Monday 28 October 2013

An Englishman, Irishman and an angryman went into a shop…


Paris to Ris-Orangis
22km
2 locks
8 hours

Leaving Paris, we were now travelling upstream and progress against the current was very slow. Where the current was strongest, through bridges, we didn’t feel like we were moving at all.


A couple of interesting pictures from our journey out of Paris
The Josephine Baker pool which floats on the Seine


A massive Chinese restaurant

The morning started bright and very cold, but wrapped up in fleeces, hats and gloves we enjoyed the sunshine. By mid-morning black clouds were beginning to form and it wasn’t long before the rain was lashing down both vertically and horizontally through the open door of the wheelhouse soaking us both through.

The capitainerie at Port L’Arsenal had confirmed that the lock at Coudray was indeed closed for repair until 27 October, so we decided to head south and find somewhere to moor on the Seine and wait it out.

Moorings were not to be found. By Villeneuve-St-George lock, we were both wet and freezing cold. Lock staging was provided for pleasure boats needing to wait and had a time limit of one hour. Unwilling to go any further and with most pleasure boats wintered up, we decided to take our chances and move off if the lock keeper asked us to.

After tying up, I got the stove lit and within no time at all the three of us were snuggled up on the sofa, toasty warm.

The view from our lockside mooring

The next day, we decided to walk into the small village as we need a few supplies and the laundry was starting to present a health and safety hazard.  There was a problem. The staging up to the lock was fenced in and other than a locked gate there was no access to the outside world. We shouted up to the lock keeper high up in the tower and leaning out of the window she beckoned us up.  As communication is still very limited, we managed with the aid of Google translate on the lock keeper’s PC. 

Our plan to stay on the mooring until Coudray lock was reopened was scuppered as the first thing she tapped into the computer was “You have one hour, then you go”. She also provided us with a key which is used on all the canal and river networks in France (similar to the BW key we have back at home). This is something we should have applied for before we left the UK, but taking pity on us and after consultation with her colleague, she let us have hers. We treated them both to a couple of cakes from the patisserie as a thank you for their kindness.

As the day was bright we were in good spirits and set off again after lunch. To our dismay, no sooner had we untied than the heavens opened again, luckily, it was just vertical rain so we did manage to stay dry.

The further upstream we pottered the more desperate we were to find somewhere to moor.  “What about there” I would say “No, too high. Odgers won’t be able to jump off” Tracy would reply. “Ooh that looks good” Tracy would shout. “No, it says private on it” I would mutter.  This went on for about three hours.

Eventually, I spotted a likely looking spot and we both danced about like loonies when the boat glided beautifully into place. There was an Aldi supermarket a short yomp across a field and a town ten minutes away across the bridge.

Our mooring in Ris-Orangis





Boats travelling past us would create a huge wash which caused a wave to crash over the back deck and fill the engine room

Needing to top up my phone credit, I wandered into a local shop. “Parlez-vous Anglais?” I asked the shopkeeper and with that all hell broke loose. “Are you English?” one young lad asked. Then a chap with a mono-brow who was loafing by the counter leapt in front of me gesticulating aggressively, spitting out words I didn’t understand apart from “American, English” and “we hate”!

Quicker than you could say ‘rocket propelled grenade’ and moments before the braying mob thought to lynch me and drag my naked body through the streets behind a Toyota pickup, I shouted in my best, proud to be Irish voice. “JE SUIS IRLANDAIS”.

Stunned silence. I shifted my gaze and stared without blinking at the shopkeeper whilst holding my nerve. Did they believe me or was an RPG about to appear from under the counter and blast me back to Bradford-on-Avon?

“You are from Belfast?” asked Mono-brow. 

Knowing what he was implying I replied in my best Irish accent
“Absolutely not. I am from the south, it’s a separate country, so it is
(noooo just stick to the facts, Martin).

He didn’t look convinced.

“Remind me, what is the capital city of Ireland?” he went on.

I opened my mouth to reply but my mind had gone completely blank. Stalling for time, I remembered a holiday Tracy and I had taken a few years ago.

“I’m from a lovely little fishing village called Youghall, so I am
(not again).

In the beautiful County of Wexford
(shit, I meant Cork, hope they don’t know Irish geography).

It wasn’t working. A flash of inspiration.

“Our capital city, where all your lovely Guinness comes from.
(Help! These lads are hardly likely to drink it, are they?).

Sweating profusely now and desperately looking for my exit strategy, I rummaged through the wastelands of my brain.

“If you fellas
(Think!)

Ever fancy a trip
(Think Martin think)

You will get
(Seriously you are going to die – think)

A very warm welcome from me in
(Think you eejit)

DUBLIN!” 

The shop went berserk. One chap shouted “Welcome to France” and Mono-brow leaned over and man hugged me.

Relieved that my plan had worked, I left the shop with my phone credit. It was more than likely that I would bump into these characters again during my stay and it was good fortune that I had once kissed the Blarney stone which had obviously bestowed upon me the gift of the gab, just for that moment.

Shaking with adrenalin, I was quick to get back to the boat. “Whatever is the matter” Tracy said “I’ll tell you later, just hide that red ensign”.

Me kissing the Blarney Stone. Despite Tracy saying all I would get is a cold sore, I think it did give me the gift of the gab that day.


Moorings
I would strongly advise arranging moorings along this stretch as other than private marinas, there are no official places to moor between Paris and Ris-Orangis.

Sunday 20 October 2013

In-Seine journey to Paris


Lagny-sur-Marne to Paris
17 km
5 locks
1 tunnels
4 hours



It didn’t take long to cruise from Lagny to Paris, as the river was doing most of the work for us.

As we entered the circumference of Paris, we cast our minds back to when we were children on our way to Blackpool with our families playing the ‘first to spot the Tower’ game. Tracy won and spotted the Eiffel Tower first on the horizon, but it gave us both a thrill.

Can you spot the Tower?

 Working boats lined the banks either side, being loaded or unloaded with all manner of material. At one point there was a tramp sat beside a makeshift shelter enjoying the sun, I gave him a wave and his response could not have been more enthusiastic, waving frantically back he even toasted us with his glass of vino mucho collapso.


Working and other unusual boats we saw on our approach to Paris








Local floating police service

A floating dry dock

This lifted our spirits even higher as we struggled to take in all the architecture. Ornate bridge after ornate bridge, stretching across the Seine, row after row, as far as the eye could see.





So engrossed were we in shouting at each other “there’s Notre Dame” that we nearly missed the opening for Port L’Arsenal. There was a small archway forming a small passage approximately 30 feet long with a lock at the end of it. 

Notre Dame on the horizon
The entrance to Port L'Arsenal


 We had been trying to get the port on VHF 9 from the previous lock (as we had been instructed) but without luck.  Desperately, we tried again while trying to maintain our position on the gushing waters.  With relief we got an answer back from the capitainerie “Ten minutes and I will have the lock open for you”.

Stopping and waiting for the lock to open came as yet another challenge. The Seine looked like a pan of water on simmer. Without the aid of bow thrusters and strong winds pounding from all sides, Genie’s Wish danced about like a penguin on ice. On top of all this, the fire service, who appear to have a river operation in Paris, were whizzing around us in spirals. I just managed to get the bow end into the entrance for the lock and we were able to ride it out.

The Paris fire service buzzing around us while we were waiting for the lock
Entering the lock at last

The port was full up with everyone bedded in for the winter. We had phoned a couple of days previously and initially they had said no but sensing our disappointment had reluctantly agreed to allow us to stay for two nights.  For €35 a night we were placed on the outside of a large peniche owned by a lovely couple, Brett from New Zealand and Anne who was English.  They helped us tie up and assured us they didn’t mind us and the dog tramping over their beautiful boat to get access. 

We were really grateful to them and the port but getting on and off with a wriggly Oddjob was a highly skilled operation, commanding high levels of expertise and fitness which neither of us knew we had.

Our mooring on the outside of Brett and Ann's boat

Pictures of Port L'Arsenal before the rain set in





After tying up, we decided to go for a long walk and were surprised by the growth in poverty since our last visit some ten years back. There were makeshift shelters and people wrapped in blankets on almost every street. One chap was lay down in the middle of a very busy junction, over a warm air outlet with the risk of being trampled under foot, but who could blame him? Even the steps in the port sheltered one poor soul.

It rained all the next day. We have both visited Paris a number of times and wanted to do something other than visiting the usual attractions so we decided to have a look around Chinatown as we had heard that it was an interesting place to visit. Through the driving rain we sloshed but although we did find a couple of restaurants and a supermarket we couldn’t find a full blown ‘Chinatown’ as we would know it.  Soaked to the skin and getting increasingly grumpy we decided to head back.

Fantastic game of ping pong with an old chap I met
There was even a table football in the same park

Tracy and I both absolutely love Indian food and this is probably the one thing (apart from friends and family) that we are missing. We had spotted a couple of Indian restaurants whilst traipsing around earlier and promised ourselves that we would return later that night for a slap up meal.

Brett and Anne invited us to join them aboard their absolutely gorgeous 100 year old peniche and we suggested they join us for our much anticipated slap up meal later in the evening.

Coincidently, Anne was the lady I had met at Chauny who told me what the nuclear fall out siren was. It was a pleasure to meet her once more. They were interesting company and had travelled and lived in countries you only dream about.  Anne could speak a multitude of languages including Nepalese and told us some very funny stories about their adventures.

After guzzling a bottle of wine we made our way into the Parisian night air to find nourishment. Brett made it clear that he wasn’t going to walk far on account of a back injury. We all followed him to a restaurant contained within the harbor, but to our disappointment it was closed.

Noticing a bistro open a few doors away we all piled in. For €120, Anne and I had the coq-au-vin and Brett and Tracy had the chicken caesar salad. To say we were disappointed would be an understatement. There was a chicken leg and two potatoes each for myself and Anne and a sparse chicken salad laced with a pungent mayonnaise for Tracy and Brett. We had a bottle of red wine between us, brought to the table already opened (I hate that).

On top of a very disappointing meal, we’ve had to come to terms with the devastating realisation that it would now be some time before we can satisfy our Indian restaurant craving, as out in the sticks, all the fingers point back to Paris. Gutted.

Some photos from our evening stroll




Looking closely at the tables, the guy on the right hasn't left a tip


We even met a woolly mammoth wandering around

Cycling very popular here, only one bike left

The automated late night shop

The next day, Brett pointed out that the lock was now open for us and we left.       

Our main purpose for visiting Paris was to fulfill the dying wish of Tracy’s mum, Wendy, who had asked for her ashes to be scattered in the Seine.

We were going to turn right on exiting the lock and cruise past Notre Dame and the Eiffel tower before turning around and making our way south.

The lock opened and like a cork from a bottle we were plunged back into the fast flowing waters of the Seine. Our first obstacle was the fire services’ frogmen who were swimming across the shipping lanes. After managing to get past them without mangling any of them in our prop, our next challenge lay ahead. 

The fire services' frogmen swimming across our path on the Seine

The bridge showed a red light that meant there was no entry. We tried to maintain our position whilst avoiding the huge commercial boats and passenger ferries but the current had other ideas.  Like a plane waiting to land and circling around the airport, we decided that this would be the best option for us. 

We circled around half a dozen times and thirty minutes later the red light was still showing.  Reluctantly, we made the decision that we were going no further down river on the Seine and turned around for one last time and continued upstream.

The red light for bridge entry refused to change for us

We said our last goodbyes to Wendy and sprinkled her ashes as we made our very slow way against the current.

Moorings at Port L’Arsenal, Paris
Cost: €35 per night.
Facilities: Electricity, water (both included in price), showers, launderette, WIFI
Location: Right in the centre of Paris on the Canal St Martin just a lock up from the Seine. Bastille Metro a two minute walk away.