Mad dogs and gimpish men

Vitry-le-François to Nancy

150km

120 locks

51 hours

So there I was, stood stark bollock naked in the living room after a storm of biblical proportions had hit us hard whilst tying the boat up.

We left Vitry-le-François in glorious sunshine, but the further we ventured down the Canal de la Marne au Rhin, the more the storm clouds gathered.

By the time we arrived at the lock at Bagnicourt sur Saulx, Noah was descending in front of us pleading with God for it to stop.

No sooner had I tied up and stripped off, than the storm passed and it was glorious sunshine again.

Our mooring at Bagnicourt sur Saulx

The spider living in our cratch looked like a stowaway from Besancon insectarium

Vive la France!

For some reason, the next day we both thought it was a Sunday so I mounted my steed and flew like the wind to the boulangerie some 5km away (on Sundays most of the shops are closed and the ones that are open have a noon closing time). I must have looked desperate for bread as a lovely lady who gave me directions also handed me a frozen baguette. As it happens, it was actually Saturday and we needn’t have panicked.

Later that evening, a group of the local kids came down to the boat and finding out we were English, started rifling through their ‘big book of English swearwords’ each shouting profanities in turn and having a right old giggle. In fact, I learned a few new words from the cheeky little  *!!*@%*!!!  myself.

We left the next day with the plan of getting to Fains Veel where our guide indicated a port de plaisance.

I had to rescue this little frog from the walls of the lock

We saw these workers on our journey. They are doing a cracking job of the piling but I can't believe he is using a chainsaw whilst in the canal.

What our guide didn’t tell us was that the port was full with permanent boats and the only room left was on a sloping grassy patch next to a stinking noisy factory.

No idea how a small dog managed to poo on this bollard

Not liking the location, and with it still being early, we pressed the remote to activate the lock. The lock emptied and the doors opened but the lift bridge just in front of the lock remained firmly closed. Tracy jumped off the boat to contact VNF without realising the dogs had leapt off too. No amount of shouting could alert her but, fortunately seeing my concern, a chap ran and quickly informed Tracy about the chaos in her wake (screeching cars, things being peed on, pedestrians being savaged that sort of thing). Then he even rang VNF for us, a really nice French fella who just happened to be moored there.

We eventually arrived at Bar-le-Duc and not wanting to chance the port not having space for us, decided to tie up outside the VNF office just below the lock. This turned out to be a good decision, as the VNF lads there were a great bunch. They would even keep a watchful eye on the boat when we went out.

Our mooring in Bar-le-Duc

We spent that first evening with Ian and Sue, a lovely couple we met back in Orcante. Ian was keen to show me all the many gadgets they had on their immaculately kept boat, this I found interesting (hey, what man wouldn’t?). Tracy on the other hand, discovered from Sue that they had a passion for collecting vintage bottles of wine. “If ever you come to see us in Newcastle, we will open one with you” Sue announced. What a kind and generous thing to say.  

On our way home that night, we met a couple walking an English bull terrier. “Il est très gentil” she said as it sank its teeth in to my hand. Not knowing the French words for “get your dog the f*%!! off me” I began wrestling with the beast in the dirt.

“Très gentil” she kept insisting “très gentil”. She was totally unaware that her dog saw me as a large pork chop.

Eventually, they pulled the crazed animal off, but I’m sure it pointed at its gimlet eye with one paw and growled “I’m watching you porky” as they left.

You could still see the teeth marks the day after

The town was spread over two levels. The commercial centre was in the valley, with the haute ville (which was really the old quarter) on top of one hill and the high rise flats cresting the hill opposite.

The commercial centre of Bar-le-Duc

The haute ville

Residential part of town

We had a walk up to the haute ville and spotted a notice on a door for a jumble sale the following day. Returning, we found the doors closed and bolted and on re-reading the notice we spotted the small print. “Hope you enjoyed your journey back up this long hill suckers, but its not here its at the other hall at the top of the other hill – ha ha”.

Deflated by this, we began to make our way back down to the town via the local park. This turned out to be an eye opener. As we made our way through the children’s play area I spotted an unusual sculpture and walked over to investigate. The photographs below speak for themselves and we can only imagine the town council meeting that gave the approval going something like this:

Councillor ♯1: Agenda item 4 – Sculpture. Where can we plonk this then?

Councillor ♯2: What does it look like?

Councillor ♯1: No idea, but the artist has called it ‘playing with balls’.

Councillor ♯2: Sounds perfect for the kiddies’ playground.

Councillor ♯1: Sorted. Next agenda item, dog poo.

WARNING – the following images contain scenes of a sexual nature. Those of you with a nervous disposition flick past the next three photographs.

You can just make out the children's play area in the background 

To return our moral outrage-o-meter back down to 11, we decided to treat ourselves to an all you can eat Chinese banquet.

Now, we have noticed that at these establishments the locals will go up choose an entrée, then return for a main and then pay a final visit for their puds. Unlike us who simply grazed on all three courses at the same time and revisted the buffet repeatedly.

I was just about to get up for the umpteenth time when, just out of eye shot, I thought I heard the owner shouting “Do something, the greedy truffle snufflers are eating the profits.” The waiter padded over to us and with a steely gaze and a firm tone said “are you two ready for coffees now”. Taking this as a hint, we left.

Not being the sort of person who gives up without a fight, on the way home I asked a gentleman where the jumble sale actually was by showing him the picture I had taken of the notice.

“I know were that is. In fact I’m going right past. I’ll give you a lift if you like”? 

After her huge lunch, Tracy insisted I go on my own so off she waddled home. No sooner had we set out, than the heavens opened. Not wanting to offend him for this act of kindness or even having the language skills to politely say “you can drop me off here in my t-shirt and canvas pumps”. I just sat smiling and nodding thinking to myself “please stop, how far are we going” Then abruptly my journey was over, as the car suddenly stopped at seven point three kilometers and 124 lampposts later.

I thanked him for his kindness then made a wet dash into the jumble sale. What a disappointment that was. Children’s clothes and large pieces of dark gloomy furniture, not even an umbrella for my wet trudge home.     

Peaceful Tronville en Barrois was our next stop.

Lovely communal spirit and the barbecue smelt bloody lovely too

Our mooring in Tronville en Barrois

At the end of the mooring was a huge, long dead carp that had a life of its own due to the many insects crawling over and inside it. We moored as far away as we possibly could from it but a lovely Dutch couple turned up and we had to budge up to accommodate them. I found the longest stick I could and gave the dead fish one almighty poke sending it flying into the canal. Unfortunately, a swarm of angry flies and other critters came hurtling towards me furious that I had disposed of their dinner.

The next morning, as our Dutch neighbours, Gerritt and Sandra, were enjoying an al fresco breakfast, Tracy let the dogs out for their first wee of the day. Unfortunately, that was not enough for Oddjob who joined the breakfast table and had a man-sized poo.

Wearing her pyjamas and a poo-bag, Tracy gave a breezy “morning” to the two open-mouthed diners and quickly disposed of the chien-shit.

We had just enough space to moor when we arrived at Naix-aux-Forges the next day, although five minutes later and we would have been stuffed as an enormous peniche turned up.

Our mooring in Naix-aux-Forges

The American couple on board seemed to be making a meal of mooring up, so I walked over to assist, but soon wished I hadn’t. “Would you like a hand” I said. “Well yes” the chap shouted whilst stood on his deck growling instructions to his frail wife who had hold of a stake and Thor’s hammer.

“Let me take that” I insisted before proceeding to knock the massive pin into the ground. “Not there” the chap barked “there. And angle it away from the boat”. With the boat now secure I walked over to him and said “I will put your hammer down here, so you don’t forget it”. “Don’t put it there, put it there and lay it flat” he went on whilst stood doing nothing himself.

At this, I threw the hammer down and walked off, his wife squeaked the words “thank you” as I did.

Still fuming about the ignorant Yank, Tracy dragged me out for a walk into the small village.

We spotted a woman unloading her car and I shouted over to ask if there was a boulangerie nearby. There wasn’t, but she did offer to drive to the next town for us and pick one up. Of course we said no, we couldn’t ask this lovely, kind lady to go to all this trouble.

We did strike up a conversation though and with the little knowledge of the French we have, we picked up that there was a plan afoot to build a radioactive waste dump 20km away and Irène and her friends were organising themselves to fight it. 

Later that evening Irène popped by with leaflets in English for us to read about their struggle. We were having drinks with some fellow boaters, David and Anne and asked her to join us. I will be back in a minute she said. Ten minutes later she rejoined us with delicious charcuterie and a bottle of apple juice all homemade.

Q: How many people can you fit into a narrowboat kitchen. A: Five apparently. (Irène, Anne, David and us two)

Irène was an amazing character, she was 68 years old and had cycled from Nancy to Dakar in Senegal to protest against the Chinese who (in her opinion) were insidiously colonizing Africa.

The amazing Irène on her bike to Dakar

The next day we bumped into Irène again whilst she was training for her next cycle ride (Nantes to Paris) to shake a fist at Monsieur Hollande in protest at the planned radioactive waste dump. Go girl, you are an inspiration to us.

She met us at the lock the next day with a baguette

We were sorry we didn’t have much time to chat with her, we could see a cruiser bobbing about at the bottom of the lock waiting for us. Waving goodbye, we set off for the rest of the many locks and the Mauvages tunnel.

The going was slow and the cruiser remained on our tails for much of the journey. Eventually and inevitably, one of the locks gave up the ghost and refused to open for us.

If you look carefully, you can just make Tracy out fighting to get through the weeds. There was a brick wall at the top which is out of shot which she had to haul herself over.

Waiting for VNF

The cruiser zoomed up to us with a red faced Dutch couple waving and signaling to get our attention. “You stole our locks” the lady shouted to us winding herself up to give us both barrels. What we hadn’t realised was that the locks were in a sequence and as we had moored up mid-flight, we should have contacted VNF to reinstate our chain. Instead, we had stolen their slot. We apologised profusely and explained we were ignorant to this fact. “But it is all detailed in the fluvial guide she said”.

“This is our guide” I said wafting our map of France at her. “That is no good” she choked. Realising we were naïve navigators she accepted my apology with good grace and we let them go ahead of us when VNF finally turned up.

Eventually, getting into the lock, I offered the VNF chap a cup of coffee. Tracy was in the process of making us both a cuppa anyway and quickly whipped one up for him.

By way of conversation I said “It’s lovely coffee, it’s Ethopian, don’t you know”. What I didn’t realise was that lazy arse had made him an instant.

He grimaced as he took a sip. Not wanting to be rude what I wanted to say to him was “if you don’t like it, just pour it away” what I actually said with my limited French was “I don’t like it when you pour it away”. The poor man soldiered on grimacing with every mouthful.

Our mooring before the tunnel

Mauvages tunnel was another half-marathon and we were glad to see the back of it when we finally exited.

We were told to get to the entrance of the tunnel 'toute suite' by VNF only to have to wait an hour without anything to moor to. In the end, we found out the red light was 'en panne' and we could have travelled straight through.

The weather started to deteriorate as we progressed through the many downhill locks until eventually we were in a downpour so severe it made Niagra falls look like a man with prostrate problems having a pish.

VNF were waiting at the lock just before the town of Void to ask which way we were planning to go. Tracy stuck her head out of the side hatch and it was like someone was literally throwing buckets of water at her. I probably could have been more tactful when I said “That was a shame, your hair looked really nice this morning”.

Our mooring in Void

Onwards we travelled arriving at Pagny-sur-Meuse where we again met up with David and Anne. Finding out it was there 21^st wedding anniversary we were at a loss for a prezzie to give them as we were nowhere near any shops. We managed to knock together a homemade card and then spent an enjoyable evening with them toasting their notable milestone with a glass of sparkling wine.

At Toul, we motored first into the port de plaisance but on immediately being harangued by a disgruntled fish-wife decided against stopping there and moved back up the lock which had the added advantage of also being free.

Our mooring in Toul

We had a wander into the beautiful town that evening and gawped at the lovely architecture of both the John of Gaunt church and the amazing cathedral.

The John of Gaunt church

And the magnificent cathedral

Later, we settled in the town square and had a beer or two at one of the bars.

We struck up a conversation with a group of German sailors who immediately started asking us about England’s chances in the world cup. Before the discussion could get heated, we quickly said our goodbyes and left. It was not a minute too soon either as Tracy had noticed that all the women at the bar were being picked up by a local gorilla and thrown in the fountain and by her reckoning she was going to be next.

There are many bikes around Toul made into sculptures. 

The weather had been sunny and warm but without any warning, bang! It was 35^o.

After travelling for a few hours the heat was starting to get to us so when the port of Maron loomed on the river we were really grateful.

Our mooring at Maron

Before I could finish tying the boat up, Tracy had her bikini on and was swimming about with the dogs.

For as long as Tracy’s known me, I’ve never been one for swimming in the sea (sand between my toes) or swimming in rivers (what lies beneath?) But here I noticed a car would pull up, everyone would get out, have a swim then leave just before the next car arrived to repeat this performance.

Very odd!

Not wanting to miss out and not one to do things by half, I decided to leap from the roof of the boat. A small crowd gathered, children were beckoned back to the safety of the shore, and I heard a rumor the town council had even deployed four burly frogman with a harpoon on standby.

All went well and I re-emerged to the sound of the cheering crowds.

I then swam, heroically and athletically, back to the boat like a super sized if not hairier version of Tom Daly. (If you ever want to pull a crowd pleasing ‘granny’ Tom, give me a call).

I soon realised that with no foothold it was almost impossible to haul myself back on deck. I then swam between the boat and jetty tugging on the ropes wondering if I would ever get out.

It was then I remembered aquatic mammals sense your fear (what lies beneath). So with all my strength, fear and temper I managed to heave myself on to the ropes like a punch drunk wrestler.

The crowed zoomed in with their camera phones on record. At this point, I was really worried I was going to appear on the local news.

‘Whale-man beached in Marron. The townsfolk are administering wet towels and hope to refloat him later tonight.’

After catching my breath and getting a second wind and with a Geoff Cape’s roar I pulled myself up. Tracy waiting for me on the back of the boat merely said “why didn’t you just swim to the slipway?”.

The town of Maron

A local lady and her son showed me around the communal laundry that was used in the 'olden' days

Arriving at Nancy was a bit of a shocker for us. We were in a big city and the poverty and destitution of France were again visible. We initially moored outside of Intermarchè so I could top up the diesel. A group of men, some with serious disabilities, gathered in the car park to while away the many long hours, drinking and getting wrecked.

Not the prettiest mooring but blooding handy

Although in the right light it didn't look too bad

Needing water, we set forth for the port 2km away. It was a windy day and the boat was like manoevering a very large and unwieldy kite. I hovered outside the captain’s office and shouted to him asking where the water was. He simply lifted his head and pointed to the far side of the port.

Struggling past the many plastic cruisers in the gusts, we eventually made it only to be sent back to where we started by the folks on the boats.

Returning, Tracy jumped off and ran into the office. “Can you please show me where I can get water”.

“There”, he pointed. “No, you need to get up and show me” she insisted. Eventually, he peeled himself off his seat with an alarming sucking sound and reluctantly plodded over to a jetty. “Here” he said “And it is €5”.

“You can shove your over-priced water up your lazy arse” I shouted. And on that note, we left.

The comments box does not work, please contact us on:

Werubbedthelamp@gmail.com

Moorings in Bagnicourt sur Saulx

Cost: Free.

Facilities: None.

Location: Rural location with no shops. Pargny-sur-Saulx (where there is also a mooring) is 5km away and there is a small selection of shops here.

Moorings in Bar-le-Duc

Cost: Free for us. There is a port de plaisance where there would be a charge

Facilities: None. Both water and electricity available at the port for a charge.

Location: Large town will all the usual shops, bars and restaurants.

Moorings in Tronville en Barrois

Cost: Free.

Facilities: None.

Location: Rural location with no shops.

Moorings in Naix-aux-Forges

Cost: Free.

Facilities: None.

Location: Small village location with no shops.

Moorings at Mauvages Tunnel

Cost: Free.

Facilities: None.

Location: Rural location, we didn’t investigate the possibility of shops.

Moorings at Void

Cost: Free.

Facilities: None.

Location: Small town will a fair selection of shops.

Moorings at Pagny-sur-Meuse

Cost: Free.

Facilities: Water available free.

Location: Village location with a small selection of shops. Although the local grocery store sold the nicest red wine I have tasted for under €5.

Moorings at Toul

Cost: Free for us. There would be a charge in the port de plaisance.

Facilities: None. Both electricity and water available for a charge at the port.

Location: Large town with a good selection of shops, bars and restaurants.

Moorings at Marron

Cost: Free.

Facilities: None.

Location: Village location with a limited selection of shops.

Moorings at Nancy

Cost: Free for us. There would be a charge in the port de plaisance

Facilities: None. Water and electricity both available at the port for a charge.

Location: Large city with all usual amenities.