PARIS TO LYON BY CANAL ON THE WANDERLUST II - Part 4
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Written by: Op-Ed Chaucer
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We begin today's post with a diary entry.
" Late yesterday we entered two locks off the main canal and traveled the two km into the city of Nevers. John's friend Adriane took the morning train returning to Paris and the beginning of her new job. As it so commonly happens when a crew member departs, the remainder experience a sense of loss. This was perhaps more acutely felt as she was a sort of boat mother. It was Adriane who injected a calm sense of family order."
We ambled around the pedestrian malls seeking to raise our spirits. I stared longingly at the artful food preparations displayed in the many charcuteries. This and the passing morning motivated the re-provisioning of the yacht just before the stores closed at 12.30 pm. The matter of stores closing at lunchtime proved a frequent irritation to us. Bloody stupid, if you ask me.
Before we could get underway John had to don face-mask and snorkel and take a knife to unfoul the propeller which had wrapped itself in a large plastic bag.
Although extremely hot, the weather was perfect and the locks came and went with a growing ease. Some locks are separated by only 600 meters. A combination of identical locks and repetitive scenery fused the passing days into one.
I began to feel like a monkey might under the circumstances. As the Wanderlust entered each lock I would spring from the deck with two ropes clutched in one hand and clamber up a slippery steel ladder to make them fast. Then, as the incoming water rose I had to scamper from bow point to stern to seize up the slack in the lengthening lines.
Being a lock-master and sitting all day without company can make a man rather miserable and decidedly lonely. One overwrought gentleman gripped by the sight of our fair ladies frolicking on deck had began to act most oddly indeed while standing at the window of his tiny lock-master's cabin. I was the only one to see him and elected not to blow the whistle, as it were. When I mentioned the event further along the canal, no one seemed to believe me. I wondered if the dirty bugger did that sort of thing to all passing boats.
Some of the more disgruntled lock-masters, of which there are many, take cruel pleasure in flooding the lock quickly. By opening all the gates fully, great torrents of water rush in like a raging river in full flood. The Wanderlust weighs about 15 tons and as the yacht rises in the lock the lines become shorter which allows the boat to swing and crash into the walls as it is caught in the powerful surge. The exercise is akin to holding down a wild horse with a Lasoo.
On one of those mixed up days day we cleared 38 locks. No mean feat.
On weekends, the canal banks are a popular spot for local anglers who use a fixed line on a long black pole hoping to catch I don't know what because I never did see a fisherman catch anything. I suspect it may be a popular path to tranquility, rather than a serious quest for food.
The only change of water these canals receive is from the opening and closing of the locks and that does not constitute the addition of fresh water. Given the content of junk and pollution I certainly wouldn't swim in it and I would certainly shun any fish that did.
Approaching the River Soane at Chalon-sur-Saone we peaked at an altitude of 1,000 feet. The landscape was now becoming both interesting and beautiful and there, high above the Soane we commenced the downhill run to the river below which took us through seven locks, all of them within sight of each other. The final lock was a huge one with a 10.7 metre drop that delivered us free of the claustrophobic canals and into the mighty Soane at last.
The Soane is a well marked river, about two hundred metres wide in places and very much cleaner than the canals. We encountered surprisingly little commercial traffic and thus enjoyed a two knot advantage from the river's Southerly flow.
By late afternoon we had docked at the pleasant little town of Tournus, much of which dates back to the 11th. and 12th. centuries.
There, high on the west bank of the Soane stands the Abbaye St. Philibert de Tournus. It looms as an ancient sentinel reverently commanding of the town below. Built in the 11th. century, the Abbaye is one of the purest of Romanesque Churches using double arches to support the lofty vault of the nave.
painting by Chaucer
Flourishing till 1361, when it was partly ruined by the Huguenots, the Abbaye enjoyed the bestowed privilege of minting its own coins.
In the town's narrow cobblestone streets which slope toward the river are numerous boulangeries and charcuteries taunting the beholder to immediately savour their delicious wares. France is noted for its divine tasting bread, few would argue that matter, however, it must be purchased daily as it becomes rock-hard overnight. As if knowing this accommodating trait several large, white swans, long time residents of the Soane, wait silently beside the yacht for their crusty hand-outs. One huge male gobbled down a whole baguette in double short order. Perhaps that's why there are so many boulangeries, I mused.
Downriver, some 60kms, and appropriately surrounded by vineyards, stands Macon of the wine fame.
Again we found dock space on the promenade beside the main street. Parched throats drove us directly to the nearest sidewalk cafe where we slaked our thirsts.
It was another unseasonably hot day and the town's young ladies and gentlemen, dressed in a colourful array of rather revealing attire. They occupied fully one end of the cafe where a sort of communal flirting ritual was in progress before an interested audience. People watching seems to be a well entrenched European sport, which John and I readily embraced and thus spent most of that afternoon happy in its practice.
Octagonal towers of Vieux Saint-Vincent (former Saint-Vincent cathedral), houses lining the quay and the River Saône
Join me next week as we meander our way South as the Wunderlust II continues her voyage.
If you would like to catch up on the trip so far, click on the links below.
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