June 3rd 2016

Canals and rivers closed , floods everywhere between here and Paris, so we're out of here, as it's STILL raining! One of the canal banks on the Loing, our proposed route, has collapsed and the canal which leads south to the Briare and the Lateral a la Loire means that entire route is not accessible for at least two months while they re-build that section.

Some people are trapped in mid-journey at whichever point they got to before the canals closed and sitting it out, some without power and water supplies. Laddie had a play with his Cornish friend Louis the Basset hound yesterday when we drove  over to the Loire on a mercy mission with a fresh gas bottle, and car keys, for our friends who set out three weeks ago.

So as we cannot move for a predicted 2 weeks we are leaving this Sunday for 2 weeks in a gite in the Luberon hills in Provence, just north of Marseilles, where so far it is sunny and NOT raining. Yet...........

Fuel seems to be available again so the 363 miles one way should not be a problem.

Looking forward to our 'holiday' now, and will report from the deep south later on.

Phrase of the week for budding francophiles: 

Avoir la gueule de bois  .......  what does that mean?

First responder will get another amusing one.

Bon weekend 

John Sue and Laddie

July 11th and August 19th 2016

Sent 11^th July 2016

The Mission (2): What could possibly go wrong?

OK so we moored for 2 nights in a port/marina called Chitry-les-Mines on the Nivernais canal to rest up from constant slogging uphill through big locks which throw the boat all over the place as thousands of gallons of water are suddenly released and raise us 2.5 metres higher towards the summit in Baye 106 kms from our starting point in Auxerre. For a few short minutes we hang on to the ropes but the power of the water is too strong and I also cut in some reverse thrust from the engine to prevent the bow being sucked under the waterfall at the front of the lock. We do this around 12-16 times a day so a day off is welcome.

Anyway Chitry has a BURGER van which calls and stays for 2 or 3 hours in the evening. Hang on I hear you say ‘a burger van in Burgundy of all places- is this not an offence against the French Gastronome society punishable by torture with chip butties?’

Mais non, these are gourmet burgers with names such as the Aveyronnais (sauce Rocquefort), the Savoyarde (with Raclette cheese) and the Mexicain (with sauce samourai, whatever that is.) All available as single or doubles and the meat is ‘preparation maison’ of course. All for 5.7 Euros.

The Mission comes in because the second night we are there the van does not appear, having enticed our taste buds the first night. The young Anglo-French couple John and Stephanie who run the port and the marine workshop nearby (owned by John’s father Ted) say in casual chat around 5.30 pm ‘what are you eating tonight, then? When I reply ‘cheese sandwiches I suppose’. Without hesitation John tosses me his car keys. ‘It’s an old banger but you can go to the ATAC supermarche in Corbigny, (about 3 miles away). I need it back in about three quarters of an hour.

As I’ve never knowingly been to Corbigny in my life, Sue googles the map and writes the directions on a tiny scrap of paper with a brief shopping list on the back, I crumple it into my shorts pocket, jump in the car, maybe a Renault/ Citroen/Peugeot variant from around the end of last century (I glance at the milometer as I drive along with the windows wide open and it starts with a 3, and it certainly ain’t 30,000.)

All goes well and I drive and park in the ATAC car park, buy the wine, cheese, fruit and eggs and exit.

Back in the car park I now have to find this strange car whose make or number I don’t know and I vaguely remember it was black (or was it dark blue?). But there’s a knackered looking one over there that looks familiar…… The key fits and I slide the rear door to one side, like a van door, clear one or two of his belongings out of the way and haul in the shopping bags and go to slide the door closed. But it won’t budge. 5 minutes later I’ve forensically examined every inch of the door, frame, slide, hinges and looked for a non-existent child safety lock, with rising panic, but no luck. I notice this side of the car has had a massive prang with long dents and scratch marks down the side , so there’s no option but to drive with the door wide open and hope nothing important blows out.

Re-stacking the bags in front of the passenger door I set off back. Reversing the order of arrival I turn left, up to the top of the road and then right. After that it’s right, down to the roundabout and last exit (first exit when I came in) then it’s a straight country road back to the port. At the last turn to go to the roundabout my worst nightmare happens. A gendarme stands in the middle of the road with arm raised in an uncompromising NO ENTRY gesture. Behind him a big red and white barrier marked ROAD CLOSED (in French) has mysteriously materialised in the few short minutes I have made my trolley dash in the supermarket. Tantalizingly I can see the roundabout 100 yards away but it may as well be on the moon.

Merde!

 The Gendarme points imperiously in the opposite (and only) direction, the main road to Nevers about 40 miles away with no other options. As I turn, a shout follows me from the ‘flic’ ‘’your door’s open!!’’ ‘’ I know!!’’ There’s no way I’m going to stop and explain I borrowed the damaged car and can’t shut the door, I’m possibly uninsured and by the way, how do I get to the port?

There’s traffic behind me so no time to do anything other than follow the road which after 100 yards puts me in open countryside in Nievre, the remotest rural Department in France, with nothing but grass and cows between me and Nevers. I expected ‘Deviation’ signs, or more Gendarmes to appear but after a couple of kilometres there was nothing. Merde and double merde.

Stop and re-assess options.

Sitrep, as they say on Top Gear when they are in a pickle: In hurry to leave I had forgotten to pick up my phone. Zut, alors!

In any case I only had Sue’s number and her phone was only occasionally heard even when it worked.

I had no map, and had not seen a single recognisable road sign since the junction.

I only knew the port was called Chaumot, at Chitry, but no other village names.

Taking a deep breath I turned round and drove back to the now busy junction full of confused drivers. Somehow I had to attract his attention but he was busy talking to another lost motorist. So I parked directly blocking the corner, half on the road and the other half on the road so that he couldn’t ignore me, and jumped out, running across to the Gendarme. At this point I was half expecting him to whip off his hat and glasses to reveal Jeremy Beadle saying HAHA! You should have seen your face when you saw the road closed!

Monsieur, I’m lost! I have to get back to my boat on the canal at Chaumot and I have no map or ‘phone, and I don’t know this area. The situation then unbelievably turned worse. ‘’Moi non plus’’ came the reply (Neither am I!). Take the Nevers road. A colleague will direct you. By the way your door’s open. Yes I know. And I ran back to the car and set off again towards Nevers and the previously non- existent colleague.

Magically, a guy in a check shirt had appeared outside his cottage on a little side-road. He was leaning on a metal fence like a farmer watching his cows, and raised one hand vaguely indicating I turn right here and waving in a friendly manner. The road re-joined the one I needed and I was saved. Phew!

5 minutes later I turned in to the port, laughing with relief, and John stepped out to greet me. ‘’You won’t believe what just happened.  Oh, and by the way I’ve broken the back door. Look, it’s jammed’’

He walks over to the car and pulls the door shut first time. ‘’How did you do that?’’  ‘’Ah, it knows its owner’’

Sometimes I think I live in an Alternative Universe.

This week’s French phrase: Je me suis casse la gueule. (pron. ‘girl’)  Translation: I broke my gob = I came a cropper.

More soon.

Blue Moon Crew

Blog 19/08/16

Hi again folks.

We got back to Auxerre on the 31^st July having completed a 5 week round trip of 216 kms and 150 locks which took us halfway down(i.e. south) on the Nivernais canal but UPstream to the summit at Baye. Hard to think of a canal having a summit but the climb really becomes apparent when you look back down a straight 16-lock staircase flanked by forest either side. Teams of young students and experienced lockkeepers stay with you the entire day, save for the obligatory one-hour lunch break, and with a bit of badinage whilst waiting for the locks to fill we got to know each other quite well despite the baking heat with no shelter, and the team grew towards the end as the youngsters came to wave goodbye to us. I impressed one or two as I told them about being at Bob Dylan’s first UK concert tour which was purely acoustic, and also the Beatles when they were at number one in the charts but number two on the bill (Gerry and the Pacemakers were top act.)

Matt and family joined us for a few days at the end and after 10-year old Thomas out-fished him on his first attempt it became a night and day fishing tour. Matt’s only success on the first day was to catch a passing holiday barge- fortunately it was mooring and he got his tackle back, but not his reputation.

After The summit at Baye the canal then goes downhill and flows further south and joins other major rivers. However left and right banks are named going in the direction of the flow so if you are going upstream i.e. against the current then the bank on your right hand side is actually the LEFT bank and vice versa .Confused? Never mind, France is confusing. I am leading a campaign for the country to be re-named France Ferme le Lundi because nearly everything closes on Mondays (as well as Sundays).

We moored one Sunday in a little village down country with one shop and a restaurant which was advertised on a board near the mooring (which had one water tap and no electric supply for a space of up to 5 boats). However the shop was open and I went clutching my Magnum and Laddie’s lead to look for the restaurant which was hidden behind some dilapidated houses down a rough lane and had no apparent visible entrance, just a house door at the top of some stone steps. No-one in sight but a glass case with two displays. The first printed display declared the restaurant was closed Sundays and Thursdays.  (Dimanche and Jeudi, as you know). Fair enough, we’ll have to come back tomorrow, Monday. The second ‘window’ proudly displayed MENU DE DIMANCHE and sneered at me through the glass telling what delicious morsels had just been served despite them being supposedly closed! I reported back to Sue and we looked forward to our meal the following night. EXCEPT when we went on Monday, it was also closed. Frustrating doesn’t cover it. A cheese sandwich again? No, Sue came to the rescue as usual with something purchased for just such occasions, with no microwave available (no 220 volt electrics at that mooring). Tricky, eh?

Two weeks later we stopped off and had a magnificent meal in a delightful garden setting behind the house. Just husband Dutch chef and his wife who served all the tables in 4 fluent languages. As dusk fell the hedges lit up with discreet fairy lights while quiet classical music played. After dinner I told them about coming on a Monday, July 4^th, and being disappointed. ‘’Ah, we closed Monday and Tuesday to go and fetch our son from college in Holland.’’ Apparently it hadn’t occurred to them to put this fact on the display. ‘But what about the Sunday meal – you were closed according to the notice? ‘’Ah, that’s Sunday EVENING closed, not lunch time. Now we know. Everyone I’ve mentioned my ‘find’ of this secret restaurant with the unprepossessing title of ‘Auberge du Centre’ to has said ‘Oh, yes we were there last weekend, or we go regularly’. It was nearly 100 EUROS which is now much more expensive for us ( about 25% more since last year, thanks to Brexit).

July 4th 2016

Blue Moon, 4^th July 2016

Hello again shipmates!

After 6 weeks stuck in port due to bad weather and floods closing various rivers and canals we finally left our home anchorage of AUXERRE on 24^th July and headed south down the Nivernais canal. Ironically this departure had been further delayed by a sudden, but predicted 2-day heatwave where temperatures soared from around 21C to over 34C. Too hot to stand at the helm in the open sun all day (the Bimini cover has to be retracted and folded back due to a constant supply of low bridges). Nevertheless we are now in deepest rural Burgundy with only the sounds of crowing cockerels and mooing or munching white Charolais (or are they Limousin – who knows?) cattle to disturb the silence. Or barking dogs. A quiet walk with Laddie is suddenly destroyed by slavering, growling and extremely angry dogs in each garden hurling themselves unseen at boarded fences and following our progress as we recover our heart beat and blood pressure and prepare to change underwear when we get back to safety. This is a continuous pattern and makes us wonder why these animals are so vicious and so plentiful. Obviously the owners are involved. Why?? High rural crime rate?? A village the size of East Drayton will have at least half a dozen of these rabid beasts frightening the…life out of me and Laddie as we take a stroll to the local shop (local bars are extremely rare now, only the occasional hotel or restaurant).

Amusing incident last week which makes you wonder why there is high unemployment in France.

Protesters (i.e. 90% of the population) about the new Labour Law had hung a huge blue flag from the passerelle footbridge which is the focal centre of the beautifully manicured riverside area of Auxerre with is gardens restaurants and bars. Whatever message it bore was soon lost as one end broke loose and had hung down from the top railing and dangled above the river, a tatty big blue rag, for at least 2 weeks, looking a right mess.

We are drinking coffee on the top deck one morning as we are trapped in port, and watch as a metal platform with an outboard motor fights its way upstream with 2 men on board, obviously not tourists, from their working clothes. They go under the bridge and beyond, turn round and then hover contemplating the offending flag for a while, scratch their heads, stroke their chins or whatever, and disappear back where they came from. So far so good. About an hour later, same ‘boat’ comes back, but with four men on board. Obviously they are coming mob-handed to attack the flag? No. They perform the same manoeuvre as before but take a photograph, and go back to base empty-handed (except for a picture). Wow! Expectancy is now high in the Simpson camp as this is the most exciting thing that’s happened (except for the rain stopping) since we came back from our break in Provence. Will a helicopter appear and James Bond abseil down with a knife? No. Nothing happened for several days. Then one morning we observe 2 men (maybe the original 2) walking across the bridge. One is clutching a scythe in his hand, the other carrying a large sickle, like Old Father Time or the Grim Reaper. They peer over the edge and eventually locate the end of the flag’s rope and cut it. This falls down as does most of the flag, BUT the rope snags on the bridge superstructure about 3 metres below where the men are standing. Exit one guy with scythe and we hold our breath. He then returns holding a long pole with an attachment for cutting fruit on the end, operated by a string. They then lean over the parapet, but we can clearly see they can’t reach the snagged rope. Somehow they extend the pole and sort of free the rope, the flag falls in the water and streams in the current but the rope snags again, so the whole sorry mess is now in the water and going nowhere, a danger to shipping. If this gets caught in a propeller in this busy lane in a crowded port with a strong current the consequences could be very expensive, so surely they will now come back in the original metal boat and pick up the flag? Won’t they? No. When we left at least one week later the flag was still there. Maybe this is a bigger operation than we thought and the Navy are on their way to save the day. Keep watching for sequel.

Perhaps I should have rung the Gendarmerie Nationale like I did last night (emergency number 17 if you ever need it). A warm summer evening, sipping wine in our rural mooring with one other boat, by a tiny village when a herd of Charolais (or Limousin?) with their calves charged (frolicking Sue says and excitedly mooing with happiness) onto a stretch of grassland next to our mooring and between the canal and the Yonne river. It was cow party time as they tore foliage from the trees and generally romped and tucked into the fresh pasture. We waited for a farmer to appear, or a local, as they had obviously escaped and could go wherever. After 15 minutes or so nothing happened so I dialled 17 and told the police who and where I was and they said they would contact local farmers. It took over an hour for enough people to be assembled (Italy v. Germany was on the telly) to be safe and headed by a John Parker lookalike they were herded to safety, the farmer jumped in his van and drove away without so much as a thank you for saving his tens of thousands of Euros worth of cattle. Hey-ho.

An end to an eventful day which involved getting towed off our lunchtime mooring at Chevroches as my rear end was stuck in the mud about 1 metre from the bank and refused to budge. Fortunately we had been locking up together all morning with a Danish family in a big Le Boat rental who were experienced sailors and they pulled us out easily. (I did happen to mention our contracts for Danish doors by the way).

We gave the Fete des Grenouilles (frog or rather frog’s legs festival) a miss at Festigny, where hundreds sit down to trestle tables and munch through thousands of legs in all sorts of sauces. Also just escaped Clamecy Fete des Andouillettes last Saturday2nd and Sunday 3^rd.We watched as workers erected marquees and wooden benches in the town centre for addicts of these weird sausages containing indescribable innards of animals which no normal (English) person can bear to look at never mind eat. Apparently it’s a bit like Durian fruit in the far East- if you can get past the initial revulsion of the smell they are OK. We left first thing Saturday morning as the hordes descended for their annual fix.

So never a dull moment as we climb the canal towards the summit at Baye with multiple lock staircases followed by three tunnels. Then we go ‘downhill’ presumably. All in remote areas with no supermarkets to rely on but plenty of cheese yoghurts and wine.

Hoping to get to a TV or WIFI for Wednesday to watch my adopted nation Wales try and beat Portugal for a place in the final. I’ve had a lot of flak about our ‘Double Brexit’ from the French, but the older generation are envious as they know it’s a failing empire.

Will report again when possible. As our boating friend says to end his messages ‘Don’t give ‘em your name Pike’!!

Bye

May 18th 2016

Sent 18^th May 2016

A Day In the (French)Life

0800 A persistant paw at my bedside reminds me 'Dad, it's THAT time'. After a wee and tea,pull on T-shirt and trainers and over the steep footbridge spanning the river Yonne to the multi lane promenade on the opposite bank. Stopping to pull a free poo bag from the Toutounet dispenser kindly provided by the Auxerre municipality we switch from the cycle lane to the adjacent walking lane by the riverside as a man on a skateboard whizzes by pulled by a dog on a lead. How about that Laddie? He sniffs disdainfully.

Over  at the lights to the award-winning Roy Boulangerie. The orderly queue tails out of the shop across the pavement and to the roadside. The beggar outside says bonjour to me as usual and I give his dog a treat and one for Laddie as I tie him to the railing outside the cafe next door and join the queue. Everybody watches as they wait. Quest-ce qu'il est beau! What a beauriful dog- she is so 'gentil'. Oui I say, but it's not a fifi its a toutou. Oh il est male. Quel age? etc. This happens at least 4 times on the way to the bakery and back.

Once inside , the serious business of ordering from the vast array of all types of bread, not to mention 20 perfect rows of immaculately designed tarts and buns arranged in soldier-like order not a raspberry, strawberry or chocolate one millimetre out of place.

I order 2 baguettes. I have to specify bien cuit, moyenne or past trop cuit otherwise they may try and unload some of the overcooked ones on me. Moyenne is OK. And a croissant for which I have to specify croissant beurre so I can put the jam straight on without it breaking up under the stress of a hard butter application back on the boat.

On the way back Laddie chases 2 unimpressed ducks off the slipway so he can have a drink out of the river. Back over the footbridge with poos and wees completed and hot coffee and jam awaiting.

After breakfast the gas runs out so I fit the spare cube in the almost inaccessible locker on the outside passageway and take the empty one in the car and drive to the nearby Leclerc supermarket garage (did I mention diesel is only 85 p a litre here?) Past the pumps a woman sits in a little wooden hut which takes the payments from all cash buyers, peering out through a little slot in her protective screen. I request a replacement cube and get my wallet out, having previously checked with JP that my original contract document would not be required to carry out this transaction. Votre carte d'Identite s'il vous plait?

I don't have one- I'm British - we didn't have Napoleon to organise us, and we're free. Identite or no gaz!!. I swore and zoomed off for my passport. What the purpose of this is, no-one seems to know.  The lady in the wooden hut was not pleased and gave me a rollocking for swearing at her so I had to eat humble pie to get my gas.This is typical bureaucracy which the French take for granted from birth. I won't bore you  with the details but to buy a SIM card for a mobile phone you need to produce a copy of your French bank account as well as Passport, otherwise they will only give you a one month contract.

Happily the floods have subsided now, but the current is still strong. The ducks have mastered it now, and sometimes  pass sideways,at 20mph showing off and pirouetting in the eddy round the base of the bridge support. 

BUT the canals are closed until the debris of logs and trees have been cleared.

The Fete Gastronomique at the weekend claimed 25000 visitors in 3 days and was interesting but no duck hot dogs or apple fritters this year.just the usual snail farmers and every variety of sausage and ham. I had a 3 Euro lemon and sugar crepe.

As we're moored near the passerelle foot bridge carrying the foot traffick and lots of gongoozlers peered down at us .This is a boater word for people who stand on bridges and stare at boats and boaters.

It's just started raining again after two warm days but we're redecorating the interior and can't move anyway so no worries.

Photo of boat was useless so I'll do another one next time.

Blue Moon crew.

May 15th 2016

Sent 15^th May 2016

Hi guys,

Well it started raining not far beyond Calais on Monday and we've had torrential rain, thunder and lightning  and local flooding here in Burgundy ever since, while the sun shone in England, annoyingly.

The river rose to with in 3 inches of the top of the dockside and flooded the port yesterday before subsiding slowly but with very fast current. Had to break out the wellies to walk Laddie.

A duck went past at 20 miles an hour looking bemused. Hey guys look at me!

Woke to 8 degrees this morning but SUNSHINE!

Festival weekend here for long weekend celebrations (Pentecost) and rows of white marquees/ small tents on the opposite bank hold purveyors of every gastronomic delicacy known to (French) man, plus alcoholic beverages naturally Once we've sampled I'll report back when I've sobered up and had a snail sandwich or a duck hot dog.

Jean-Philippe the port technician and I have already consumed half a large bottle of pastis (Pernod51 his favourite) quite productively, as the first session was spent reading the instructions and looking at a bag of bits which came with the new Bimini (a I kind of big white folding pram hood which covers the back deck where we steer and eat unless it's raining) from Italy. 

'Can't do that it's in Italian' 'It's also in English' Still can't understand it' 'Another pastis?'   No it's upside down' 'Well with your technical expertise and my translation into French what could possibly go wrong.?

OK I'll come on Saturday on my day off' ' Sue will cook a Coq au Vin for dinner and we'll have a pastis first at 6 o clock' .Formidable.' Result.

The screws were wrong sort and wrong size so off to Monsieur Bricolage for stainless steel screws. Then the drill bit went blunt 'Ah, c'est impossible!' and everywhere is now shut until Tuesday when work, and pastis consumption, will recommence. But we have a wonderful white roof temporarily held with 2 screws.

It will fold forwards as well as backwards- I can tell you're impressed. Photos will follow as soon as the technology has been defeated.

Laddie has already several girlfriends including Gigi a black Lab from San Francisco whose owner is happy to throw the ball and screams Go Laddie gogogo! and a local caller Echo whose young attractive female owner obviously calls to see me (and practice her English), while Sue makes wonderful soup in her special machine and is gaining fluency daily buying Lieu noire (Pollock) in the Leclerc supermarche and pan frying with dauphinoise potatoes on Thursday night. More delicacies to follow as we explore the cheese counter.

Have to go now as midi, and a visitor, approaches.

Au revoir

John and Sue (I'm John as I said to one of my new neighbours, a Chesterfeldian strayed off course