Dijon but not forgotten

The end of the Canal du Centre to Dijon and back

75 km

45 locks (including 21 to Dijon there and back)

36 hours

Exiting the lock, we approached the T-junction on the river. If it hadn’t been for the breeze ruffling the surface of the water, I could have combed my hair in its reflection, had I had any. For now, the Saone was calm like a sleeping dragon.

We pointed the bow upstream towards Gergy but reflected for a moment on the possibilities of turning downstream towards the Med instead. Unfortunately, we’re too underpowered for the Rhone, by about a spaghetti western full of horses. It would mean dodgy brakes going down, and there being more oomph in a wet firework coming back. In fact, to undertake the journey it would possibly mean a crane, articulated wagon, more cash and more worry.

I don't know why they bothered advertising their restaurant as there was nowhere for boaters to moor

By early evening we arrived in Gergy, the journey had been long and wearying.

Our moorings in Gergy

Our tea was eaten and sleep soon followed. I was awoken early the next morning to the sound of Piglet leaping up and down next to me, knowing that once we are up a walk and food soon followed. After the dogs had eaten, we had a wonder into the village and managed to get a loaf and a couple of large biscuits to go with a mug of tea for our journey ahead.

Gergy village centre

Unfortunately, the biscuits had been left in the oven too long and tasted like something had been cremated and then re-shaped. One of my pet hates, you point to a pedigree product but once home notice you have been given the runt.

7.30am and we were on our way to Saint Jean de Losne. This tuned out to be a long journey made longer as the radio was set at the wrong frequency for the locks.

Luckily, a pontoon was provided while we figured out which channel on the radio we should be on

We eventually arrived and moored up in St Usage just up the lock from St Jean de Losne, as far away as we reasonably could from the smelly factory there.

The bollards at St Jean de Losne were painted in a cheery fashion

The smelly factory at St Usage

Our moorings at St Usage

We spent a couple of days moored up sourcing and buying things we needed for the boat (I was running short on oil and diesel filters again but managed to get them from a car spares shop in the town).

So with food, fuel and water topped up we were on our way up the many locks to Dijon. In fact, there were so many locks it felt more like a flight rather than leisurely cruise.

The first lock from our mooring in St Usage

The site of a lock museum on route, although it was closed for lunch as we were passing through

Eight hours later and we decided to call it a day and moored for the night in a small pound at Longvic (a moorings indicated in our guide). The lock keepers waved us goodbye with giggles and suspicious looking grins on their faces.

At about 5.30am I dreamt I was falling and woke up in pain to find I actually had. Fortunately for Piglet he wasn’t leaping next to me this time or he’d have been a splatlet. The lock paddle had been left open and the pound had drained by two feet during the night, leaving the boat on a 45^o angle and dangling from the ropes.

After I managed to get it partially off the cill, it was listing a lot more than this!

It took me ages to get the boat off the silt and stone, and as I could no longer get anywhere near the sides of the pound, I tied up inside the lock. This presented the next problem, the dogs needed a piddle and I didn’t fancy wearing them as a shawls up a slippy lock ladder.

I dug out the windless and decided to raise the boat up to ‘doggy have a pee’ level. It was another hour and a half before VNF began their shift. I connected the windlass but the British fittings were much bigger and had no impact on the lock mechanism. One more try, this time armed with half my toolbox. Tracy was stood in her pyjamas on the back of the boat shouting at me not to, and for a moment I imagined what it must have been like for Les Dawson.

Fortunately, just as I was about to begin my second attempt at raising the titanic, I spotted a VNF van and managed to flag it down. He hadn’t officially started his shift yet as it was still only 7.30am but as he was the boss and could see our plight and after looking at Tracy in her nightwear and the dogs’ with crossed paws he agreed to fill the lock.                     

Once up and out of the lock we noticed the official moorings in the next pound. This was Longvic, our guide had got it wrong and our previous lock keepers didn’t think to correct us.

We were told to wait until 9am when we would be assisted the rest of the way to Dijon.

The short journey to Dijon was through a dismal industrial landscape that made for depressing cruising.

These gas containers provided much of the landscape on our run up to Dijon

As we arose out of the final lock we were both amazed and relieved to find the city moorings in a park setting.

Our mooring in Dijon

The port de pleasance is opposite the visitor moorings

A helicopter hovering over the port

We were amazed to see this catfish in the clear waters at Dijon

Once moored up, we had a walk out into the city. It was one of the most interesting and attractive cities we had ever visited.

We mooched about like typical tourists and paid a visit to the Dijon mustard shop. The shop provided sample mustards with little bread sticks to dip with. With the shop backed up with people we soon realised why, there was a lady grazing on the sample mustards like a hungry wilderbeast. I felt like saying “would you like a side of beef and some red wine with your mustard madam” although with everyone’s attention upon her she eventually skulked away.

We left with a small jar of normal, balsamic and cassis flavours.

One of the many mustard shops in Dijon

It is also available on draft

Back at home we had run out of mustard powder and were surprised to find we could only buy this from the pharmacy, it even came in a medicine bottle. Goodness knows what the medical application would be. Then again, I remember Tracy’s mum telling me that at one time you could only get olive oil from the chemist back in Briton.

Our 'prescription' mustard powder

After wandering around the beautiful city centre, we decided to have a look around the musée des beaux-arts.

musée des beaux-arts

The museum was massive and we spent all morning gawking at the works of art. Being the only visitors there, we were conscious of the noises our bodies made as we crept from room to room like two escaping convicts.

The seated attendants made us feel even more self conscious as they were as still as the exhibits on display. One chap sprang in to life like a fruit machine when I asked him a question and recited the answer like a pre-recorded message.

Some of the exhibits in the museum

After our cultural excursion, it was back to reality. One of the reasons we had taken the trip up the Canal de Bourgogne to Dijon was to visit the Apple Store so they could sort out my iPhone which had stopped functioning after the IOS upgrade just before Christmas (no music for four months). Dijon is home to a huge modern mall at Toison D’or. The next day we hopped on one of the trams and 20 minutes later we were on the doorstep of the mall.

Our long and arduous wait in Apple was made bearable by the staff, whom were all friendly, chatty and full of fantastic information about Dijon.

After double kissing goodbye all the staff that had dealt with us in Apple (the English equivalent would be a firm handshake using a long stick and a rubber glove or the Manchester version of a kick in the nuts and a head butt), we set forth on a shopping spree. Now there is a popular myth that states that the French are all thin and stylish. I can happily report that in fact they are just like us, fat and scruffy and going off the queue in Primark all have a penchant for cheap clothes too.

It was whilst I was in the Primark queue that I had my first encounter with a French pickpocket, luckily I was too quick for him and he only got away with unzipping my rucksack.      

After a quick cup of tea back on the boat, it was back out into the city centre again. The Apple team had kindly researched where version originale films were playing and later that evening we set out with our tourist map now full of dots, dashes and scribbles on how to find the cinema and various other places.

The staff had also given us a list of great restaurants to try and getting into the city early, we decided to locate the Chinese so we could head there after the film.

We walked the length of the road marked up on our map but could not for the life of us find the restaurant. With ten minutes to go before our film started we decided to leave the search and head off on the short walk to the cinema. Unbeknown to us, we had cut a corner off and marched in the wrong direction eventually reaching the end of the road. It was now 6pm and our film was starting. Panicking, we turned around and retraced our steps eventually getting to the ticket office at 6.15pm. The Grand Budapest Hotel was well worth all the effort though and we both gave it a 9 out of 10.

The next day, water was again a priority. Luckily, Tracy managed to spot a council worker watering the flower beds next to the boat. After establishing that the water was safe to drink we asked if we could fill our tank up “no problem” he said. It was whilst this operation was underway that I struck up a conversation with an English speaking Frenchman reading a novel on one of the park benches. In my usual way, I invited him over the following evening to join us for a drink and a chat.

The next evening my new friend Jean turned up, pished as a fart and demanding to know what time dinner was going to be ready. I made him a big mug of strong coffee and a cheese butty and then saw him on his way. “I will return tomorrow” he slurred “to show you a secret side of Dijon”. Needless to say we were out all the next day and missed the pleasure of his company.

On the Sunday we had booked on a segway tour and rolled up not knowing what to expect.

After a jerky orientation lasting all of five minutes we were off. Through the busy city streets, dodging pedestrians and negotiating pavements (one stretch only as wide as the segway itself). Then I found myself in the middle of a crossing with busy traffic on both sides. If I leaned back I went backwards, leaning forward I shot forwards, so you can imagine it was like breakdancing with death trying to keep it steady.

Then there was the narrow steep hill. Underestimating the power required I ran out of steam halfway and came to a stop. Humiliatingly, I had to give it a second attempt and was secretly worried that I wouldn’t make it. Once up, I watched Tracy’s attempt and laughed as she nearly mowed down a suicidal granny who stood squarely in the path until Tracy screamed something in French at her to move.

Eventually, we reached the safety of Lac Kir and were able to safely zip up and down and get the hang of how to use the apparatus. No sooner had we started to relax and actually enjoy it, when we were escorted back through the city streets once more. One woman had obviously ridden a segway before and she kept zipping past us like a caffeine injected fly. Pride comes before a fall and getting too cocky she launched herself and the segway at a family having a picnic on one of the park benches (bloody show off).

We had a wander around Lac Kir the next day, amazing to think this is slap bang in the middle of the city centre

There was a fete taking place with some traditional dancers

Exercise equipment was provided right around the lake

On Monday VNF took us back down the locks to St Jean de Losne. We always offer our lock keeper a cup of coffee but, despite my frequent requests not to, Tracy handed one chap my favorite mug.

At the next lock it was a different lock keeper and my mug had disappeared. Thinking he would eventually reappear, we descended another few locks. Two hours later, I insisted that our present lock keeper phone him and get it returned. Eventually, it made its way back, chipped with neither a thanks nor an apology.

Ten hours later, we were mooring up with the smell of the factory filling our nostrils once more.

The next day two burly gendamerie paid a visit, one with dog doo on his boots. They carried out a thorough check of all our safety equipment and documentation. Annoyingly, our 16 year old fire extinguishers didn’t pass muster and I had to buy new ones from Bricomarche later that day.

We decided to spend our final day in St Jean de Losne moored on the town moorings on the river.

Our mooring in St Jean de Losne. As the mooring rings were too few and far away, I had to bang a pin in

We spent a really pleasant day wandering around the marina (the biggest in France) and then finishing the day off with a beer in the café overlooking our boat. We noticed a token machine for the water and electric outlets situated near the quayside. Electricity was a staggering €19 for the night, if we had every electrical appliance blazing for a month we’d struggle to use that amount on the boat.

Around the town of St Jean de Losne

The port at St Jean de Losne

The next day our journey and adventures continued and it was off to the Canal du Rhone au Rhin.

Piglet after finding the yoghurt pot in the bin

Moorings in Gergy

Cost: Free.

Facilities: Electricity free, no water.

Location: A small village with a few shops approximately 2km

Moorings in St Usage

Cost: Free.

Facilities: None.

Location: Two supermarkets and a car spares shop 100m. Town of St Jean de Losne approximately 1km away where there is a good selection of shops

Moorings in Dijon

Cost: Free. There is a port de plaisance where there would be a cost (although a Scotsman we chatted to had stayed there all year for free as the capitain was absent).

Facilities: None. Electricity and water on port, there would be a cost for this.

Location: Large vibrant city, everything catered for.

Moorings in St Jean de Losne

Cost: Free.

Facilities: Both water and electricity available but very expensive.

Location: As well as a good selection of shops, there is a launderette at the top of the steps of the town mooring.

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