Sent 11th 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 31st 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 4th, 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).
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