Sunday 19th August St Jean De Losne to Longecourt en Plaine

Trip 14 Kms. Departure 8.45 Locks 8 of 365

Suffered a bit of a confidence knock this morning when I slipped into the Boulangerie and when indecisive over the dilemma of 1 or 2 croissant, I gave a very French sounding urgggggh as I pondered only to spot the young bakeress sniggering. I scurried off back to the boat faintly embarrassed.

We set off at 8.45 Dutch style to get to the fuel station first. Turns out it is 24 hours anyway and so I popped my credit card in. Only issue was I was limited to 68 € at a time, so it was a bit painful re-entering all the details 5 times, still it was good to be fully laden and with 50 litres in the cans, no more fuel stops for some time particularly in view of the burgoyne 6 km per hour speed limit.

We rounded to enter the canal de Burgoyne passing the basin entrance on our starboard quarter. A Scott mckenzie San Francisco flowers in the hair type passed us through the lock without a yea man, far out, got some good weed in sight!

Once through we were in the bowel of the gold mine that is Blanqaurt and h2o.

 

Once passed we were on a 30km reportedly uninspiring straight run to Dijon with 20 odd locks to transit. We had no intention of attempting it in one day. It was strange being back on a canal. Very narrow and green and the banks had obviously only recently been attended to as the water was strewn with heavy grass and shrub cuttings. Not ideal.

The crew knocked up some wonderful poached egg baguettes for a hearty breakfast. The locks are all manual and so it was that each lock keeper, mostly students at this time of year would have to manually open the gates. It was the decent thing to do to help. Try it some time. These gates are not light. Most of the students we saw were female and for them, it was seriously heavy work particularly in the blistering heat and humidity we were currently experiencing.

One particular girl was really struggling and I made her drink water. another young lad looked near to passing out. He opted for an ice cold Heineken and then unbelievably stashed it in his moped top box. I was not overly impressed as he could have ahead one from my store cupboard. Fridge space is precious, very very precious.

The locks on this canal close for lunch at midday for one hour so we had a very English cup of Yorkshire gold and avoided for once the midday sun. This was a baker of a day. The crew were really struggling to cope and showing signs of impatience, worryingly for our hitherto happy skipper.

Whilst at lunch, one of the spectacular hotel barges which ply this route and always have precedence so are basically a pain in the rear as they go at a snails pace and can cause you all sorts of long waits, passed us. There were three immaculately like dressed crew fussing around a guest who was lounging on a couch under the forward sunshade by the small swimming pool built into the bow.

As the barge got closer, I realised the girl was no older that 14 and was clearly very used to being waited on. I saw not another soul aboard the 40m luxury barge. She did not give us a second glance on passing. Weirdly my overwhelming feeling for this very lucky little girl was one of sympathy. It was that hot, she should be splashing around in the pool having fun instead of trying so hard to look 3 times her age and cool and sophisticated as she read her book over the rims of her designer glasses.

We moved on after lunch and approached for us the final lock of the day. Just enough time for yet another tosser fisherman to really raise my goat.

What is their problem. Even the crew have now grown to detest them. Problem is, you end up tarring, and brush. As usual I slow right down on approaching a pole stretched right across my path. The fisherman knows I am approaching but fails to lift his pole. When I get within 5m he hurriedly pulls the pole toward him deftly removing the back end to shorten the pole making it easier to handle. Still no look up at the boat as we are now directly opposite him and just 5m away. This one is smiling to himself, whilst ensuring eye contact is avoided. Once past we speed up and in exasperation I call to the crew, Did you see that? The reply was designed to be heard " what a tosser" cried the crew. Fair enough girl!

We pulled alongside the bank just beyond the lock. The towpath was also the parking spot for a couple of Tractors belonging to the adjacent farm and free range chickens came to inspect the new arrivals. Old hat for us now and I did not even get the camera out. The town had a privately owned chateau at its centre and we set off on a walk to investigate. Longecourt was a large town with few facilities. The chateau looked to be a crumbling mess to me but we noted the prestige chambres d'hote sign outside and when I ventured inside to snap a picture I was embarrassed to be spotted by a group of guests enjoying Pre dinner drinks on the terrace. For the second time today, I scarpered a bit sharp ish with a reddened face.

We completed our lengthy tour of the town of course being unsuccessful in finding a hostelry open. The route back involved a lovely walk along a tiny river running throughout the town with gardens backing down onto it. These gardens were frequently the scene of family Sunday get togethers and many BBQ smells and children still splashing around in the inflatable pools which everyone in France seems to have these days accompanied our stroll. It was all very nice.

Back at Doucette, we had been joined at the mooring by a Swiss flagged steeler with two 60 somethings aged gents aboard. The older slightly portly one was frankly undignified in just a pair of boxer shorts trying desperately to stay cool even though darkness was fast approaching while the other slightly more dapper one was stretched out on a rusting sun lounger on the canal bank in blue cotton t shirt and ever so slightly too tight crimplene lemon slacks with a white belt and smoking a long black cheroot.

Having bade them bonsoirs, We sat on the poop, had a late cheese and pâté supper over gin and tonics and burgundy agote pondering on what was the story of the Swiss steeler.

 

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