Digoin for now

Digoin to Roanne

57 km

10 locks

12 hours

By the time we had moored up in Digoin, the night sky was upon us. Anxiously we made our way to the town centre scurrying like two church mice.

The cashline gleamed before us like a gold pot at the end of a rainbow. I inserted the card and punched the numbers in. Within seconds it spat the plastic out like we had fed it Marmite.

At this point, a wave of panic engulfed us. It is a weird thing but when you are miles from home, family and friends your mind races a million miles an hour and I had an image of us lying over a vent back in Paris with the dogs on a piece of string, holding a sign saying homeless and peckish. I felt a sense of terror as we approached the next cashline but as €100 spewed out we both felt like winners on a slot machine. To celebrate we went to the only place open in the town centre, a kebab shop.

We had bought a mini-fridge from Lidl back in the UK around July, but by the first week of August it was goosed. So since then we were only eating meat when we could find a butchers to buy it fresh, the majority of our meals were from our 1000 Vegetarian Meals cookbook (of which we’ve nearly exhausted).

Like two starving sailors, we ordered our kebabs. “What sauce would you like?” the café owner asked, “the hottest you have” we replied. She gave us a look equivalent to a health warning, wide eyed with pouted lips. Expecting the worst I tucked in but, although tasty I was underwhelmed, there was more heat in a hand rub.

Tracy ordered the taco and I had the gallette and we tore into our meals like a pair of meat deprived hyenas. It was only when we were half way through our fingers and the kebabs we realised that Tracy’s taco and my gallette were actually the same thing only mine was rolled and Tracy’s folded, but she did make us two buckets of tea to wash it all down with, big mugs just like home.

The next day our main concern was getting water so, unwashed and like two extras from an Oliver production, we made for the reception desk at the boat hire centre a few hundred yards from where we had moored.

“Non” the lady replied still tapping at her computer, “but we need water” I said “try the captain” she replied “the captain’s hut is shut and will be until the season starts in March” Tracy pointed out “I know” she said still tapping, we then looked towards a different member of staff, he just gave us the shrug.

Stony faced, we weren’t giving up. Realising that we weren’t going to leave her reception desk, she finally let out a huge sigh and said “ok I’ll get the manageress”. Thankfully, the manageress was very nice and found no problem in us purchasing water.

The port at Digoin

Everything in Digoin was close to hand and there was even a Grand Frais within cycling distance some 12km away. With the sun shining and the tarmacked towpath as smooth as a steak and kidney pudding we made the journey. Surprisingly, the trip was people free, except for one man wielding a rifle although, due to the lack of bird noises, he’d already shot everything that moved (peddle faster Tracy).

An outdoor table football

The 12km cycle down the towpath was beautiful, we couldn't believe there was no-one else enjoying it

We love Grand Frais!  Look at the size of these lemons, we also managed to get plantain and fresh peas this week.

We moored just outside the marina so we could get the shopping on and off more easily

The lighting was magical on the cruise back

There was a cinema in Digoin and as luck would have it ‘12 Years A Slave’ was showing in version originale. Only four other people attended this non-dubbed film and as they were seated up in the circle, it meant I had the whole of the stalls to myself and could put my elbows on both arms. Tracy stayed at home as she had read it was harrowing. It was and shocking too, a real eye opener.

Like the cinema in Belgium, the lights don’t come up until the last bit of text has left the screen. Unlike the UK were one whiff of the end and there are people fighting to get past you, every stumbling, snow blinded, toe crusher for themselves.  

The town hall in Digoin

Inside the cinema

The week soon passed and the dogs had left their scent everywhere worth a look.

One of our favourite dog walks while we were in Digoin

Although, as the Loire had burst its bank, it was a bit of a doggy paddle for poor short legged Piglet

There were some really interesting house boats on the route, we presumed these were for holiday-lets

We finally wore them both out after their long walk. Not seen in this picture, but Tracy is four paws to the wind too

So on the last day we approached the marina once again, this time by boat, confident that there shouldn’t be a problem.

“Bonjour”, I waved to a chap at the marina who had helped me last time. “Water is off” he growled. “It’s me, I got water here last week” I replied and began mooring up at the end of the line. Grumpy stood with his hands in his pockets and watched me wrestling with the ropes, banging the stakes into the ground and tying the boat up.  Eventually, after I had finished, he grunted “the hose won’t reach”. Determined not to lose my cool, I smiled through gritted teeth, unpegged, untied then chugged down and retied to a boat nearer to the marina.  Grinning triumphantly he approached me “you’re too late, it’s dinner time, you’ll have to come back in an hour  at 1pm” I looked at the time it was 11:50pm.

I needed 10 foot!

As the waters were higher than average for this time of year, we decided to put the River Saone on hold for now and head towards Roanne on the Canal de Roanne a Digoin to kill time. The morning we left Digoin it was gloomy, but soon brightened up and with the sunshine it seemed that all the local fauna came out to play. For the first time in our lives we saw red squirrels. There were also coypu poking their heads out of the canal banks and deer running free and if that wasn’t enough, a huge bird of prey, standing as tall as the boy from Kes, circled the skies. (Shimon MF).

The last lock of the day approached and Tracy asked the eclusier what Chambilly was like, the blob on the map we had decided to moor at. “Yes it’s nice” the lock keeper replied “and there’s lot’s of places to visit”. But we think he must have meant the town not the actual port de plaisance as, apart from the fact that the sloping sides meant we couldn’t get the boat near enough to the large car park they called a mooring, there was also a small factory pumping out a pungent chemical smell.

The last and huge lock before Bourg le Compte and Chambilly

We couldn't get any closer than this to the mooring, but we wouldn't want to moor here anyway

With our throats flip flop dry and swelling like bullfrogs, we decided to go back on ourselves, around a kilometer to Bourg le Comte, a tiny village in a beautiful rural setting. 

What a difference a kilometre makes - the lovely setting of Bourg le Comte

After tying up we set off to investigate the only shop in the village, and on entry felt almost apologetic for awakening the proprietors from hibernation. A man stood staring from the back as I ordered what I thought was a currant baguette from his wife “can I can’t have that” I said pointing at the loaf.

No expression, tongues lay silent and still, just wild eyes that read STRANGER. Hoping to God they don’t mis-translate it as DANGER, we left as fast as we could back down the new road.

I took the first bite, of course (fat sod that I am) oblivious to the fact that the lumps were not currants but were of all things, pork-scratchings (move over garlic bread). Yes you read that right, it was a pork-scratching brioche! OMG the dogs loved it, but my mouth felt like I’d chewed on a block of budget lard sandwiched between two blocks of Echo margarine. The amount of zeros on the calorie count would send your eyes wonky.

A walk up the new road to the only shop in the village (Hello, hello. What's going on? What's all this shouting? We'll have no trouble here).

The next day, after giving the engine a full service, we cycled to Marcigny, a large and beautiful historic village. It was a Sunday, so almost everywhere was shut apart from the odd bar and restaurant. After looking around and taking in all Marcigny had to offer, we settled on a bar named L’ entracte and were glad we did as the lady that ran it was great. We left spirits high with a large bottle of house wine tucked under an armpit. This was not something she would normally do but she kindly made an exception for us and we promised to return the bottle on our journey back. Lovely wine and lovely lady.

Our cycle ride to Marcigny took us through Chambilly, all closed on a Sunday. We do want to try this restaurant on the way back though on the recommendation of many

Then over the River Loire

The famous Charolais cattle of this region

Marcigny town centre

Look, no litter

We awoke the next day to a thick freezing fog, it had been -6^oc at one point during the night and I struggled to untie the frozen ropes.

We really felt sorry for the VNF guys working on this freezing cold morning

Even the dogs were wrapped up against the cold

After the fog lifted the journey was lovely

By lunchtime the fog was all but gone and the blue sky and warm sunshine as if summer had arrived.

We cruised into Briennon by mid afternoon and were greeted by Paul and Caroline. Now, I’m not saying they were stereotypical Australians but they were barbequing a loaf when we got there.    

Briennon was a tidy place, and although there wasn’t a square as such, it had a nice port and the local shopkeepers were genuinely friendly and helpful. The man in the general store was happy and always smiled and greeted you cheerfully (Carling don’t do shopkeepers, but if they did…).

We spent the couple of nights we were in Briennon with Paul and Caroline and it was great to relax and have a glass of wine with such a down to earth and interesting couple. They were a mine of information and, apart from showing me how to get to the stop tap for water with a pair of pincers, they knew all about the local area and advised us to stop at Mabley on route to the port at Roanne as there was a ‘mouse-house’ there. 

Our walk to the lock began in lovely warm sunshine, five minutes after the picture was taken the heavens opened and we had a long and soggy walk back

The next morning we waved goodbye to our Austrialian neighbours and set off for the village of Mably, arriving a couple of hours later to a small visitor mooring shared with two permanent boats owned by two Frenchmen, Charles and Nadine, who made us more than welcome to their home. 

The morning we set off from Briennon the sun rise was gorgeous

We even managed to collect some extra logs before the first lock of the day

Mably was beautiful and we were really glad that we decided to stop for a few days. There were fantastic walks around the countryside and a lake and country-park a few feet away.

The mooring at Mably next to the airfield. Shame the local kids dumped their Mcdo wrappings (the blue thing in the picture is actually a bin)

The village itself had one of the nicest restaurants we had been in and for €13 each we gorged ourselves on three courses and a 100cl bottle of wine.

Very good food can be found where it says 'bar'

Detail from a mural on one of the buildings in the town centre

A BMX circuit right next to the country park, we never saw one kid on it, even at weekend

We decided to have a trek around circuit number 4 on the Sunday and then have another slap up meal in the restaurant to finish off with

Unfortunately, the restaurant was closed on Sundays so we had to make do with a picnic in the country park

To complete the perfect stay, the ‘mouse-house’ was indeed having a sale on the Saturday and for the grand sum of €20 we walked out with two coats and a hat for myself and two new jumpers and a couple of hats for Tracy and a swing-ball stand for the satellite dish.

So with the end of this canal in sight, we set out on the Monday morning for the port at Roanne and eventually ascended and exited the final lock in to the port at 11am.

The cruise to Roanne was full of interesting sights, including this river diverted over the canal

But we couldn't look too closely at the dog and cat shelter as we don't have the room for another pet

Moorings

Moorings in Bourg le Comte

Cost: Free

Facilities: None.

Location: Rural location. Village is 1km up a hill with one general grocery store.

Moorings in Chambilly

Cost: Free

Facilities: None.

Location: Next to the car park of a chemical factory. The mooring itself has sloping sides and so a plank would be needed.

Moorings in Briennon

Cost: Free

Facilities: Electricity and water both free.

Location: A short walk to the village where there is a general store and a boulangerie.  There is also a restaurant on the port.

Moorings in Mably

Cost: Free

Facilities: None.

Location: Next to an airfield. Mably village is around 2.5km away with a small selection of shops, a tabac and a restaurant.  The ‘mouse-house’ is approximately 1km away.  Roanne is a short cycle away (7km) where there is a Grand Frais.

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