Our European Adventure: Roanne our way back

Roanne to Digoin

As we exited the lock at Roanne port we squeezed on to the wooden visitor mooring. At 14m it was 3m too short but we were grateful.

Although the port was the largest we had come across, it was absolutely jam-packed with some boats breasted up. We were tucked away in a cosy corner, secluded from other boats, with our own gate and security light.

We quickly got the measure of our English neighbours though. The gate to the jetty was locked so I shouted across to an English man who was speaking to the captain through the doorway of his office, situated close by. “Hello, please could you tell the captain the gate’s locked and we can’t get out” I hollered. Choosing to ignore me, he slowly strolled over, “It’s not normally locked” he said pushing and pulling on the gate (so he had heard me).

“Are you mooring in the port” he added. He was beginning to irritate me at this point, I just wanted the gate open and he knew it. Stalling for time, he began to bore on about his huge peniche moored in the port (not a how do you do, or where have you come from, and if you need anything don’t hesitate to ask. We didn’t even exchange names).

It was eventually a relief to find ourselves eating a reasonably priced meal in the centre of town. After three courses and a bottle of wine we set off to find the tourist information centre, not realising you would need a tourist information centre to find the tourist information centre.

The restaurant in the town square we had lunch

We followed the signs and were led through the city and out the other side, into a residential area that got quieter and quieter, in fact, I think the small print on the signpost read ‘send the buggers back’. We walked that far out, I’m sure I could hear sheep at one point.

Eventually, bursting for a wee, Tracy declared that she would not go any further and stomped down a side street. Bizarrely and inexplicably like two characters in an Ishiguro novel, we were spat out into a town square with tourist information sat proudly in the middle, it was a relief in every sense of the word.

Roanne had lots of interesting shops down intertwining snickets and even supported a multiplex cinema with two version originale films showing. We returned later than evening to watch ‘American Bluff’ (or ‘American Hustle’ as it is known in the UK). Forgetting that when they say the film starts at 6.45pm they mean the actual film and not the trailers and adverts. We trundled in at 7pm to find we had missed 15 minutes of the start. We soon caught up though and really enjoyed the film. The evening was rounded off with a trip to Mcdo as it was the only place open at that time.

We got chatting to some Chinese people dressed in traditional Pumi outfits

The next day we decided to cycle to Villerest. It was around a 16km round trip, steady up hill most of the time, with only a small section too steep to ride up midway.

Some unusual street art we came across on our way to Villerest

We were passing through medieval villages and beautiful landscapes. Needing to pee, I was scouting for the perfect spot and forgetting that Tracy was right behind me I screeched to a sudden stop at a convenient tree. Lost in thought, Tracy braked too late crashed into my back end and launched herself across the pavement.

Tracy is fascinating to watch when falling, she drops like a tree being felled, never putting her arms out, “It’s in case I break them” she says. Once in Cornwall she fractured her nose doing the exact same thing and has rolled down Ben Nevis in Scotland with a full pack on her back like a PG Tips chimp strapped to a rolling barrel. Luckily, the stinging nettles and gorse bushes stopped her descent.

This has been a running theme during our years together and Tracy has prat-falled her way all around Europe without seriously hurting herself. A quick glance assured me that this time she was indeed unhurt.

Over the years I have not as much as outwardly sniggered, smiled, guffawed or laughed. Inwardly, I am creased double, slapping my thighs and pointing her out to onlookers like Barnum with his freak-show. Roll up roll up come and look at the chimp-woman rolling down Ben Nevis strapped to a back pack. Watch as tree-girl is pole-axed in the woods with only her nose to break the fall. (Incidentally, when a woman falls in the woods does anyone hear me laugh?).

After watering the tree and setting my face to concerned, I eventually returned to find her brushing herself down. She launched her attack and left me feeling like my ears had gone twelve rounds with Mike Tyson. Needless to say, the rest of the journey was frosty. Luckily, Villerest was so ridiculously magnificent that silence was immediately broken.

We were even walking around in T-shirts at one point it was so warm

We walked around the man-made plage and kept an eye on the restaurant overlooking the lake. The notice on the door stated ‘ouvert toute l'année’ but at 11.55am it looked like there was no-one around, let alone anyone cooking.

With noses pressed to the window I stated gloomily “Look at where we are, the middle of nowhere It’s all closed for the season, we’ve got no chance there’s nothing but tumbleweed and vultures waiting to pick our bones.”

Noon on the dot we tried the door and were surprised when it opened.

Our plan was to have a bite to eat then continue our journey to Chateau de la Roche some 10km further. The only thing was the meal turned out to be three starters, a main (chicken supreme but should have been named chicken superb), a cheese course, three puddings and a biscuit all washed down with a bottle of red. One of the nicest meals we have ever had all for the grand sum of €25 a head.

The starter

The puds

As we waddled back out of the restaurant we had to rethink our plan for the afternoon and decided to take a leisurely bike ride around the lake instead of tackling the hilly 10km to the chateau.

Medieval centre of Villerest

Luckily, it was downhill all the way home and I’m sure whatever route we’d have taken would have been the scenic one.

Later that evening after such a big lunch we just wanted a snack for tea. Since the start of our journey, I have developed a two cracker a day cheese habit with Camembert being my cheese of choice. Now in England Camembert is completely innocuous over here it absolutely STINKS.

My favorite appeared to be France’s favorite too. I noticed it always seemed to sell out first and you could find it in the remotest of villages and smallest of shops even if the shop had little stock and a fridge on bricks with one cheese in it, chances are it would be this one. So when I found a stronger version, I was intrigued.

That night the crackers were out, the cheese unwrapped and just as I was about to take a bite of this soft pungent cheese, Tracy shouted from the front room, “I think one of the dogs has shat Martin, can you have a look” it did smell bad but tasted delicious. It’s since been banned from the boat.

Leaving the port of Roanne we soon found ourselves moored back at Mably. I got chatting to Charles and Nadine once more and we all hopped on one another’s boats for a gander. Nadine’s boat was an eye opener as he had no water tank, instead he had a very sophisticated water system. It pumped the water straight from the canal, the water then went through three filters and a UV light. A fourth filter under the sink refined his drinking water even further.

Charles’s boat reminded me of the art class back in school. All the sinks and tiles were hand made and Charles had all his sculptures of naked women on display, all very tasteful though and he is incredibly talented. It was a very comforting space to be in, I almost expected to see a staff room with a geography teacher coming out holding a cup of tea.

Our time in Mably also included a return trip to our favourite restaurant and another scrummage at the mouse-house. We finished our stay on the Sunday with Charles and his partner Danielle having nibbles and wine and practicing our French.

The walk up to Mably village

The fantastic restaurant in Mably

Charles and Danielle with Tracy

The airfield next to the moorings was in use during our stay in Mably

Early evening we waved goodbye to our new French friends and chugged to the lock ready for the morning trip to Briennon.

The lock keepers garden was the only place for us to moor up that evening

And he was up at the crack of dawn to get rid of us

Some of the shine of Briennon had disappeared when we returned as the visitor mooring was completely full of dog muck and in fact as we were mooring up the culprit with his two dogs the size of pit-ponies rocked up and left even more mountainous deposits. We remember that our Australian friend, Caroline, had said that she had cleaned it all up last time.

It was something of a relief when the captain turned up and told us that we needed to pay for being there. We told him we wouldn’t bother staying and travelled a couple of hundred yards to just outside the village and found a poo-free spot that was perfect for a barbie.

The next day we decided to walk the 8km to Charlieu to visit the abbey. On route we popped into a tabac, we were the only customers and both ordered an orange juice. It was a one-gulp drink and after both making use of the facilities I paid the bill, €5.20. I reckon it was €3.20 for the orange and €1 each for the widdle.

Now, sometimes in life you reach your destination and say to yourself “is that it”. This was one of those times and in typical English fashion we plonked ourselves on a bench opposite the abbey and got our flask of tea and sandwiches out.

The abbey at Charlieu

The village itself was attractive but with it being lunch time everywhere was closed. We trudged the 8km back to the boat and by the time we returned we were footsore and tired.

After our long walk it was a relief to eventually see this sign

It was back to our travels in the morning and by mid-morning we were moored in Bourg-le-Comte. While in the process of tying the boat up a gentlemen came running up brandishing a paint-brush. The gentleman turned out to be our neighbour from the house next to the mooring. He was a Dutchman called Hans and wanted to know how long we planned to stay. Only until Monday we assured him.

He told us about a fantastic restaurant in a village called Neully about 10km away. The next day we got on our bikes and headed for lunch. What Hans hadn’t mentioned was that reaching our destination was like attempting the mountain stage of the Tour de France.

Red in the face and completely out of puff we finally reached the restaurant. It was more than worth the effort though as for €13.50 we had a ‘help yourself to the buffet’ starter, a main (we shared the chicken and choux farcie) a cheese platter, a pudding, tea and coffee and half a bottle of red (phew). Our waiter was originally from Canada and was a great help in explaining what was what. The place was packed to the rafters and even though there were no free tables we were grateful to be allowed to share the table of a French couple dining there.

All our French neighbours were friendly and chatty and after asking us what we preferred English or French cuisine (French obviously) they shared their bottle of wine with us (the nicest wine I have ever tasted).

We left in really high spirits which even the mountainous journey back couldn’t dampen.

Tracy was still red in the face even at the cheese course

If you include my bald head the sign says Oop

Such a beautiful location, shame this building was left to wreck and ruin

Later that evening Hans popped over and invited us around to his home for drinks. Tracy was delighted to spot Yorkshire Tea in his kitchen and I plumped for a glass of red. “€2 from Aldi” Hans explained “But you do need to add a dash of Cassis to hide the taste” he added pouring me a glass. Another French couple, Domar and Agnes, joined us for Yorkshire Tea and invited us for aperitifs at their home the following evening.

The next day we ventured to the nearby town of Marcigny that had its own mouse-house and arriving half an hour too early, we were herded into a makeshift shelter to queue for the doors to open. Luck was on our side once again and for all of €2 we are now the proud owners of a ‘thick slice’ toaster.

The 'mouse-house' at Marcigny

Later that day we yomped down the muddy path to Domar and Agnes’ beautiful weekend home on the banks of the canal although not sure what to expect by their invitation for aperitifs. We were totally blown away when we were seated at a table groaning with a huge selection of dips, pates and other delectables that Agnes had made herself. We then had what I could only describe as a carrot and cumin seed pizza which was absolutely delicious and an apple tart to finish all accompanied by bottles of red wine and a choice of homemade spirit in sloe, plum, pear and tutti frutti flavours.

Hans and his wife Houria joined us and we had a really good evening chatting and laughing way into the evening.

Domar, Houria and Hans with me and Tracy - Agnes is the one taking the photo

Agnes recommended that we visit the church in Anzy le Duc as it was, in her opinion, one of the most stunning churches in the region.

The next day I bought croissants for our breakfast and on the way I dropped in on Domar and Agnes’ to give them one of my jars of mango chutney as a thank you for the fantastic evening we had had. Domar wouldn’t let me leave without a jar of honey from his own beehives and Tracy and I ate some with our croissants when I eventually returned (the nicest honey we have ever had) buzzing!

Walking to the shop on the hill for our morning croissants

The path gets really steep at the end

After lunch we jumped on our velos and headed for the voie vert (green path) which we had been told would take us all the way to Anzy le Duc. It was a warm and sunny day and the scenery for much of the journey was stunning. After 10km the path comes to an abrupt end in a car park and asking for directions from some fellow cyclists we discovered we had come the wrong way and were in fact in Igurande.

Not wanting to miss seeing the church, we had our picnic, turned our bikes around and set off back down the 10km we had just done rejoined the voie vert next to the dual carriageway going in the opposite direction and carried on. 10km later we again reached the end of footpath with no Anzy le Duc in sight.

The church in Baugy on route to Anzy le Duc

The other end of the path

Asking some walkers they said “Oh you need to go back on yourself and then on to the main road, be careful it is very dangerous, and then follow the signs to Anzy, it is about 6km from the main road”.

The joy of the trip started to wane at this point but as we were so near our goal we felt like we couldn’t give up. We donned our headgear for the dangerous road, gave each other a pep talk and set off. We eventually landed at Anzy le Duc at about 4.30pm and the church and village were indeed incredibly lovely.

We had a quick mooch around as Tracy was anxious about getting back before dusk as we didn’t have any lights on us.

Like two virgins fleeing a vampire before sunset, we made our way home and arrived back as darkness settled in. We were both completely exhausted and were amazed when we realised that we had covered 55km. I still don’t know how we did it (oh and Tracy fell off her bike again).

We were overjoyed to find that Houria had left us some homemade biscuits on the boat, they were quickly snuffled with a big mug of tea.

The next morning we were up early and on our way once more.

Another early morning start for us

Fortunately for us, VNF on this canal liked to be up at the crack of dawn too

The end of the Canal de Roanne a Digoin lay ahead and we were really sorry to be leaving it. This canal has been one of the most enjoyable of our whole trip so far. Domar had told us that, due to lack of use, there was a danger that VNF may close the canal to traffic. Any boaters reading this, we would urge you to take a cruise down the canal tranquille (as it is known) as it is truly a hidden gem.

Turning the corner, the last lock of the day and Digoin were in front of us, onwards now to the Canal du Centre and the River Soane.