New season on the riverbank / rain / horse muck /
elections / divers in the canal /plane crash / Laddie in the poo / Louis the
Bassett not so stupid
The amazing French civic infrastructure distinguished itself
in both ways this week.
Our moorings on the right bank of the river Yonne -
about the width of the Seine in Paris with not dissimilar views of the massive
Cathedral, bars and restaurants on the opposite side – is in the Port de
Plaisance which occupies a stretch about one kilometre long between two road
bridges, one of which is close by us. A wide strip of grass and a fence
separates us from the nearby ‘Camping Car’ park, and effectively forms our
‘garden’. The gently flowing river is on our starboard side (Rive Droite)
Out of the blue last Friday a truck trundled down from
the main entrance and deposited a gleaming new green skip close to the bridge
foundations, shortly followed by a second one behind it.
When we had arrived a few days previously, the wife of
the owner of the port franchise was busy with a spade, shovelling up horse
manure. ‘The council organised a horse parade through the town then put them in
here for a while, and promised to clean up afterwards’. Needless to say this
had been totally overlooked and the horses long since gone leaving crusty brown
pools slowly drying in the sun all over a large area where we exercise the dogs
(and ourselves). So we assumed the skips were for the clearing up exercise. But
it turned out to be far more interesting than that.
Saturday morning we were woken by 3 or 4 assorted
vehicles bumping along past us, one towing a trailer with a RIB big inflatable
boat with outboard motor. Various bods jumped out of cars and vans while we
watched, bemused by this sudden activity. A small open-sided marquee was
erected while one guy did the equivalent of a wheelie in the RIB, the bow-wave
causing havoc amongst all our moorings. He was eventually hauled in and sent to
help string a trail of blue and white safety rope to section off half the width
of the river. After several failed attempts, by 11am they were ready for a team
of divers with aqualungs to go in at the base of the bridge. ‘Any bodies?’ I
enquired of one of the officials as I wandered over to the skips to have a
look. ‘Not yet’
By the end of the afternoon there were at least 5
supermarket trolleys and a dozen rusty bikes in one of the skips and old wheels,
carpet and assorted metalwork in the other including some road work signs. None
of this had been visible from the main road bridge above which I walk over
regularly and had presumably either fallen off passing boats or been slung from
the road bridge. By Sunday morning a washing machine had been contributed by
the local populace, but surprisingly nothing else.
Now the funny
part. By Monday morning all the bikes and trolleys had gone from the first
skip, presumably stolen for scrap metal – times are hard in rural France. I
laughingly reported this in the port office and we joked that the council
needn’t have bothered paying for a skip.
Now the even funnier part. On Tuesday morning, on my
way back from the Boulangerie Roy with my breakfast croissant and 2 baguettes I
crossed over the bridge and was amazed to see all the rusty bikes tied to the
railings on display. At the end of the bridge the trolleys had been stacked up
higgledy-piggledy on top of each other to form an art installation along with
other objets d’art from the skip. An environmental object lesson for all to
see.
Only in France, eh?
The sequel to this episode is worthy of a TV farce. We
were sitting on the top deck of our neighbour’s boat enjoying a cold beer at
around 6pm the same evening when a Police car came down the bank, and pulled up
by the two now almost empty skips. A police man and woman got out, looked in
the skips then proceeded to string blue and white ‘no entry’ tape around both
the skips then drove off chased by our hoots of laughter at such a futile act.
The 2 skips and the cow pats are still awaiting
collection one week later.
No one from the council has been arrested.
In contrast local and national emergency services
proved their world-class response ratings. A single-engined private plane from
a local airfield got into engine difficulties and turned over while
crash-landing in a local field. The pilot escaped unhurt luckily. According to
the Yonne Republicaine, our local paper they reported the crash had been
attended by ‘une vingtaine’ (twenty-odd) pompiers (firemen and all-purpose
rescuers), ‘une dizaine’(about 10) Gendarmes, and several ambulances from the
nearest hospitals, so at least 30 immediate response personnel. A helicopter
was sent from Paris (2 or 3 hours away by road) to hover over the scene, and to
cap it all the local mayor later attended the scene. Crash investigators were
also on their way to write reports.
I can only imagine the amount of paperwork this single
event has created.
How come unemployment is so high in France?
Anyway it’s good to know you will be well catered for
in France in the event of an illness or accident with so many people eager to
get involved.
I am also pleased to report that I have found the
French word for gongoozlers (people who stand around, often on bridges, staring
at boats or anything else nothing to do with them) - badaud
May 18th - The sun is shining -31 degrees
yesterday- Madame is fishing, Laddie is watching the float intently and all is
right with the world here in Gurgy a small township just north of Auxerre.
A bientot
