The Journey -
'Rosy' to the Rescue

So, we arrived at Ménétréol.  It's lucky that we didn't arrive their earlier, as I've only just learnt how to put an accent over an e in e-mails.  Neat, eh?!!!

I was aiming to get to winter quarters in Briare on (or about) 1 October, so I booked into Ménétréol for 3 nights.  The mooring there is free.  Electricity is FF20 (about £2) per night, and water is FF15 per day.

On the evening of the first day, I had an e-mail from David Long to say that his brother and his brother's wife (Geoff and Lorna) were on the nb Falcon, and were having problems at St Satur - a mere 3 km away.  So, the next morning I cycled down to them, and at 8am knocked on Falcon's roof.  A rather bleary eyed, pyjama-ed gentleman eventually appeared.  "Bonjour!" I said in a cheery manner.  "Je suis Bill".  "Twat," he thought, but said "Oh!"

So I went away, and came back at 9am, to see Geoff working in the engine 'ole.  The engine had spluttered and died.  Geoff, an aeroplane electronics whizz, diagnosed water in the diesel, and was busy emptying the fuel tanks.  I watched him for an hour, and went back to Rosy.

About four hours later, he, Lorna and Falcon appeared at Ménétréol.  The Capitaine at St Satur had over-ruled Geoff's diagnosis - and instituted his own - fuel starvation.  He replaced a short flexible tube in the fuel line, and all was well.  So off Falcon went.

The rest of my stay at Ménétréol was fairly uneventful.  A lot of the village was built in 1850-ish, and much of it is now crumbling.  Some buildings have faded 'Café' or 'Boulangerie' signs painted on them.  The church was quite old, but it burned down about a century after it was built, and since its re-build it has been heavily restored.  There is a nice 19th century stained glass window, showing details of the life of St Hilaire.

After our three night stay, Rosy and I moved down to St Satur, mooring in the St Thibault arm which locks down from the canal to the River Loire.  Again, I booked in for three nights.  I had an afternoon outing up to Sancerre, a town atop a hill, and a great wine-making centre.  The Poiully Fumé wines come from there.  The area is one of the few that I've come across that really makes an effort to market its wines locally.

On the afternoon of the second night, Geoff appeared - Falcon was dead in the water at Ménétréol!  Rosy and I motored up there, breasted up (a canally term for lashing two boats together, alongside each other) and came back down to St Satur.

That evening, we went out for a meal.  The restaurant had five tables occupied.  After the French people on two of the tables had gone, the other three tables got together to chat, as we were all Brits.  I'd mentioned 'Oman' once or twice to Geoff and Lorna.  One of the Brit women said, "I heard you mention Oman.  My father was CO of the Muscat Regiment, and I visited there."

She was the daughter of Peter Thwaites, who commanded MR during the last days of Sultan Said.  Indeed, people tried to include him and MR in the coup, but he kept out of it.  I have his book 'Muscat Command' on Rosy, having bought it from Jeff the Book in Gent.  So while the rest chatted about the clay, chalky and flinty wine, she and I talked Oman.

Next day the pair of boats (Falcon and Rosy) pootled along to Belleville, where there is a pleasant enough mooring, nearly in the shadow of the Belleville nuclear power station.

I'd not motored as a breasted up pair before, and it was most instructive.  We lost a couple of km in speed, so were down to 3 or 4 km an hour.  Forward steering was fine, though a momentary loss of concentration and the boats VERY quickly veered off.  Reversing was very difficult, as the paddle wheel effect was greatly magnified, and even 'aiming off' to counter it was not very successful.

The next day we got as far Chattillon, where, by chance, we could motor straight alongside a pontoon.  I didn't have time to explore fully, and will return by bike at some point.  The old canal is still in water there, and locks down into the Loire, crosses it, and locks up the other side.

The problem at Chatillon is that (for the first time) my electric system and the shore power fell out, and I shorted out three of the shore sockets.

The next morning, we had to reverse out.  By chance, we were able to confound the watching gongoozlers, as the paddle wheel effect, whilst we were going astern, took both our bow and stern to exactly where they needed to be, so that when we eventually went forward I hardly had to touch the tiller to get us on course.

A couple of hours later we crossed the Loire on the longest canal aqueduct in Europe - over 600 meters long, and very prettily engineered.

Then we turned off the main line, and descended the three locks to the basin in Briare where Rosy and Falcon are to spend winter.

Geoff spent the rest of the day removing bits of drive shaft to take back to UK, and then, in the evening, took me to coal depot, where I bought 200 kg of anthracite for my winter fire, and a supermarket where I bought six boxes of beer.  Just up the first lock there is a diesel fuel pump, with prices not too much above those at the car fuel pumps.  There is a supermarket and a bakery 50 yards away, and a weekly market.  What more could a chap ask for?

Toodle pip!!

Bill