other churches and chapels where services are conducted often in languages other than French. There are extensive meeting and exposition facilities, both permanent and temporary. We saw an area furnished with canvas structures such as are used for Rally Australia but at least 5 - 10 times the size and extent.

We went on the basilica tour and were getting to understand a lot more about the architecture of churches when a funeral procession entered the church and forced us out into the streets. The one hour basilica tour turned out to be fifteen minutes with the balance being made up by the guide taking us through the old town to the other main attractions. The rest of the town is just as interesting with old streets and buildings predominating. Gustav Klimt, a ground breaking artist of the last century was recognised by a fascinating exhibition of ceramic art, held in the converted tower of a church that had fallen victim to the Revolution, the tower being the only part left standing. We pored over reproductions of his work, made by glueing small pieces of ceramics in place, instead of making brush strokes. Remarkable and very beautiful.

Some New Zealanders from St Symphorien (near St Jean de Losne) had been to one of our famous Sunday Lunches in St Jean and they turned up here on their 24m Luxemotor barge with paying guests in the shape of a family. We chatted, but since they had PGs (paying guests as we call them), we had no chance to party. Just as well, since the last time we had, they left us with serious head injuries of the self inflicted kind. There is a serious danger of such occupational hazards in this life style and it has a lot to do with liquids - both red and white.

Paray le Monial is an interesting town worth some time to explore so we spent a couple of happy days before setting off to keep ahead of the canal closure deadline, and arrived at our next port of call - Digoine with an E. This is not disappointing Digoin - it features a beautiful chateau that has it’s own theatre and is still occupied by the original family !

The Chateau was a short bicycle ride from the canal where we had stopped in the company of George and Maggie Pringle who are cruising on their boat ‘Bengta’, a reproduction Luxemotor now only 15 years old. The canal side stop is in a quiet location, occupied occasionally by a few fishermen who never seem to catch anything, but if they do, they throw the results back into the canal. We arrived at the chateau just before 2.30pm, at which time a conducted tour was about to start. We bought tickets and were shown over the property by (it is rumoured by George and Maggie), the existing owning family’s grandfather. He certainly knew the whole history of the place, treated it like home and ruled over the property’s stray children just like a grandfather - but perhaps that comes from being the owner of a theatre.

Build purely for the entertainment of the original family, this reproduction Italian opera house is a National Trust monument but is in need of the visitor’s Euros to effect some much needed repairs. One can see through the dust and mould what a gem it was. It would seat about 80 if they were crushed in to the red brocade padded benches in the stalls or the same in the gallery, to witness the Counts and Lords who, as friends of the family, were invited to stay at the Chateau and act out parts in the amateur productions put on for fun. The orchestra pit would fit perhaps three musicians if they played very small instruments, while in the front and centre of the stage is a large prompters box, which, one assumes, was probably very much in demand by the amateur thespians who once graced the stage. A couple of programmes, casually pinned to the walls, show that Sara Bernhardt and Offenbach visited. They would have enjoyed the surroundings, as the chateau and its French gardens and English park are very beautiful, tranquil and sumptuously furnished.

On to Montceau les Mines, a centre of mining - although the much vaunted museum of mining is situated in another town some distance away - and, since I have seen extensive mining operations in Kalgoorlie, I was not enticed away from the canal to visit it. Montceau offered a market right alongside the harbour as we arrived and, at the three screen movie house, was also offering a movie that we wanted to see. That night we went to the movies and while we watched we concentrated as hard as possible to translate the rapid fire French dubbed onto American actors, but it was a bit too quick and we left the theatre wondering what the nuances of the plot were.

The day we arrived in Montceau however was also the day of two important person’s birthdays - our son Simon, who has just relocated to Port Hedland, and Miria Jane Cummins - well known yachtswoman and RFBYC member. Happy Birthday greetings were made by the magic of the mobile phone. The usual surge of homesick nostalgia was also a result.

We departed Montceau for Montchanin early the next morning, as we had been warned there were nine boats heading in the same direction, and we wanted to be ahead of the pack. Following boats without a suitable gap can cause great frustration as many inexperienced water borne travellers can cause havoc with automatic locks and in narrow stretches of the canals, causing long delays. We left promptly and were fortunate to be the first into the stretch ahead that featured a flight of seven locks in one town (7 locks almost end to end) and a total of 20 for the day’s travel. We went only about 15km in distance but with 20 locks, it added up to a 6 hour travel day. 6 hours is quite a long time to stand at the wheel. Water suction caused by the propellor moving huge quantities of water between the shallow bottom and the hull causes the boat to swing viciously from side to side, even at very slow speeds, and it becomes tiring fighting the boat back onto a central course . We were pleased therefore to arrive at our day’s destination, Montchanin in the mid afternoon.

Here we saw the unforgettable outline of a small boat we had encountered at Sens, many weeks before. The owners of the boat, called Chapter III, are Dwight and Fran Fisher, an elderly American couple who reckon that Chapter I was their life before boating, Chapter II was their 30' sailboat on which they navigated the Panama Canal and Chapter III is now their canal boat in Europe. Not bad for a couple well into their 70s ! They introduced us to Bill and Betty, another American couple who have a very small Luxemotor, which they believe must have been built to take farm produce to market in the upper reaches of the Netherlands. We invited them all over for a barbecue dinner, after having already had an extensive lunch with Dwight and Fran. Much damage to the brain cells resulted as the ‘water’ stories - good and bad - were recounted.

While everyone accumulates their own experiences, these sessions also pass many shared experiences around so that you often hear the same tales coming back in slightly modified conditions. Mostly, stories are self deprecating tales of your own misfortune or misadventure, but often they are about accidents and unfortunate occurrences witnessed en-route - and about the arrogance and downright bullying activities of some of the hotel boats plying the waterways.

We were in St Leger later and when we arrived there were a number of large and small boats in a line down a quai outside the town’s port de plaisance. During the afternoon a young man arrived demanding the boats between us and the bridge all move - four boats including two over 25 metres. Several of them were secured with their own stakes that have to be hammered into the ground when there are no bollards available. There already was a suitable area for a hotel boat, with power and water alongside, just 100 metres down stream but this guy wanted to put his boat next right next to the nearby bridge. Why ? So his aged American passengers did not have to walk 100 metres to their tour bus or the nearest bar. The other boats all moved. When they looked like demanding the same of us I demanded proof that a) they had the right to be here at all and b) that they had a particular place reserved for them by the town. They could not produce proof, just bluster and nor did they offer to assist the other boat owners despite having half a dozen young men crew members doing nothing. To make matters worse, the hotel boat helmsman constantly applied his forward gear, creating wash and suction, bodily thrusting the moving and untethered boats out into the canal centre, in order to keep his boat clear of the opposite bank - unnecessarily.

We have all had experiences with hotel boat crews demanding boats leave or move since they insist they have precedence. Most times they have no such rights but they work on the gullibility of the hire boat users and part time privateers. We have developed a technique to handle them which consists of politely agreeing to move - after they furnish written proof of their authority, from the Mairie concerned. If they cannot do so, we don’t move. They will learn eventually that they are not the owners and rulers of all they survey. In places where there is such priority, signs are displayed with schedules attached, showing which hotel boats are expected and when. We are all happy to accept such provisions.

Many first time travellers to France are convinced they will be confronted by similar arrogant and unhelpful Frenchman. While I’m sure these fabled ogres do exist (and have actually encountered one or two, mostly in not very good restaurants), they are very rare and are greatly outnumbered by the rest of the population, many of whom go out of their way to be helpful and friendly.

We were stopped at a lock when approached by a young man who had been explaining the operations of the mechanisms to his two young children. He enquired shyly whether we were Australian, having seen the flag, and chatted about his son’s (his ?) fascination with boats. He was originally from the area and was on holiday with his family. He pointed out his very pretty wife standing by their Renault people mover nearby.

"Would we perhaps consider taking them on board for the short trip to the next town ?" he asked, and we readily agreed with the usual warnings about the dangers of young children and big boats.

It was a hot day and we offered cordial and cookies as we departed the lock en route to Briennon. The kids crawled over the hot decks and the young father quietly kept them well under control as we slowly meandered through the countryside. Around the final turn and the town and its port lay ahead. I advised the father that we would stop at the port to let them off and then continue to our preferred mooring just around the next corner. While we were tied up he explained he was now living near Bordeaux at the great wine town of St Emilion and if we were ever near we should contact him. He was, he explained, a clarinetist with the Bordeaux Opera and he would love to reciprocate our hospitality by arranging a concert or a visit to the opera. We delightedly exchanged names and addresses with promises to contact them.

A small exchange of chat leading to an opportunity to get into the real life of France. It happens often to us and to others. One couple who moored canal side in front of a house were even asked if they would like to stay at the house during the heat of summer as it was air conditioned and the family were off for a week’s holiday the next day. They were given the key to the family house having known the owners for just two days !

We were now on the home stretch for St Jean de Losne, the town we had wintered in and our jumping off place for our next big adventure, the trip down the mighty Rhone River to the Canal du Midi. First, we had to get to St Jean, service the engine and catch up with 4 months of accumulated business mail and other bits and pieces, plus the social life that always flavours our lifestyle. To do so meant travelling through Chagny, on to Chalon sur Saone and then the 60km trip to St Jean.

Chagny offered a market on the morning after our arrival which we took in and then prepared to depart. As we untied the boat we saw Bill and Betty arriving. We were tempted to do a Sunday lunch with some of the delicious ready-to-eat foods on offer at the market - but resisted and left them to it. We headed off in slightly overcast conditions but had a mostly dry trip to Chalon. On the way we were some times held up for half an hour at a time at unmanned locks that were not programmed to prepare for a stream of one way boats. Lock keepers arrived in cars and with long discussions on mobile phones, kept the procession of hire boats and ourselves moving on.

The final lock into Chalon is a monster by comparison the en-route locks in the canals. This one drops the boat more than10 metres into a dank and humid pit, towered over by the huge guillotine door and chains that raise it above your boat as you pass through the exit to the river. We have been through other, larger locks in Belgium and Holland but this one after so long away from the big commercial waterways is one that awes.

We were not keen to go into Chalon and also wanted an early start for the 12 km per hour dash to St Jean on the Saone River the next morning so we asked the eclusiers if we could remain overnight at the floating pontoons used by boats waiting for the lock. He agreed and we secured Van Nelle after exiting to the river side. Fortunately only two more sets of boats passed through in our direction before the ecluse closed for the night so we were virtually uninterrupted by the huge amounts of water that exit the locks as it operates. This ecluse is 40metres long and 7 wide with a depth of 10.5m - almost 3,000 cubic metres of water coming our way - is that 300 tonnes of water ?

We were up early the next morning and took the short strip out to the river at slow speed to let the Baudouin engine warm up before throttling it up to achieve 12 kmh against the current. Only three locks separate St Jean from Chalon and they are all huge in size but not in depth. They take a while to operate since there is about 100 metres by 20 by a depth of 2.5m but there was little other traffic on the river and so we made the distance in 5 hours. As we arrived, so did our friends, Caroline and Matthew, permanent residents of the Ancien Ecluse where we were to stay for a week preparing for the trip south. Matthew, a 747 captain and his partner Caroline had been in the UK for a week celebrating birthdays and had just driven down from Dijon where they had left their car while away. A great piece of timing.

That night we had drinks to meet their guests, daughter Sam and boyfriend Ben (another pilot) and to plan the rest of the week. Dinner was arranged for 8 on Van Nelle for Wednesday, water skiing on the river for Thursday - a holiday in France for Assumption - a dinner at the local Brasserie - L’Amiral on Saturday and a visit to town for the fireworks on Thursday night. Other friends were returning to or passing through St Jean also during the week so there were more dinners and drinks to be arranged and weathered. By chance, a couple of the people I had taken my barge operators license with were also arriving within days so the pace was guaranteed to be fast and furious.

The next week then was filled with servicing the main engine; from the sump of which I scooped out about 10kg of the accumulated sludge of 30 years and into which I poured 40 litres of specialised heavy duty diesel oil, revarnishing parts of the wheelhouse; stocking up on necessary parts and supplies, updating the website ( ) with new pictures and these simple musings and catching up with the business mail and other routine matters. Between, before and after such tasks lay the real jobs of socialising and circulating. Very important stuff.

Tonight is the big fireworks display - ‘Feu d’Artifice’ - and over the next couple of days some important dinners, lunches and drinks. There is new cordage to be bought, spliced and applied and some areas of paintwork to be renewed - and then - on to the mighty Rhone River.

The Rhone is about 450 kilometres long with some six major locks that retard the flow from the Rhine, the Saone, the Doubs and the Rhone itself - into huge hydro electric systems and thereby tame the ice melt and summer rainfall deluges. These watery inputs can raise the speed of the current to 8 kmh, a speed at which it become difficult to stop and dangerous to manoeuver in when approaching bridges and locks and moorings. It does have the advantage of speeding up the trip however. Add the current (now about 4kmh) to Van Nelle’s cruising speed of 12 and we will travel at about 16kmh - we might be able to water ski.

Last night we had the crew from a nearby boat over for dinner and this morning they arrived to take me out for a ski on the river. I learned on two skis at the age of 12 and had my next lesson in Acapulco some 18 years ago when I achieved the feat of operating on a single ski. I think I had been invited as an object of fun - ‘lets see how the olds can fall off’ sort of thing. Fortunately it went according to my plan. I got up on the first run and on the second, shook off the second ski and stayed on, crossing the wake at speed, for the time allocated. Victory is sweet. The crew in the boat, excellent skiers all including the ski instructor boyfriend of Matthew’s daughter, were full of praise so I guess I scored a point or two. One for the ‘olds’.

So, life is pretty good at the moment, especially since the sun is out, friends are around and an adventure lies ahead. The next episode will be of that adventure, the Rhone and our arrival at the Canal du Midi, a fabled place of heat and beauty. We can’t wait.

2002 JOURNAL