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