Montchanin to the
end of the Canal du Centre
52 km
35 locks
13 hours
After leaving
Montchanin, it was a leisurely cruise downstream and by 11.30am we were moored
in the tiny village of Saint Julien sur Dheune.
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| Fortunately, Tracy nipped off the boat at one of the locks on our way to St Julien, otherwise we would have been bread-less as well as penniless. |
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| Wonder what this alternator used to charge, must have been a big engine. |
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| Our moorings in St Julien |
Getting hold of some cash was
now a priority. We approached a group of council workers weeding the flowerbeds
outside the Mairie and asked where the centre ville was or if there were any
shops.
Silence and blank
looks all around until one lad jumped up and ran into the office and brought the
lady mayor out with him. With outstretched arms and a huge smile on her face
she greeted us in perfect English “welcome to Saint Julien sur Dheune”. “Thank
you” we replied and after a kiss on each cheek, Tracy asked where the shops
were.
There were no shops
and worse still, it was 4km to the nearest village with a shop. “I can highly
recommend the auberge though” she added by way of recompense for the lack of
shops.
We set off on foot
for Ecuisses via a number of misleading sign posts which took us off the beaten
track and out to nowhere. Eventually, we got there and walking through the
village we found one small closed grocery shop. It was cash we needed, so we
headed for La Poste (the post office) hoping there would be a cash machine.
This was also closed
for lunch and after pressing our noses against the window we could clearly see
that there was no cash machine to be had.
The post office happened
to be next to a school and the smell of school dinners was wafting through the
air and unbelievably smelt like a 5* gourmet restaurant. We were both footsore
and starving hungry.
“Smells delicious”
I shouted across to a teacher having a fag break on the slim chance he would
invite us in to share the leftovers. He didn’t. He did point us in the
direction of an auberge about ½ km away. “Be quick” he advised looking at his
watch. It was 12.50pm, I know we look out of shape but how long did he think it
would take us to walk 500m?
We strolled down
to the auberge which looked like what we would call a ‘greasy spoon’ back home,
in we went. “Sorry you are too late for
lunch” the waitress announced. It was only 1.10pm.
The walk back was
long and wearisome but Tracy knocked together a salad fit for a rabbit when we
got home.
The next day,
Martin and Di turned up on their barge (we had previously met Martin when we
were in Roanne) and they suggested we popped over for a drink later that
evening. As neither of us had any wine on board, I suggested we walk over to
the auberge opposite the mooring instead.
At 7.30pm we found
ourselves picking Martin’s brains about the River SaÔne ahead. Our previous river experiences
had harboured the seeds of anxiety that now began to germinate again as we drew
closer to the river’s mouth.
They reassured us
that the SaÔne was at its lowest for months and would be a doddle
to cruise. Feeling a little bit more reassured we let Martin and Di choose the
wine for the evening as Tracy and I haven’t educated our palates to any great
extent and nor would we want too, if it tastes good drink it, is our philosophy.
Unfortunately, the wine Martin and Di chose didn’t but it went down all the
same.
We had already
established with the auberge owner that she accepted bank cards and so had no
qualms about drinking and being merry.
Three carafes of
house red later we asked for the bill and our portion was €20. Handing my card
over and punching the numbers in I was met with a ‘computer says no’ situation.
After getting reassurance from Tracy that our account actually contained money,
I tried a second time and again, the machine refused to co-operate. In desperation,
I emptied my wallet on to the bar and counted out €17.76.
Fortunately,
Martin stepped in and paid the bill, I gave him a tenner in notes and promised
that I would give him the other tenner when we met again. It was only when I
got back to the boat that I realised I was only left with €2, all the coins had
been picked clean from the booty on the bar at the auberge. As Martin was an ex-copper
and the owner of the auberge was getting paid by card, it would take Sherlock
Holmes to deduce who had filched my €5 (have a drink on me, whoever you are).
Now, St Julien was
a very peaceful hamlet except that at 6.58am each day, including Saturday and
Sunday, the church bells would sound like they were being battered by the local
farmers with sledgehammers. The noise was loud, tuneless and relentless then
just as we were about to jump overboard strapped to the anchor, it would stop.
We have no idea
why the bells tolled at this time and in this way, maybe they were trying to
knock them down for a new set? It was a similar story in Digoin where at noon
every day (including Saturday and Sunday) a loud factory hooter would sound
letting everyone know it was dinner time. Like Pavlov’s dog, every time Tracy
and I hear a hooter now we start to salivate.
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| A factory hooter |
On Monday, we were
up and off to St Léger sur Dheune. Our guide indicated there was a marina
and so it would be a good place for us to top up with water.
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| The village of St Leger |
The marina was
completely chock-a-block as it also housed a boat hire company and, with the
season not yet starting, all the hire boats were moored up. We managed to
breast up with an elderly French couple but we could immediately see that, with
us having the two dogs, it was not a permanent solution.
Lunch was our
priority and after chatting to an English couple, David and Gill, we headed off
to a restaurant they recommended. “I believe it is chicken curry today” David
told us tantalizingly. We found the restaurant and had a choice of entrees both
of which we found baffling to understand what they actually were. When they
landed, we discovered Tracy had a herring and potato cold salad in a creamy
sauce which she thought was eel and so didn’t eat. I had a paté that was so
strong, Tracy said it was probably made from scraped cow head which put me off.
We ended up packaging both our entrees in a napkin and feeding them to the dogs
when we got back.
Starving, as we
had not eaten our starter, we were really looking forward to our curry. Again, we
were disappointed when it turned up. It looked and tasted like someone had
prepared a chicken supreme, sneezed over the turmeric bottle, panicked and
relabeled it a curry.
Pudding, however,
was a triumph. Tracy had a raspberry tart and I had the crème brulee that was
one of the nicest crème brulees I have ever had.
We discussed the
mooring situation over lunch and as we were planning to just stay overnight and
then move on, we decided to moor on the lock moorings.
On the way back we
popped into the capitain’s office and paid €3 for water and told the lady that
we had decided not to stay.
We manoevered the
boat on to the outside of a huge peniche as we had been advised and with some jiggery
pokery we got the water filling. To maximize our water, Tracy thought this was
a good time to jump in the shower and machete the hair from her legs (what with
the short-wearing weather approaching, we didn’t want her ending up at the zoo).
Meanwhile, I stood
on the dock trying to watch the hose pipe, when, from out of nowhere, a bad
advertisement for anger management in the shape of a large, red faced, hairy
Neanderthal approached me.
He walked right up
to my nose and started a tirade. “You come here, you don’t speak to no-one, you
steal our water, you no pay!” He then gave me the Bras d'honneur, the French
gesture for ‘up yours’.
This oikish thug
was our capitain. I told him to go and check with his office. Off he huffed. Returning
minutes later, I expected some kind of apology, but no he just chose to ignore
me.
We were relieved
to get moored up at the lock.
After a stroll
around the town we returned to the lock mooring to find a boat had gone past
and pushed us up the sloping bank. Luckily, we noticed the VNF van parked next
to the lock keeper’s cottage. Taking a chance, I knocked on the door, it was
just after 5.30pm but he could not have been more happy to help us move down
the lock. We waved goodbye and handed over a bottle of red as a thank you.
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| Luckily, the lock keeper was home when we knocked on his cottage to let us through the lock |
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| Below the lock at St Leger |
The next day it
was straight to Chagny. David hitched a ride with us to the launderette and it
was a pleasure to spend time with such a well travelled and interesting chap.
He was a retired architect and had previously lived on a sailing boat all over
the world including the Caribbean.
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| The cruise through the Burgundy countryside was beautiful with all the vineyards on the distant hills. |
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| Since November, we have only seen half a dozen boats on the move, this was one of them. |
We reached Chagny
and Martin and Di were waiting there for us. We paid them the €10 we owed and waved
them goodbye as they sped off for the SaÔne.
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| Our mooring in Chagny |
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| The streets of Chagny |
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| There was even one shop which sold hundreds of different types of tinned sardines |
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| So I had to buy a couple. Not sure they were worth the €5.90 price tag though! |
We were also in a
hurry to get the SaÔne out of the way so the next day after doing the
laundry and food shopping we moved the boat to the lock mooring so we could get
an early start.
The water at
Chagny lock was carpeted with catkins and Piglet, thinking it was a
continuation of the tow-path, took a running leap at something. The look of
surprise on his little face when he re-emerged from the water was a picture (silly
sod).
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| Our lock mooring with the carpet of catkins |
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| Oddjob patiently waiting for Piglet to climb out of the canal after his swim |
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| Some of the local flora |
Although Martin
had reassured us about the river, anxiety had started to grip us once more. So
the next day we decided to have a really long cruise and head for Gergy on the
SaÔne. We dug out the life jackets, charged and dusted
off the radio and repositioned the anchor and life belt so they were within
easy reach in case of emergency.
As we passed the
town of Fragnes on the canal we looked longingly at the two story canal-side
restaurant brimming with people enjoying good food and fine wine in the bright
warm sunshine.
Like two dogs sat
by a dinner table with paws in the air, we cruised passed and made our way to
the big lock that would take us down and on to the river.
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| Some of the sights on our journey to the river |
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| The lock keeper reckoned this bird of prey was a buzzard |
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| We knocked on this cottage to buy some eggs but didn't get a response |
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| Unusual BBQ |
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| Our approach to the big lock to take us down to the river |
Moorings in St Julien sur Dheune
Cost: Free.
Facilities: None.
Location: An auberge opposite the mooring
and a grocery shop 4km away
Moorings in St Leger sur Dheune
Cost: The marina would have a charge, but
we don’t know what this would be. Our lock mooring was free.
Facilities: Water and electricity at the
marina (€3 for water, we didn’t enquire about electricity). No facilities on
the lock mooring.
Location: A small selection of shops in the
town centre which was a couple of minutes walk from both the marina and the
lock mooring.
Moorings in Chagny
Cost: Free.
Facilities: None.
Location: A good selection of shops, bars
and restaurants and a launderette approximately 20 minutes walk away from the
mooring
