Gnawing tiger, paddling Piglet

Montbéliard to St-Symphorien
For the map of this route and the statistics please refer to our last blog 'Stakes and ladders'

We awoke in Montbéliard within feet of one of the most beautiful parks we had ever seen. A cockerel crowed and a chorus began that prompted every bird in the park to sing.

What the Parc Près la Rose lacked in acreage, it most certainly made up for in charm, interest and beauty. It had a maze, a large paddling pool, a duck pond (which supported a unique array of fowl), breathtaking and fragrant flower arrangements, a planetarium, a science museum and even had a large example of the Foucault’s pendulum.

The park also featured various sculptures of insects like this one

This marble ball span slowly in a pool of water

In the evening the park buzzed with people of all ages enjoying both the solitude and the communal areas. (Any one for boules?).

After exploring the park, we set out to have a look around the city. As we were only eight miles from the Swiss border we thought about taking a train or bus, or even cycling to Switzerland as it was on our doorstep and neither of us had ever been there.

Tourist information, however, said ‘non’. Trains and buses go deep into Switzerland and take a tortuous route with many changes and apparently the eight mile cycle route would prove far too dangerous. I asked a taxi driver how much he would charge us for the trip. He said he would take us there, we could get out and take a picture and straight back for €40. A picture of God knows where or what of in Switzerland for €40? We declined the offer but being so close was frustrating. We could almost smell the cheese and as evening fell, I’m sure I could hear a cuckoo clock chiming in the still night air.

As we pondered our options whilst making our way slowly around the small off shoots of the city, we came upon a café specializing in Pakistani food. After corralling a larger than average wasp back out through the open door (much to everybody’s relief), we had an excellent meal and struck up a conversation with the owner who promised us a special hotter curry should we ever return, we never did sadly.  

The view from tourist information  

The next day it was time for us to turn around and retrace our steps.

Before we left, we moored opposite the port and Tracy nipped across the road to do a shop

We made it as far as St Maurice the first day, a tiny hamlet with a wooden jetty that appeared to be mostly used by the local fishermen. In the morning, Tracy had a mooch around the place with the dogs as I carried out the 200 hour service, which seems to be coming around faster and faster.

Our mooring in St Maurice-Colombier

After a quick bite to eat, we were keen to move off. We cruised straight through L’isle sur le Doubs without stopping. I was determined to get back to Clerval and had a plan on how to moor the boat without grounding us again.

On the approach to Clerval, I felt like Frodo from ‘Lord of the Rings’ slowly navigating the swamps through the narrow channel. We were both constantly on the look out for any hidden dangers that may be lurking beneath.

The swan stood up in the middle of the river shows just how shallow it is

Once the front end touched the jetty, it was lashed tight whilst keeping the back end sticking out, but still within the channel. The curve on the bow prevented the stern coming back in. We then lashed the stern to prevent it going out; so in effect we were moored in a dike on the river. It worked and we could relax.

I nipped over to the boulangerie for a loaf and whilst chatting to the owner, I suggested she asked VNF to dredge it as they would be losing trade. “When it rains the boats can moor” she said. I didn’t get this. It rains more in the winter months and boats don’t move much then. (Go on, get the dredger on it, give it a scratch).

Any chance of a push? 

Very shallow moorings, more like a muddy puddle 

A French Dalek. Run doctor run

Once again we cruised right past the port de plaisance at Baume les Dames and had a long cruise eventually making it to Laissey.

Some of the sights on route to Laissey

We saw lots of these signs on the Canal du Rhone au Rhin

One town even advertised its delights but failed to include a mooring - very frustrating when you need a loaf

Photograph by Olivier Bertrand of our boat, taken from his factory. 

And the man himself. Thanks very much Olivier.

It was pouring with rain and we were both very tired. As we approached, we couldn’t believe there was a cruiser already on there. With the locks closing at 7pm, time was quickly running out. We were both concerned about where we would end up and didn’t want a repeat of hanging off the lock ladder again.

Moving past the pontoon, I felt I could just about get us half on it. With Tracy’s urging, I turned the boat around and positioned the front part of the boat against the jetty. Seeing our plight, the German family on the cruiser all jumped off and were kind enough to move their boat up for us. This then gave us just enough of the pontoon to feel secure.

We were Besançon bound the next day, eventually making it into the city and through the tunnel by mid-afternoon. We even managed to do the fuel run and laundry the same day.

I got chatting to a chap called Jules in the launderette who seemed really nice. I happened to mention where we were moored but was surprised when he turned up later that day with a huge fruit flan for us. I opened a bottle of wine and explained that on our first visit to Besançon we had walked up the many steps to the citadel, only to be refused entry at the gate due to the dogs. We didn’t get chance to visit the zoo up there or any of the museums. Jules insisted we try again. “The Nazi resistance museum is the best in the country” he said.

All was going well, then he told us he used to work with the tigers in the citadel until one gnawed his shoulder. Seeing as his shoulder was still attached to his body, I doubted this very much. For the rest of the evening I listened, but with a big slice of skepticism.

The next morning, we made our way up to the citadel. Tracy sang every verse of ‘I want to go to the zoo, she said’ from Mike Leigh’s Nuts in May and forced me to join in (come on Ray you know the chorus). We eventually arrived at the gates and being dog free they allowed us in.

Thankfully, it was worth it. We made a beeline for the insectarium. I walked through an open door thinking it was part of the tour then found myself in a room full of tropical spiders all on the loose. I froze. There were webs and spiders everywhere. “There’s one on your back” Tracy shouted. There wasn’t, but there may as well have been.

And this is one of hundreds roaming free (about life size)

The inner dome's my head

When we informed a member of staff there was a door open for deadly spiders to roam and bite at will, he calmly said “yes, that’s OK”.

“That’s OK” I choked, still checking my pockets. As it turned out the spiders that ambushed me, were harmless and never left the web.

The zoo housed almost everything up to lion and gorilla sizes, if it wasn’t there living it was still and stuffed.

We weren't sure if this kangaroo was dead or alive. It lay motionless with four paws in the air.

We had a quick look around the petting zoo, stroked a hamster and admired a goat. Then grim reality dawned, we were looking at the bottom rung of the food chain, and the rest of the zoo were waiting for the dinner bell.

We then went into the Nazi resistance museum on the recommendation of Jules. The whole thing was very sobering and heart rending. There was a picture of a very evil looking prison guard at the end of the tour, I pretended to punch her on the nose and the group of people stood by me, all had a go too. Some of the images were so horrifically intense, we all needed a release at that point. (They should print it on a punch bag).     

Some of the images showed examples of the British war-time spirit

Most of the images were harrowing. This one shows a French resistance fighter facing a firing squad with a smile, I love this brave man.

Inside a turret on the citadel 

You can just about make out our boat from it

Some scenes from our long march back down from the citadel

Some of the street art reminded us of Banksy

After lunch we were again off on our travels.

We saw this chap on the tow-path and thought it was a great bike conversion

This time we managed to find the jetty at Thoraise. An old chap came out as we tied up moaning about the bins being full. We took this as a hint, and didn’t add to the trash mountain.

Our mooring at Thoraise

Although apart from the overflowing bins, this turned out to be a really beautiful spot. On our approach to the mooring we spotted a chapel (Notre Dame du Mont) built high up in the cliffs, we decided to pay a visit the next morning.  

Later that evening just as we were finishing our tea, Jules turned up again. It was a shock to see him. “I have finally tracked you down” he said, obviously elated to see me. “I had to keep stopping the car and asking if boaters had seen you go past”.

I didn’t know what to say and ended up inviting him in. He had brought along a tablet full of music and said if I plugged it in to my laptop I could copy it. Firstly, it’s illegal so there wasn’t a prayer, but even if it was legal, would you let a person you’ve only known two days plug a device into your laptop? Err NO. Tracy wound up the alarm clock and went to bed, he got the hint and left.

Up early the next day, we loaded up with croissants from the local boulangerie and a flask of coffee before setting forth on our trek. A zig-zag track led us up and up to the chapel, right through the heart of a forest. It was the fresh smell of rotting leaves and fungi that got our attention first, then we saw a magical sight. Two young deer bolted into the still morning mist that hovered within the wood.

They were too fast for me

We eventually reached the chapel and the views from the top were amazing it was still early morning and the whole world appeared to be snoozing (or maybe shuffling around the kitchen in pyjamas preparing coffee).

The graffiti on the church just about sums up our trip

After our breakfast we stretched our legs and set out to make the descent.

Back on the boat it was onwards and Rochefort-sur-Nenon was our next stopping point. But as it was wet and a little bit miserable, we didn’t linger this time and as soon as we were up the next day we were off.

We decided that we would attempt to moor on the sloping wharf at Dole for lunch even if it meant me juggling the plank whilst steering the boat. This plan, however, was thwarted. It was the 1 May and the whole of France grinds to a halt for the public holiday that is Fête du Travail.

We were both completely ignorant to this fact and happily set forth from our comfortable lodgings in Rochefort. We traveled four kilometers down a section of canal too narrow to turn around on, before reaching a lock. It had been switched off.

A dog walker informed us it was a bank holiday, it then dawned on us that we’d taken a trip to no-where-ville. With nothing suitable to secure the boat to, we eventually tied to a tree and a sensor box held with four screws. Fortunately, we didn’t expect anyone else to pass by.

Undaunted by our circumstances, we jumped on our bikes and cycled the two miles to Dole. One of the few shops open was a Chinese take away/café. Inside, there was one lady cooking on two small electric hotplates. Tracy had a soup and I had a pork dish that tasted like fish and we both had a jasmine tea served in a mug. This took away the ambiance somewhat but the €36 bill for what was essentially a knock up greasy spoon café meal nearly floored us.

Every large town appears to have its own walking route around the historic buildings. You are guided by these brass plaques in the pavement. In Dole it was the 'perched cat' route. The perched cat is in reference to the local author Marcel Aymé who wrote the Contes du Chat perché.

Sloping sides are not good with a flat bottomed boat

2 May and France sprang back to life. We were up early and set off for Choisey to do our shopping, arriving before lunch.

There, we met the nicest Swiss family you could ever wish to meet. They invited us in for coffee and they all had a go on their full size piano serenading us as we sipped our drinks. After a rowdy chorus of ‘Happy Birthday’ to Regina, we said our goodbyes and set out to the supermarket.

David, Barbara and Regina Tillman on their beautiful peniche

Returning to the jetty with the bike loaded like a pack animal with a weeks shopping, I waited for Tracy to open the side hatch so I could pass it to her. Once the front doors of the boat were opened, both dogs barreled out and ran and leaped about like a pair of over excited kangaroos. Little piglet hopped about like his life depended upon it and then hopped himself right off the end of the jetty. I could hear him paddling about beneath the pontoon and as Tracy was still fumbling herself through the boat, I had no option. Holding my fully laden bike in one hand, I just managed to lean myself and the bike over and scoop Piglet out of the canal. Unperturbed, he gave a little victory dance and then fled to the safety of the boat.

We finally, made it to St-Symphorien at 6.25pm and as luck would have it the lock keeper let us through. The cruiser circling on the river on the other side of the lock wasn’t as lucky. Even though he moved straight into the lock after we left it, the lock keeper turned off the lights, jumped into his car and drove home. After half an hour they re-emerged realising they were going nowhere and we signaled for them to breast up with us on the lock mooring. No, they completely ‘saw their arse’, about turned and cruised full speed up river.

Unfortunately, the steps down to the lock mooring were too steep for David but Barbara and Regina came to visit us later that evening. It was a great excuse to have a go on my piano

Later that evening we dug out our map and guide and planned our journey for the Canal entre Champagne et Bourgogne.


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