Well we made it to the summit (up 55 locks) and we’ve
got 30-34 degrees forecast for today and the next few days so we dropped anchor
here yesterday afternoon until it goes cooler and we can proceed through the
tunnel and thence downhill (yay!) for quite a way to Dijon and beyond, weeds
permitting.
I forgot to mention something that happened just after
our arrival in France. The first of May fell on a Sunday and Laddie and I went
over the bridge in Auxerre to fetch the bread and croissant for breakfast from
the renowned Roy’s Boulangerie, next to which is a small vegetable market on
Sundays. However this time, in addition to the market a number of small folding
picnic tables had been set up immediately in front of the shop around the
steps.
Each one was manned by family members, sometimes a
father and daughter, or a husband and wife, mother and daughter etc., perched
on small stools. On each table were small jars with tiny white flowers sticking
out and they all seemed to be competing with each other to sell something
although they sat quietly there, unlike regular market traders. A beggar lady
sat on one of the steps with the same floral offering laid out and a few
coppers on a cloth.
Now these people stood between me and my breakfast
which is not a good sales pitch in a morning. Also I had not a clue what was
going on. The first to get the object of my wrath was a market stall-holder who
ventured over as I tied Laddie to the nearby railing. ‘Muguet, m’sieur? Deux
euros’
He thrust a bunch of what looked like white weeds at
me, eagerly watched by ten pairs of eyes, as to the outcome of this pitch
which, if unsuccessful, could yield a later opportunity for them. To his
apparent amazement I turned down this opportunity to seize a fistful of daisies
at a bargain price and proceeded to queue for my croissant. As I exited the
shop I could feel all the eyes watching this flowerless man walking away
unconcerned, his 2 Euros still intact.
What could possibly persuade these well-dressed
apparently middle class people to sit from early morning hunched on stools
trying to earn a couple of Euros from passers-by for something called
‘moo-gay’?
The story doesn’t end there. As I crossed back over
the road bridge and turned towards the port a battered old transit van clanked
to a halt and a rough-looking peasant woman stuck her head out of the window.
Before I could ask what she wanted she screamed at me ‘Give me 2 Euros!!’ ‘What
for?’ (I thought she must be begging.) Her partner glared over from the driving
seat. ‘MUGUET!! DEUX EUROS!!’ She looked at me as if I were an idiot, a state
which was rapidly approaching. After yet another refusal the van revved
furiously and shot off in a cloud of dust as further sales opportunities were
disappearing quickly.
When I returned to the boat totally perplexed and
reached for the dictionary, as some of you will have realised, muguet is lily of the valley and
obviously a tradition in France on the 1st May. Who knew? There is
no price war as two euros was a constant feature but there was certainly plenty
of competition.
By Monday morning there wasn’t a moo-gay seller in
sight and I could relax and buy my croissant in peace and nod genially to the
usual guy squatting in the doorway of the building opposite with a few coins in
a hat in front of him. He smiles back and we say bonjour and carry on to the
café on the corner unless it’s Thursday of course (don’t ask) and I have to
remember to buy my copy of the Yonne Republicaine at Roy’s bakery who stock it
specially on Thursdays.
French life can be convoluted but fascinating unless
you’re not in the mood.
ARKWRIGHTS TILL
We were moored in Tonnerre in a wonderful shady spot
right next to a park, with benches alongside the canal, one of them right
opposite the boat. On a previous day we had noticed that there seemed to be a
few mentally and physically disabled people wandering around usually escorted
on walks along the canal bank through the adjacent woodland.
This time, I was preparing to fill the water tank on
the boat from taps kindly provided by the port free of charge. I have a long
extending hose with a nozzle on the end (stop sniggering at the back there
Smithers) which fits into a vertical aperture on one side of the deck. When the
filler cap is unscrewed the nozzle pushes in, and with any luck wedges in
place, dependant on the water pressure, and it’s a careful balance between the
supply tap and the nozzle tap. If both are fully opened you’ll be standing
there for ages with your foot on it resisting the pressure, but half measures
will fill the tank in about half an hour or more and you can go and make a
coffee.
The filler cap this particular day was on the bank
side of the boat opposite the bench. As I connected up I was concerned to see a
thin young woman on her own rocking violently between sitting upright and bent
double with her head between her knees which was quite disturbing as there was
no carer in sight.
I carried on setting up the nozzle to be at just the
right pressure working from the bank side, and became aware she was watching
proceedings but carrying on rocking at the same time. With the taps open, I
then realised I needed to get back on the boat but the hose was in the way and
perilously close to the finely balanced nozzle with its cold water jet. I
deliberately closed in very tentatively and placed one foot on the boat as the
girl/woman watched closely with Sue observing from top deck.
So far so good.
I swung my other leg up and the boat tipped but I must
have caught the hose as the nozzle leaped out of the opening and spiralled
frantically like a wild thing drenching everything in sight including my shorts
and trainers until I could wrestle it back into position. Turning round, the
lassie on the bench was in hysterics (as was Sue) and I think in some small way
I may have helped alleviate whatever she was suffering that day.
We later christened that our ‘Arkwright’s till moment’
from Open All Hours when Ronnie Barker (and later David Jason) almost gets his
fingers trapped in the temperamental old till. Any way it was worth getting
soaked for, and it was a hot day.
Other moments may follow- watch this space.
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| Port at Pouilly-en-Auxois |
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| Entrance of the tunnel |
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