Friday 14th June One of the days of our lives!!!

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Thursday 13th June

Up at 7am and fought my way through the laundry room for a shower. Having paid 2euros for the water, despite its taste I made another raid. At 8.40 a French hire boat incredibly left its berth. We left at 8.50 following Duet into the lock making a tight trio. Easy at the back for us and with the locks coming thick and fast we were at number 4 of the day within 45 minutes. The lovely and now tranquille Collette sporting an interesting hair arrangement today had me wondering if I had taken the snips to her during the night in protest at the washing saga.

She noticed 2 lovely cows and chickens in the garden “they may have eggs”. 2euros 40 for a dozen was a nice result. It was a lovely lock and a nice eclusier who was justly proud of his cottage and garden.

  As I helped him with the gate he took a call. Bad news. We had to wait at the Locaboat marina before the next lock letting a fourth hire boat behind us catch up and join our noddy in front. They had to get through the Sardy staircase today so a further 24 locks. The next 8 locks were operated by 2 eclusiers but there were 3 boats descending. After all our efforts to get an early start we were buggered backwards by a brace of bloody bumpers.

With 3 hours to wait, at least it was a scorching day and the much heralded orage looked an impossible forecast. We mounted the wheels of steel about to set off for a vitals expedition. The Frenchman on the adjacent penichet asked where we were going. He explained that Atac was 5km all uphill in Corbigny. “I have a car here would you like me to take you?” This is not the first time we have encountered such kindness and cements our feelings of the French in general. Speak as you find but outside of Paris dealing with them in general is a delight.

In need of exercise we declined the generous offer and set off. Almost there I heard a loud booming noise and that deep sensuous French advert voice. What the hell? Passing an industrial building, on a narrow grass patch adjacent some sort of contemporary dance thing was being rehearsed. It was a full dress rehearsal and we sat and watched for 10 minutes as the ballet style story was told around the building of boxes using wooden pallets to some very funky music and drums. Classic French stuff.

At Atac we got a brilliant text with some fantastic news from home. The day was even sunnier. On our return to Doucette, we had goats cheese, melon, tomato and cucumber salad on the poop and suddenly it was 1.30 and the eclusier had got back early. A rather rushed lunch then but with the news that the storm would hit between 4 & 6 we should be ok.

We caused havoc at lock 4 of the afternoon when our engine noise spooked a herd of dairy cattle returning to the farm along the towpath. The herd broke into a frenzy with one cow mounting another and it took the 4 farmworkers in attendance some time to calm them.

Minutes later the awfully impressively hung bull came lolloping down the track to fits of embarrassed giggles from the crew of duet and doucette. (Thankfully his hind leg covers the offending swingers in the photo, )Girls girls girls!

By 3pm we had 3 locks to go but the forecasted orage was now looking threateningly likely. Incredible the change in just 30 minutes. With 2 locks to go, the wind had got up and it was cold. We prepared just in case in the lock. Donned wet weather gear and went down to lower helm. It hit at 3.30pm as we approached the last lock. By 4pm we were moored and drowned. Wow, this was serious rain and it went on all evening.

At 7pm we were amazed to hear a knocking on the hull. It was a lady asking if we wanted anything from the boulangerie in the morning. I ordered a pain and a pain au raisin from this hardy sodden angel.

Had salmon, roasted veg and haricot for dinner followed by cheese, then cooked a corned beef hash for tomorrow before an early night to watch a Matt Damon movie – The Adjustment Bureau. Still it hammered down as the lights went out.

 

Wednesday 12th June A trip to the barbers for you my boy.

Eric & Gill were having Orange problems and when at 10am Stephane the young eclusier dropped by to apologise forgetting the auberge du centre was closed on Wednesdays, I asked him if he could sort out their problem on the phone. He could but would have to do it whilst passing through a lock, so they made an early start for it. I opened the 2 lifting bridges just ahead. I discovered how much hard work they were. 

Dipstick took 5 minutes of heaving to no effect before realising that there were bolts on the far side of the bridge requiring release for lift.

We spent the morning blogging, emailing and cleaning the shower. Problems with the wally was a bad sign and I hoped we had not made a mistake by not using the recommended stuff even thought it was hopeless in use.

We set off the short hop to Chitry les Mines, leaving this delightful village behind.

Just 6 locks and 4 lifting bridges over 8km, the second of the bridges being one of the last remaining original wooden lifters. No problem for my very own mrs universe.

 

 Stephane greeted us at the first lock and when I offered him a beer he declined. Flabbergasted I asked why, too much and a voiture accident, I will never touch alcohol again he smiled. I liked this 22 year old.

Chitry was run by Steve. Charged us 3.5euros for berth, 3.5euros for electric and 2 euros for water. Both water and electric were 40m away so had to borrow extra hose but electric no problem.The water was full of chlorine, it was a mini disaster and we had to use bottled water for tea. Chatted to a guy with a 125cc monkey bike. Fancy one for Doucette buts its 76kg.

Early evening I finally persuaded the crew to give me a haircut. I can report that despite her reluctance to snip, we set up shop on the quay much to the amusement of passing walkers and she made a fine job imho of course.

With a storm forecast for tomorrow afternoon we made plans to leave at 9am to get through 12 locks to Sardy, the start of the 16 lock staircase to the Nivernais summit before it hit.

At 9.30pm the crew made the momentous decision, as only women can, to get the washing machine out and wash all the bedding and underwear. Staggered with this development I retired from the chilly air that now prevailed onboard. How the hell this was to dry was beyond me. There was certainly  a frost aboard Doucette this night.

Tuesday 11th June Nice one Cyril

Had not slept well thinking of chums at home but cheered after receiving an  email with better news and having read up on yesterdays scary diagnosis, felt more positive about that too.

Left the berth early morning and after 2 locks, approached another self service lifting bridge. I dropped the crew at the landing stage. She was pretty exhausted by the time the bridge was lifted. Just one more lock and we were at Tannay by 11am. I was keen to explore this “joyous wine village” as described in the fluvial and taste some tannaysienne wines.

Eric and Gill wanted to top up an empty fuel can and set off in search of a filling station. After a cup of tea we set off on the steel wheels to catch them. The village was a straight 2km climb with no let up. No sign of the hardy duet duo. Where the hell have they got too? We wondered. We were chuffed to complete the climb without dismounting or stopping but were in a bit of a lather as we reached the 14^th century church. A nice boulangerie beckoned and a ham and mushroom pizza, a pain, and a gougeres hit the bottom of the saddlebag. Lunch was sorted. The adjacent caves de Tannaysienne looked deserted. Collette texted Eric to see where they were and did they want bread and to warn them of the hill. The reply left us speechless. They were a further 500m past the square at a super u marche and had just got fuel and bread. Almost incredulous, we followed the road out of Tannay and sure enough, spotted Eric at the pump filling his can. He decided to return to Duet with his booty, have a spot of lunch and ride back up the hideous hill meeting us at 2pm for cave visits. It was now that I discovered he had once run the London Marathon so confirming his lunatic tendencies.

We set off to find a picnic spot. As fortune would have it, we fell upon a vibrant Tavern. A salubrious joint with rusting tables on the gutter come curb. The welcome inside this hostelry was heart warming. A room full of raucous laughter from a crowd of some 10 french rurals. 9 chaps and a slumped women at one end of the bar staring vacantly at a milky ricard.  This was clearly not her first of the day. Her eyes were struggling to focus on this alien arrival and suddenly her neck muscles lost the battle and her head slapped back down on the bar narrowly missing the jug of water next to her ricard. It was just after 1pm. She was not alone in her state of inebriation.

I escaped outside to the gutter table with a pression and a minute glass of white for the crew. Salivating over the lovely Pizza, we were soon interrupted by the village jester who found it impossible to speak without laughter. Perhaps a nice trait but certainly not infectious. I eventually gathered that today was st. Bernebet day and if it did not rain today we were good for a decent summer. A bit like our st. swithin, I vainly attempted responding still not sure whether he was just taking the rip a little. He was harmless and actually grew on me as lunch continued. As we sat, 4 dutch cyclists decided to take the remaining table.  Our first dealings with Netherlanders this year did nothing to dissuade me of an air of arrogance many evoke. Dutch Doris was almost on my lap without a passing excuse me and actually laid her arm across the back of my chair (it is not the one facing collette in the picture but next to the woman against the wall). Her arm very quickly removed, the subsequent conversations in Dutch and English on our separate tables became a battle of the volume controls. Pleased to see the back of them, we enjoyed a second drink with just 3 visitations from the rurals making contact in some strange slurred rapid dialect accompanied by snorting laughter. I gathered it was something to do with the Dutch having fancy battery bikes and us having no VA VA VOOM.

I cheerily paid my 7euros 20 (5 for the beers) and with hearty farewells and shouts of Pas de va va vooms echoing in our ears, we rounded the church and greeted the fitness fanatics freshly arrived up the hill from hell.

Twenty minutes later we sat outside a metal warehouse in the middle of a field waiting for the patron to arrive, Eric having called an intercom and surprisingly making contact. The beaten up Peugeot soon arrived with a chap donning jeans and a lurid green tracksuit top and his girlfriend sporting an array of piercings. “The chef is away” He pours us a melon a Tannay speciality, dry, fresh and crisp, it is rather nice. His girlfriend gets the biggest glass and he pours himself an overly generous serving. This is new to me in Degustation procedure. I suggest we try the caves in the town centre again.

Good news is it is open. Cyril greets us keenly. He is keen to practice his English. The tasting room is atmospheric. Dating from the 1500`s a Fireplace dominates the room but my eye is taken by the glass cleaning area. A flat granite surface which slopes down towards the side wall where there are holes outside to the road. A very efficient plumbing arrangement but a tad draughty in winter I suspect.

 We start with the melon. Not as nice as the earlier offering and again I decline the chardonnay. The gamay is very heavy on tannin but the pinot noir is very nice. The ratafia is sweet and delicious. Collette tells him she prefers chocolat. Cyril rushes off and is soon back with an old cacao tin from which Collette is presented with a little bit of heaven.

We are building a relationship with the delightful Cyril who has been here 17 years and is now effectively head vigneron, He asks me if I prefer Irish or Scotch whisky. I reply Irish which is cool because Cyril is clearly pleased with this answer but just then a lovely elderly dutch couple arrive. Cyril appears almost short with them and winking at me, he whispers, “I have a special drink for you to try down in the cellars when they have gone!” We share another tasting with the dutch couple who are sweet and very polite. They buy three bottles and as soon as they have left, Cyril encourages us with a warning to mind our heads, and we follow him down a dark steep staircase into the 1566 built cellar. First stop is a huge stack of pinot noir bottles, there must be 500 perfectly stacked in rows. Turning to Collette, he tells her to pick one. She points to a middle row one. Cyril looks like a man about to do the tablecloth from the table trick and yes he grabs the bottle and pulls sharply on it. Out it slides but catastrophically, there is a chattering of glass on glass and 3 other bottles fall out. Cyril vainly tries the impossible, catching 3 with only two hands, one of which is holding Collette’s chosen bottle still. I try and cuddle the whole stack expecting any minute a huge rumble and disaster as the whole stack collapses. Miraculously and thankfully, not only does the stack hold but the falling bottles all survive the drop to the covered floor. Cyril lets out a rather forced laugh and attempts to replace the 3 escapees. This he does but the stack has lost its perfect uniformity. He then hands Collette the pinot noir, telling her it is a gift from the cellars to her to remember her visit by. Wonderful stuff but the best was yet to come. At the end of the cellar lay 4 oak barrels. The first two have chalk written Pinot noir on them. The next Ratafia rouge and the next Alcohol 87.2 %. This is the stuff that is mixed with grape juice to make ratafia. This is Cyril’s baby. He assures me it is as smooth as irish whisky and with that he removes the cork from the top of the barrel and extracts a sample with his pipette.

He is right, it is heavenly but the kick is staggering. I cannot talk for 30 seconds as my throat goes into shock. It is a wow moment. Eric slugs and pulls a very strange face whilst attempting to say something to no avail. Cyril cannot resist and slurps himself. Even the master struggles as his head turns purple and he convulses into a gurgled coughing wheezing fit.

He eventually manages to gather himself and points to the ratafia. Still with a voice somewhere from beyond, he delves into the oak cask and we taste the latest ratafia. Even the girls indulge and it is sweet and beautiful.

We take photos before lots of back slapping and return upstairs.

Cyril finds an old video featuring himself showing the stages of wine making which he insists sharing with me.

 We are very tipsy and I say that we are already 2 hours late leaving the mooring and that we must go. I explain that I cannot take wine on the bikes but give him 10 euros to get himself a drink as a thank you for giving us such a fantastic afternoon. He is horrified and at first refuses to take it. I insist and with that he picks up one of his top of the range display chardonnays and insists I accept it as his gift.

 

It had been a very special afternoon and I have since sent Cyril the pictures so if you are ever around Tannay, do not be too surprised when you see my ugly face on the walls of that old cellar.

Back at the boats, we quickly get under way. Capt Tim had told me of a lovely spot at the small farming community of Dirol. 4 locks and just 7kms away. The crew had fitness workouts at the lifting bridges. I would like to say she never complained. But I cannot!

 We arrived and as usual Tim had not let us down. It was a heavenly spot alongside old towers which are now just part of a glorified barn.

With cows grazing metres away and the lifting bridge in the background, the place was just a perfect example of why I love life on the canals.

 

 

One night you are in the middle of a town, the next in rural seclusion somewhere like this. With the church bells peeling and the 87.2% dulling my brain, I was drifting into euphoria sitting on the poop watching the stars supping a last red of the day. Bliss!

Monday 10th June Just a horrid day

Grotty morning and no fun to travel so decided to have a day catching up with blogs and chores. I blogged all morning and grouted in the afternoon whilst Collette did some dreaded ironing and all was well until the evening. We received some very depressing news concerning the health of a very dear friend which floored us, the third of our closest chums to have health issues in recent weeks and hours later came more very sad news. 

Frankly, it was just a shit day!

Sunday 9th June Royal Flush

A rapid Banette raid and we slipped our berth at 9.15. After throwing  departing waves to our neighbours and with Duet following me out, I glanced down at the gauges and was horrified to see port engine oil pressure guage pegged hard over. No strange noises, no smoke, she sounded fine, must be electrical but I was taking no chances so by 9.20 we were back alongside. I insisted Eric crack on and we would catch them up later. Typically ten minutes later he was back. I again insisted he head off as I was now sure it was an electrical issue.

Had a quick perusal for anything obvious like a wire hanging off but when there was nothing, we had a cup of tea and I spoke to my UK agent, smedlar. I was soon testing pressure senders and following a later second call, was removing wires from the upper  helm and lower helm guage with no joy. I split the two commoned wires at the sender which I should have done first and fitted separate connectors. With just the lower helm wire fitted, I had joy as the guage worked correctly. Its a short somewhere on the upperhelm then. I wanted to confirm so fitted the other cable to the sender but now the guage still worked. The long and short of all this is that I have no bloody idea where the short was happening but clearly having messed with so many wires and connections, it had been cleared. This was all very well but for how long?

We had taken lunch during the whole investigation, rather lovely merguez and onions hot dogs. And so it was approaching 2pm as we tried to depart Comercy again. Of course, the second I started engines two hire boats rounded the corner. Had not seen one through all morning but now there were two. Good news, the first pulled in and surely the second would follow, but no they only had eyes ahead and so I fell in behind the second noddy.

 

A text from Jill said they were waiting at a lovely spot with free everything , Villiers sur yonne.  Just 4 locks and 10km. It was a beautiful run again and on one engine at tick over, it was a perfect Sunday stroll. In fact at the second lock we were passed by two couples walking the towpath with a pram and baby. We caught them up twice but they still beat us to Villiers, such was our leisurely pace.

We did not get a great view of the old chateau at Cuncy

 

but did rather naughtily enjoy the lock antics of our accompanying noddy. The lady was at the helm while the chap tied the two mooring lines round his waist and would skip up the lock ladder and rather than tie off round the bollards, he would attempt to hold them both. This inevitably led to lock carnage at the front. The boat took a hammering and frankly I am surprised it did not hole. The poor chap was teetering on the edge of exhaustion with the strain and despite the student lockkeepers help and advice, we witnessed the same hilarious episode at each lock. The last one of which was particularly delightful as was the pretty young student attending us and sending us on our way with a beaming smiling “bon vacance”, such a contrast with the stasi witches of a few of days ago.

We approached Villiers with Jill waving a welcome. Noddy was just tying up perfectly in the middle of the two available berths as we approached. They appeared to ignore my first call but I could see they werer exhasperated having nmanaged to get alongside in one piece and gave them time to recover. I called out again and with a nod, the lady said they would pull the boat forward. I slipped into the huge space left with 6ft clearance still at either end. Eric leant me a scaffold board and suggested a leffe. We quickly sorted electric and settled Doucette before grabbing a bottle of ice cold muscadet and slipped along to Duet for a well earned leffe. It was 4pm. We left her at 7.30. The scaffold plank crossing took a massive amount of concentration and proved interesting.

Knocked up a pasta dish in minutes and stupidly had a glass of red with it. At least that gave me a royal flush  for the day. Red, rose, white , bubbly, leffe and heinekin. I separate the beers by under percentage alcohol logic. Leffe being 6 whilst heinekin a still healthy 5%.

 

The night was even more improved when we got a call from Fred and Zoe. Had been perturbed to hear there crossing from Uk was delayed but the call confirmed it would be only a few days late and that they were on good form and excited at the prospect of returning to the canals on Chartwell. It seemed an age since  we shared our first unforgettable magical trip to Paris on very different boats, a trip which inspired our current situation.  http://andyonangeline.blogspot.fr/

Needing air there was still time for a sunset stroll at 10ish crossing the canal bridge looking back at our delightful mooring

 

andtaking in the village and the adjacent River Yonne, which still acts as a feeder for the Nivernais. It is a very different proposition to the Yonne we battled up two weeks ago instead now displaying its more sedate and beautiful virtues.

Retiring drunk with a ridiculous bag of crisps and glass of fizzy water I attempted to watch episode 8 of band of brothers. With the crew asleep in a second, I must have seen only 10 minutes before someone knocked me out.

It had been quite a day.

 

Saturday 8th June Swab the decks

Eric and Jill inspired our breakfast when I passed them on my way to the Banette shop. Boiled eggs. I imediately salivated at the thought and last nights aquisition of 1day olds was a clincher. An hour later we washed it down with a coffee as the neighbours returned from their foray to the market. Good reports had us scuttling off to catch the closing ceremony at midday. They never stay open late.
The indoor food market was lovely, the building alone made the visit worthwhile with fantastic vaulted cielings.

 The offerings all very regional and still there were queues at the fruit and veg and goats cheese stalls. The fish store had taken one hell of a beating and looked dishevelled at this late stage of the trading day.
We again drifted round the streets of Clamecy and Collette had a rummidge through the several brocante stores. as the market stalls began to dismantle and the clean up started.

 

 

We returned to Doucette to find Eric in a lather. Well he was actually trying to keep some form of control over a wildly whipping snake spitting a torrent of water over the whole quay. He had decided to wash the boat. Good idea in 80odd degrees but when the spitting hose errupted from the karcher for the fourth time, it was time for put a halt to this calamity. The connection had clearly wilted under the pressure and so with an exhausted Eric still proclaiming "it was fine for an hour while you were away" We fitted a new hose end and the crew decided to Swab our decks taking advantage of Erics kind offer of use of his lethal cleaning machine. I slipped off to the Bricolage as much for my own safety as for the purchase of trim and wally for the shower room. Returned to find a jubilant crew delighted with her swabbed decks.
The evening saw Tim back from returning his guests to Paris and with a storm approaching he kindly offered to take me to Arshaa to top up my fuel cans. Decent gesture made more so considering he was picking up new guests in his car tomorrow and would not wish to have any diesel perfume lingering. We got soaked but I got 20 gallons loaded so worth it. Hope to see Tim again sometime as he was a bloody nice bloke as someone once said.
The weather brightened and we enjoyed another late bbq of meat ribs and salad.