The Journey -
The Voyage Continues on 'Rosy'

On leaving St Quentin, complete with a new watch and a calmer outlook on life, and closely followed by 'The Prescription' it rained.  So I pulled into a Seraucort-le-Grande - a backwater.  A small basin with a pontoon mooring with water and electricity.  The basin edged with yellow and white water lilies.  All very peaceful.  But did it rain!!! 

The next day we continued down the Canal de St Quentin, past a turning onto the Canal du Nord, and another turning to Compiegne to the town of Chauny.  Port de Plaisance on the right with water and electricity - but you have to pay.  Public quay on the left for free.

Paul and Maureen were already there.  They are sailors who have demasted their 25ish ft fibreglass yacht and are canalling for a year.  Paul knows very little about how the bits on his boat work, and the manuals are lodged with a mechanically minded son-in-law in UK.  so even simple jobs require him to phone to UK.  Maureen is one of those folk who take for ever to tell their stories.  For example, she went out for 15 minutes, and then took 30 minutes to tell me of everything that had happened - which, as it happens, wasn't very much.  She speaks 'Edward Heath' French - that is to say, she doesn't know very much of it, and the little she does know is spoken without a hint of a French accent.  However, she believes in using her non-existent French, and encourages ME to!!! 

Although they are not lost, they are not where they should be.  They are on the wrong canal, and are hence involved in a complicated detour.  This is because she enquired about directions from a passing Frenchman, and relied upon his knowledge and her French.  The result is entirely predictable.  Their life pretty much revolves around booze.  Where to get supplies and where to store it on their smallish boat.  They appear to start drinking in the short interval that occurs in most peoples' lives - the one between getting up in the morning and having breakfast.  They are then at it (as it were) for the rest of the day.

Restaurants are recalled by the wine as in '... that was where we had the nice bottle of red, isn't it.  Or was it white?'  Although they drink a lot of the stuff, their knowledge of it is minimal.  They think I'm teetotal as I don't drink booze until 6 p.m.

The next day was a long one for me.  9 hours, standing at the tiller and working locks.  'Twas a bright, sunny day, and extremely pleasant.  We ended up on a lovely mooring at Pargny-Filain, overlooking a lake, and very quiet.  Down a track and behind some trees was a cafe, to which I repaired at 7.30 p.m., and had a sumptuous meal.  I don't eat out too often, so when it's really good .....  Yummy!  Tabouleh, which was a meal in itself.  Some beautiful fish - flaky, and done in a smoky, creamy sauce, with some non-greasy chips.  Wonderful bread, and 4 cheeses, only one of which (the Camembert) I'd had before.  Plus a litre of beer before the meal, and bottle of vin ordinaire with it.

Surprisingly, I was up and about reasonably early!  The Souterrain (tunnel) de Braye beckoned.  2.36 km long.  Then I was defeated by the rain, and stopped on the pontoon at Bourg et Comine, where I fell in with 'Miss Carlton' a beautiful, wooden, sea going Thames cruiser.  Bob is ex-merchant navy and Salters Steamers.  They are usually at Wallingford, but cross the channel each year for a couple of months in France.

The next day (11 July) was a lockless 4 hour plug against a 2 or 3 km current up to Berry au Bac, where, the following morning I saw IT at last.

IT is getting a peniche under a low bridge.  Empty, a peniche is often high in the bows, This one was, with, as it happens, the bows about 6 inches lower that the roof of the car that was on the hold covers, and the roof of the fixed wheelhouse.  The boat eased under the bridge, but was not going to get under by about 3 inches.  So he backed off a couple of yards, popped it into forward gear and gunned the engine.  The stern of the peniche sat down 4 inches and under he went.

The following day was the run up to Rheims.  Everyone said I would love Rheims, but I didn't.  Mooring is in a broad basin.  On one side of the basin is a busy multi-lane highway.  On the other side is a busy multi-lane highway.  Right next to the Port de Plaisance (where you pay) is a bridge carrying a particularly busy multi-lane highway.  Further away from the bridge are some mooring.  Some are filled with peniches.  The rest have bollards, each surmounted by truculent French fishermen.  After they have been shooed away (I speak French to them with an aggressive German accent) two more difficulties emerge.  The bottom of the canal is too close to the top, which inhibits 'Rosy''s soothing rocking motion.  And the strip of grass between the afore- mentioned bollards and the afore-mentioned multi-lane highway is the major dog walking area of Reims, and hence the major dog crapping area.  In one spot, just by one 'Rosy''s window, and about a foot lower, one could not help but see the last 15 days worth of doings of one particular woof.  Each was of a similar shape, but they were in a series, each a bit drier than its neighbour, so they were an obvious time series.  Early the next day, I had a quick look and the magnificent Cathedral, and fled.

At about mid day it started drizzling, but there were no moorings until about 6 p.m., so I had a pretty miserable afternoon, enlivened only by the Souterrain de Mont de Billy.  I moored, and it's been raining ever since.

Today is 14 July.  Bastille day.  France is shut for the day.  And it's raining.  I think I'll cheer myself up and clean the bilges.

Toodle pip!!

Bill