Trip 16kms Departure 2pm Locks 8 of 334
We decided on a Pre breakfast stroll. The storm had cleared the humidity and the day had that loverly fresh clean heat about it. Fontenoy is another picture postcard place and we climbed the opposite bank of the canal to a high path giving beautiful views over the town.
We spotted the post office showing its age with its frontage walls advertising "Telegraphs" we called into the quaint old boulangerie. Problem was Collette decided to pick up a litre of tango and some citron syrup so my walk was now a laden one, and it was bloody hot!
The old church was unique to us in that the inside walls were still just as you would have expected them to have looked originally. The bare hand hewn blocks and rough mortar indicative that this was a town of importance and rich in roman times. The old chateau remains on the hill bordered the cemetary where the spirits of the town watched over its evolution. Outside of the cemetary we watched a father and young son preparing the wood for the winter fuel. Old walls lining the high steep banks of the river coney, on which this town had been built all evidence of a wealthy past. However, the decline of the town much evidenced in the dilapidation of so much of the real estate as we moved away from the hub of the town centre. An old cafe and charcuterie typical of this depressing story similarly related over the whole of rural France.
The canal cut follows the river coney so closely through the town and made for some beautiful scenes. The town is full of little signs with hand written quotes from all sorts of historic figures, politicians philosophers, kings and commoners. Made for interesting translation exercises. It was a lovely morning.
A late healthy brunch where most of the fresh bread was devoured preceded a gorgeous run out of Fontenoy. Straight into a narrow cliff lined gorge,
a section of wide river with most of the shallow bed dried up despite the couple of recent storms,
a quite magnificent lockside house and garden caught our attention with the very proud owner waving and clearly pleased with our obvious admiration for his abode.
We nearly colided with an oncoming yacht as we left a single boat width stretch. Typical sailor, he obviously didn't know his waterway signs and had ignored the instruction to sound his horn before entering the one boat width 500m reach with bends at both ends and he had been too far away to have heard mine when I entered from the other end blasting away on my air horns.
We approached a lock and a car came to a starsky and hutch style halt. A blonde leapt from the car and raced across toward the lock and suddenly we were being filmed entering. I slipped my shades on and attempted to look nonchalant.
Fat chance!
Her tall partner strolled over and I engaged. We spluttered some French stuff about lovely boat and he informed me that he was a sailor. Oh oh I thought! Yes he preferred sailing, it was more technical he announced. And at this point I realised he was obviously Dutch. He asked me leeringly if I was French! I snapped English at him as he knew all to well from our bloody great flag right in front of him where I came from. He asked to speak in English. Some sort of sailor, he had not heard of the Solent or cowes.
Turns out, the Dutchman was on vacation and asked about hiring a boat. Do you know the signal for sound your horn, i wanted to ask him but I settled for sending him towards Fontenoy thinking I had already met enough sailors on this waterway for one day and he may go in the opposite direction. Meanwhile the blonde continued to film as the lock gates opened and we said our fond farewells and happy holidays.
We passed a lovely waterside chateau
before disturbing the peace of the student in charge of opening the lifting bridge in Selles, where we found youngsters swimming across our path so slowed and shouted Bon journee's responded with beaming smiles and waves back. The huge propellor in the garden of one of the houses was a common site to us on the waterways. It usually indicated the owner to have been a peniche man or women in their working life.
We were passing through the last of the Vosges forests and the scenery was opening out to hilly meadows with more cattle in evidence. We reached a long quay in a lovely spot with just one boat tied alongside. I instantly recognised it as Avalon. The boat from the noisy teenagers mooring a few days back. The occupants were clearly choring heavily on their boat so we gave them plenty of space and settled down to cheese and biscuits and a glass or two.
I noticed a car parked some 200m at the end of this natural port. A chap was sat behind his car looking straight at us. After some time I realized he was not fishing or reading but just sat there.
It was a stinker and Collette was in quite a skimpy bikini. The chap started wandering down toward the boat. He had on a shirt which came just below his parts and there was no sign of shorts. He was wearing speedos I assumed. Collette went below not liking the cut of his gib. Unfair I thought, upon reaching us, he engaged me in conversation. I chatted and he strolled slowly back to his car.
Collette came back up and sunbathed. I had removed the camera memory card to put the pictures onto the laptop. I noticed the chap was at the boot of his car and was closing it. I thought he must be leaving but instead he sat this time directly behind his car but I could see him looking through the drivers side window straight at us. I put the card on the table and said to Collette, " bloody hell I think he has got binoculars out and is perving you darling" she scurried down below as I picked up the books about to go and check him out.
At that moment two things happened, a car with a family came along the towpath and headed for our suspect and I heard the sound of something hitting my dinghy.
Instantly, I knew it was the sd card. Boxxxxxxxxxx
I leapt down to find no sign in the dinghy. Suspect left the scene whilst I was dropping the dinghy off of the boat to check it all over. Surely it would float said the crew. Absolutely no sign. I could not believe my misfortune. The card had flown from the poop deck the gap to the water as they say did not exist, but it had gone to Davy jones locker. I spent an hour in the water still thinking it would suddenly appear. It did not.
Thank god Collette had already downloaded onto the iPad and I had finished but it was a bitter blow as it was a big memory card and not cheap and all the fault of the bloody flasher Pervy.
I consoled myself with a huge slab of rib of cow on the cob with haricot and fancy French cakes for dessert. We drank a bottle of Prosecco some merlot and I had beers. We were a tad drunk and delirious as we watched highlights of a great day for GB in London.
I went to bed still not believing that the card had gone in the water whilst Collette continued her assault of "now if I had done that" nonsense. I was very soon snoring!
Posted with Blogsy
No comments:
Post a Comment