2002

March 2, 2002

We arrived Paris after four months in the States.  Peg and I hopped in the rental car, zooming to Migennes.  The boat was as we left it except the engine was still apart, as it needs a valve job.  There was no sign of Jo, who runs the boat yard.  We looked for a place to stay the night.  Surprisingly enough the tourist bureau was still open at 4:30.  They gave us a list of hotels.  We checked several to find them still closed for the winter.  One on the river Yonne was full, but the one near train station was open and a room available (E 31, E meaning Euros trading now around $.86).


March 3

Early Sunday we headed south to Marseilles, about 350 miles to the south.   We descended for hours at 150 k.p.h. (90 m.p.h.), others passing us as if we sat still.  We crossed the tree-lined Canal de Bourgogne and later the Rhone.  The Rhone and the other rivers we passed looked muddy and swollen in the sunny dry weather, temperature in the mid 60’s.   The houses now became white stucco with red tile roofs, towns nestled atop steep hills.  We stopped at Les Baux, an ancient stone  town, now a tourist attraction and artsy colony.  It sits on craggy cliffs overlooking the distant Mediterranean.

We chose to stay in Marseilles for a month while the boat is repaired, on the strength of several recommendations, one or two by friends and another in a book.  Neither of us had been to the city before, although the region was not new to us.  We lived in Montpelier for a month in September of 1997.  We’ve visited the Roman aqueduct at Nimes, Arles with its Roman arena, Avignon, which once held the captive Pope, and other sites in the area.  We always avoided Marseilles.  By reputation it was dirty and crime-ridden.  We decided it would not be too dirty, that there was more than enough to see and do for a month, and to be extra careful with our belongings.

We entered Marseilles and found the Office de Tourism near the Vieux Port (Old Port, dating from Grecian times).  They gave us list of short-term rentals and late in p.m. we had first appointment.  A Dr. Huet had a bastide with several apartments.  A bastide is a kind of fort.  The building and view are great and the rent is around $640 per month.  Unfortunately it is  .5 km (1/3 mile) from the nearest bus and shopping, and it is on a steep hill.  

We found a hotel from a guidebook.  It was in a great location, comfortable and undergoing renovations.   We can always find the ones with ladders in the lobby!  The friendly clerk said her landlord might have a place for us to rent short-term.   

Marseilles is a seafood town, renown for its bouillabaisse, a seafood soup.  The Vieux Port is just a few minutes walk from the hotel past a few seedy-looking characters standing in doorways.  Here we found restaurants galore.  The one we chose had a great buffet with mussels and tons of veggies.   The latter included zucchini in the Italian style, with onions, garlic and tomato sauce.  We are, after all, in Provence, where the cuisine shows significant Italian influence.

An American couple sat down next to us.  He’s on Sabbatical from Michigan State or Michigan something.  They’ve been in France several times.  Today while waiting for a light a man hopped off the back of a motorcycle, opened their car door and took their laptop from beneath her feet!  The couple yelled and fought with the robber, but he got away.  He dropped the computer in the process.  They had used the laptop in the car but not at the point of the robbery.  I suspected they had been observed.  She said the police told her the thieves mostly steel purses from beneath the legs of female passengers.  This was the fourth time this couple had been robbed since they have been coming to France.  They look too American.  I told him to stop wearing blue jeans and tennis shoes, and to buy some French shoes.  

March 4

The price of breakfast included copious efforts from the bar team to find us an apartment.  Their ideas led nowhere but it gave them something to do besides making espresso and serving croissantsm then added money to our mobile phone account using a card bought from a tabac.  Soon we eliminated several lodging possibilities.  Late in the afternoon we visited one possibility.  For $300 a month we could stay in a chambre d’hote (chambre is room, hote is host).  This is staying with a family, which included mom and two daughters.   Nice people, nice apartment albeit a bit too small.  

While we were there, Dr. Huet called again.  He said he had another apartment, close to downtown.  He forgot to mention it yesterday.  It took us about 30 minutes to drive there.  The area’s steep, narrow roads and his imperfect directions meant he had to guide us in my mobile phone.  It was worth the effort.  

The three-level house is on the hillside.  From the large terrace on the top level there are great views of the surrounding hills and the Med, just half a mile away.  The Vieux Port is just 15 minutes downhill steeply on foot.  Two bus routes are within a few minutes walk.  The rent is $650 per month.  Our windowed bedroom looks out over the garden and the Med.  The kitchen is upstairs along with several bedrooms, a dining room and a laundry area.  Dr. Huet told us the house was used in the making of a movie a couple of weeks ago.  On the dining room wall he hung promotional photos of a nearly naked Kim Bassinger, another of Al Pacino.  I don’t know if they had anything to do with the movie.  Dr. Huet said they filmed in dining area, off the large tiled terrace, the Med for a backdrop.   We accepted his rental offer, got our baggage from the hotel, went shopping, ate dinner, and then collapsed.

March 5, 2002

Tuesday is an errand day.  We returned the car and studied the various ways of paying for public transportation, including monthly and weekly deals.   As I walked around I noticed the Spanish influence on the architecture.  There are balconies galore and some tile décor.  There are four a.m. stations in Spanish, Paella and aioli or alioli (mayonnaise with tons of garlic squished in it) on menus.   

Most people still seem to be calculating prices in francs, and then converting to Euros.  Most places still list both prices, often the franc in larger print.  Someone remarked that some old people still think in terms of old franc!  I think the last change must have been sometime after WWII.

Some sidewalks so narrow cars rub against your hips as you walk.  Around our apartment you hear nothing and see practically no one.  But downtown is very noisy but relatively clean so there must be lots of work crews out daily.  They have the usual dog shit problem.

Dr. Huet, whose office is on the premises, speaks to us most every time we enter.  Mostly he gives us instructions or reminders.  Today he told us to close the volets (spell?), the outer window covers common in Europe.  If we are going to be gone during the evening we must be cognizant of the possibility of theft.  Gangs of professional thieves operate in Marseilles.  If they can look in and see valuables or even that no one is at home, they call their friends and they break in.  He’s never had a problem but we need to be careful.
March 11, 2002

One day Dr. Huet offered us the use of his car all day on any Monday and Wednesday.  We took up his offer today.  East along the coast we went until the road to Cassis took us inland.  More of the chalky white, craggy formations fill the open space.  From afar these look like they are covered with patches of snow.  Bicycle/walking paths take you to the peaks.  

One area we passed by is called the Calanques.  These are protected zones.  The large number tourists who come in by boat is causing environmental imbalances that concern the fishing community.  

Fishing in this area is highly regulated.  They farm mussels but sea urchins grow naturally.  Urchins were declining in number until severe limits were set.

Cassis is less than an hour from Marseilles at a leisurely pace through the windy roads.  It’s everything Marseilles isn’t: small, quaint, quiet, safe feeling.  Like Marseilles, though,  the harbor is smack in the middle of town.  The harbor’s smaller, less than ten minutes from end to end.  Everywhere from there is uphill.  

Expensive restaurants line the water’s edge.  Fishermen sell their catch in front of the row of restaurants at water’s edge, their boats just behind the small stands.  Fish isn’t cheap even when locally caught and sold right off the boat; most fish in France comes from the North Sea and farms, not the Med.  Another small town close by is La Ciotat, not nearly as quaint, but also built around the harbor.

Dr. Huet’s car is an old VW Gulf diesel, rusted spots showing here and there.  Distinguishing 1st and 3rd gears is quite difficult as the linkage is well worn.  On several occasions I had difficulty getting through traffic circles because 1st eluded me.   But we made it to Aix-en-Provence some 50 kilometers inland.   

Aix is one of the more famous of the Provence towns. Cézanne was born and worked here most of his life.  He had an airy second-floor studio.  It’s on a hill just outside town.  Now high-rise apartments surround it.  Also just outside town is a Roman era archeological site.  We ate lunch under a tree at the site.  We did not visit the dig since we could not wait for it to reopen after lunch.

From there we went into town.  The main plaza in Aix features a fine bell tower.  It is in the midst of a warren of narrow streets, some laden with residences of various sorts and others more commercial.  

When we got back to the car, the left front tire was flat; I thought we’d have trouble with the left rear, as it was very low on air when we got the car.  Fortunately Dr. Huet had a spare with some air in it.  When I got the old tire off I found it nearly bald on the inside.  The tire had a large crack in the sidewall.   We told him he needed several new tires and the next day he had replaced them.

March 13 2002

The Centre de la Vielle Charite in Marseilles houses two museums.  One exhibits Mediterranean antiques.  There are fine examples of Egyptian art: lots of mummies including a crocodile, and a papyrus manuscript in nearly perfect condition.  Their collection of Greek pottery and glass is delightful.   The other museum contains African art.  It was closed but they had a small exhibit of contemporary Mexican folk art with all the typical garish colors.  On the first level is a temporary exhibit area display Dora Marr’s photos.  This woman lived with Picasso starting in 1936 and was his model for Guernica and many subsequent works.  She was miserable most of the time she lived with him.  From the time she and he became an item, she never returned to her own art.  Dora died in the 1997.  

The Centre de la Vielle Charitie (The Old Charity Center) comes from the 1700’s.  It served poor people fleeing battle zones.  In the 1960’s the city bought and later renovated it.  It’s three levels high, stucco walls in light tan and its roof tiled, like just about everything in Provence.  The building is built around a courtyard.  Inside the courtyard is a Baroque church with a Borromini-like dome.   It’s strangely proportioned.  It looks big from the outside but feels small within, except when you are under the dome.

By the Vieux Port we investigated the restaurants on the port’s west side.   These are the prettiest spots in town and rival anything most anywhere for the most picturesque award.   Nonetheless most are quite reasonably priced, offering sandwiches starting at 3 Euros, lunch specials for E7.50 and some higher priced seafood items.   We found a small restaurant selling donner kebabs, nee gyros nee Greek sandwiches nee Turkish sandwiches.   They did an excellent job and sold us ¼ liter bottles of ok wine for E2.  


Marseilles’ 25 centuries

Marseilles (Greek Massalia; Latin Massilia) is the oldest city in France.  The Greeks founded it circa 600 B.C.E.   At the end of the 2nd century B.C.E., the city asked Rome for protection against Celtic tribes (the Gauls).  Marseilles maintained its independence but gave up the area called Langue d’Oc and the upper Garonne valley to the Romans.  Thus Caesar had convenient base for his conquest of Gaul in 50 B.C.E.

[As an interesting aside, Langue D’Oc literally means “Language of the Oc.”  Oc refers to “Occitan,” a Romance language spoken in the south in centuries past and taught in schools today after gaining recognition from the French government in the 1990’s.  It developed significant literature in the 11th to 15th centuries.  The region was less not as influenced by the Franks as the northern parts of the country so Occitan is more Latin-like.  We saw our first example of the written language on a monument in the Vieux Port]

St. Vincent was martyred here in 304. In the 10th century Marseilles came under the control of the counts of Provence.  In the 13th century it became a republic, before Charles VIII made it part of the French kingdom in 1481.   

A portion of the medieval Cathedral of La Major remains.  The Church of Saint Victor was built in the 13th century.  In the crypts is an image of the Virgin Mary legend holds was done by St. Luke.  The city boasts museums of the history of Marseilles, archaeology, and fine arts.  We visited the latter on March 11th.  There was an excellent selection of early 20th century artists, including one room just for the wily Spaniard Picasso.

The Germans occupied the city in WWI.  They did not like the narrow warrens that became a refuge for the French Resistance and ordinary unsavory characters.  So they destroyed much of the zone.  Some of the small old buildings were replaced by ugly high rises.

Marseilles’ steep hills and cliffs provide gorgeous views over the natural harbor, the Vieux Port, and the Med.  The Vieux Port, established by the ancient Greeks, is now for pleasure boaters and day ferries.  The new port is home to huge passenger ships including ones that carry passengers around the Caribbean as well as the Med.  It also used by that go from here directly to Algeria and I think also to Corsica and the Balearics (islands off the east coast of Spain).  Shipping in tremendous volume enters and leaves France from here.  Algerians in particular use the port to export goods to Algeria.  They load cars, vans and even board the ferries with hand trucks they carry back and forth.  As a port Marseilles was even more important during the height of the French empire.

Marseilles is the capital of Bouches-du-Rhône Department (Department of the Mouth of the Rhône).  It is the second largest city of France after Paris with a population of nearly 800,000.  You get from here to the Rhône River by boat, skirting the coast briefly before entering a canal.  There is a large petroleum depot at the nearby port of Fos.   Manufacturing in the area includes iron and steel, chemicals, plastic and metal products, ships, refined petroleum, construction materials, soap, and processed food.


Among all many islands within spitting distance of town is the Isle d’If, made famous by the Count of Monte Cristo by Alexandre Dumas the elder (1844).  It is less than a mile from shore.  A good swimmer would not have much trouble making land so I wonder why it was considered to be nearly impossible to escape from it.   Perhaps the currents are strong.   Several forts sit at the mouth of the old harbor, one by Francois I (1515 to 1547).  

The 19th-century Notre Dame de la Garde sits high on a hill near our house.  The main shopping district is along a broad boulevard called the Canebière.   Street vendors offer lots of fresh fruits and veggies, which so far have been of high quality and relatively inexpensive.  


What is Provence?

Marseilles is part of the Provence region, which includes the modern day ‘departments’ of Alpes-de-Haute-Provence, Var, and Bouches-du-Rhône and parts of the departments of Vaucluse and Alpes-Maritimes.  To the east is Nice and the Riviera, Monaco. Provence is famous for its perfume industry centered on the small city of Grasse, wines, orchards, olive and mulberry groves.  

A certain magic is associated with the name.  Why?  Many of France’s famous artists worked here.  Cézanne was born in Aix-en-Provence, and Van Gogh did many important paintings in the region.  Say ‘Provence’ and you conjure up fabulous cooking, beautiful scenery and great weather.  Provence is home to the alluring French Riviera.   Perhaps among these is the reason for the power of the name.  

The name comes from Provincia Romana, dating from 120 BCE, the first of the Roman provinces.  German tribes swept in with Rome’s collapse, and the area was ruled by Visigoths, Ostrogoths, and the Frankish kings. In 879 the area was part of the kingdom of Provence, nee Cisjurane Burgundy.  In the 10th century it became part of the kingdom of Arles.  The Anjous ruled from about 1245 to 1482, when King Louis XI of France took control.  Provence was a province of France until the French Revolution, after which the area was distributed among several departments.  In the 1960s the government merged the departments into 22 regions. Provence then became part of the region known as Provence-Alpes-Côte d'Azur.  This is still a subject of controversy.

Origin of the ‘quarantine’ and the French National Anthem

Venice started maritime quarantines to prevent the import of disease from the East in the 1300’s.  Other Mediterranean cities followed suit. Marseille detained persons on infected ships for 40, or quaranta, days, and so we get  ‘quarantine.’

The national anthem is the Marseillaise.  Claude Joseph Rouget wrote the song.  Troops from Marseilles storming the Tuileries in Paris during the Revolution adopted it.  Thus its name.

March 6-10

Our house is in a section called Roucas Blanc.  I think that Roucas means ‘rocks’ in Oc.  There are many white (blanc) outcroppings in our zone.   There are many fabulous villas overlooking the sea from a hundred yards to maybe ½ mile from the shore.  In all directions we walk we must descend (and later ascend) steep steps.  To the beach, for instance, there are over 100 steps before we get to a road.  From there it’s less than 10 minutes downhill on foot to the seawall.  

We can walk to the Old Port in about 15 minutes.  Downhill.  Uphill would take at least twice that long.  Our area is served by two buses, one of which stops at the top of our hill so we don’t need to climb the steep steps.  One goes twice an hour, the other three times.  There is nothing after 7:00 p.m.  Sunday service is even leaner.  If you go out at night, you’ll probably want to take a taxi home.  If you need to do a heavy shopping, you might need a car or taxi, although we did find a Lidl (a discount grocery store) on the bus route.  Everything is an effort, but one that is good for the legs, and heart.  Overall body fat reduction should b is forth coming if I can just lay off the wine, which is just about impossible.

Our kitchen is as fabulous as the view from the nearby balcony.  It’s all tile, including the counters, of which there are two, both large enough on their own for two to work.  Cabinets galore.  The stove has two gas and two electric burners, with a large electric oven.   A large old microwave sits in an alcove.  The refrigerator is large but the door doesn’t seal.  It’s badly warped.   Indeed, the kitchen and much of the house needs lots of cosmetic repairs.  Most of the laminated surfaces are cracked and delaminated.  Tiles are missing here and there.  

We found an internet café at the Vieux Port.  I left a part for the mobile phone on the boat so we can’t use it for email.  The Tourist Bureau is nearby and they’ve given us locations for various businesses and the usual lists of things to see and do.

On Saturday we visited the boat show at the Vieux Port.  On the dock they sold fish just caught in the boats behind each vendor’s stands.  The local fish is very expensive.  Sunday we took in the city’s art museum.  We also took a long walk from the house along the beach rode, Corniche John F. Kennedy.

Sent to here March 15

March 14, 2002

Bus trip to Musee Provencal de Chateau Gambert.  It’s on the far northeast side of Marseilles, so far out you are in the countryside in a small town but you get there on the same bus system.  Museum started as a private collection in the late 1800’s.  Gombert was a stonemason.  He loved costumes and ceramic dolls, and just about any other collectible he could find in his immediate environs.  The museum is a knick-knack collection gone amuck, added to frequently by old people who bring in stuff from their attics.  He had to keep adding to his house to make room for his collection so now there are 5 or 6 huge rooms.   In several dining tables beautifully laid out with ceramic dishes and complete services from the turn of the century.  Stuffed into every corner throughout is the temporary exhibit of nativity scenes.  Last year’s successful temporary exhibit was women’s undergarments from the 1600’s.   Good lord, to think of the valuables I have thrown out!

March 15, 2002

Bus 83 takes us to the far, far end of the commercial harbor.  We can see the U.S.S. Teddy Roosevelt.  The aircraft carrier docked yesterday.  The local papers reported the event prominently and with enthusiasm.  The business community was delighted to have 5000 sailors visit the town with money to spend.  After 16 months in the Persian Gulf without a break, I bet they did.  The reporter wrote that the sailors were told to stay in groups of 3-5 for safety.  We saw them around town, mostly not in uniform.  A photograph in the newspaper showed several dinghies patrolling the ship, presumably to prevent attack.  

At this end of the giant harbor the white rocks come close to harbor’s edge.  Hundreds of small boats moor in assorted marinas here.  These marinas are no doubt less expensive than the city center.    

March 16, 2002

Dr. Huet (Gerard) told us about Carnival, which takes place today.   In the early 1990’s the government (I am not sure if he was talking about the French national government, the European Union or the local government, or some combination) began to invest heavily in the city.  This included refurbishing buildings, road works and the Carnival.  The annual Carnival is nothing of the size and duration of, say, Carnival in Rio de Janeiro or Mardi Gras in New Orleans.  It’s just the parade, albeit an interesting and impressive one.  

The parade started with the hum of firecrackers.  I do mean hum.    The marchers at the head of the parade carried some kind of tiny firework that made the eerie humming noise we heard far down from where the parade started on Canabiere, the town’s main street, named after cannabis or hemp, from which they made ropes for the ships on this very street in days past.   Then came costumed marchers in 10’ stilts, wide hoops extended from the waist, looking at the crowd with a warning gaze.  Dancers moved relentlessly endlessly to bongos and other folkish drums emitting a beat I could not categorize, sort of Latino African; perhaps it was Brazilian.   Then came a wailing, almost a crying, no words, just this moaning sound.   As of this moment I felt certain that this was not intended to be a friendly, smiley parade but a retelling of loss, or a mourning.   The wailing/moaning came from a woman (Peg says it was a man) whose upper torso only emerged from a cone, the top of which was some 20’ off the ground.  Then came a group of young woman high off a float doing a Siren routine, the daughters of the sea god Phorcys twisting their torsos or laying forlorn on their sides, gesturing to the crowd.  

From on high came a clown, removing sheets of pink toilet paper, throwing them at the crowd.  More drums pounded out this primordial beat.  Confetti machines cannoned pounds of multi-colored confetti through 3-inch tubes.  A small band of musicians appeared at our feet, having left the parade to mingle with the crowd.  The four women wore dresses in a peasant style of the late 1700’s.  Each musician was no taller than three feet.  Shoes stuck out from the knees upon which they walked, the latter concealed by the dresses trailing the ground.  

Incongruously, the crowd seemed to take it all in a good humor.  Kids spent their time squirting one another and marchers with that funny stringy stuff that comes from a can, or a kind of shaving cream, both sold by mobile vendors.  Women carrying a mobile stand and a cardboard box put makeup on the kids who stood in long lines awaiting the privilege.  Some had dressed clownishly or in lavish party outfits for the event.

The procession ended at the harbor.  Here there was a small set of fireworks.

March 18, 2002

Glanum, a Roman town

We left for Arles to get the annual permit for the boat from the VNF (Voie Navigable France).  That is, we left after adding almost two quarts of oil to old Loose Shift and 10 pounds of air to the right rear, repairing the tailgate, and driving about 45 minutes to get out of Marseille’s traffic.  The VNF in Arles closes at 12:00.  We drove up at 11:59.  The friendly staff cheerily looked after us.   

Arles is known for its Roman era buildings: an amphitheater for 26,000; a Roman obelisk found in the Rhône; the theater; the palace of Constantine (4th century) and a few other Roman era items.   Since we saw them on a visit several years ago, we left after lunch just outside the VNF office, overlooking the sun-soaked Rhone.  Today’s goal was Glanum, just 10 miles from Arles.

Known inhabitation in the small town dates from the 7th century B.C.E., evidenced by the old ramparts on the southern edge of town.  The people were called the Glanic, from the name of the god Glanic.  Their culture was war-like, the religion similar to the Celts who occupied the region as well.  The site has a plentiful spring that still runs today, which was probably a main reason the Glanics chose this site. They prospered significantly from trade with the Greeks in Marseilles.

Glanum came under Roman control in the 2nd or 1st century B.C.E.  It became an important town on the Via Aurelia, the route between Spain and Italy.  Today it is an important Roman archaeological site in France, just outside Saint-Rémy.  Pierre DeBrun, a geologist, discovered it in 1921.  Glanum was built in a bit of a valley, almost a gully.  Therefore dirt and debris quickly covered the site after the Romans left in the 3rd century C.E.  Some of the site was covered by 30 feet of earth and stone.  A farmhouse occupied the site when Van Gough lived in the asylum in Saint Rémy.   Perhaps beneath the Roman era we will one day discover remnants of the Greek buildings we know were once here.

The site includes the ruins (mostly foundations but also columns and various decorative pieces) of temples, baths, a forum and a basilica.   No one has found any mention of it in Roman writings so we don’t know why it became important.   Perhaps it was as a stopping point on the way to and from Spain.  However the many elaborate buildings suggests it was of greater importance.  

Glanum is on the side of hill beginning a natural pass through a section of the foothills of the Alps.  It is surrounded by the white rock outcroppings that characterize the area, some of which tower mightily over the town.  From one such outcropping just meters outside the edge of town there’s a fabulous look at the entire dig, Saint Rémy, the Apennines (the foothills of the Alps) and the dry, stark Provencial countryside.  On the north end are the remnants of residential zone, in the center the public area.  This included the senate and the forum, as well as the heated public baths.  On the other end is the temple area.  There are three temples.  At the corner of one the archeologists rebuilt several columns and some decorative elements.   Here and there are Doric columns as well as carved and engraved pieces.  They found the remnants of an entire house.  There seems to have been an amphitheatre.  Each item of interest is labeled in French and English.  The town had running water and a sewage system.  

Unfortunately the site’s museum was closed for renovations during our visit.   

March 19, 2002

Visited the Musee Marine located in the heart of downtown in the old Chamber of Commerce building.  Marseilles boasts that theirs is the first and oldest Chamber of Commerce in the world; I think the date is 1697.   Over the centuries they collected extensive archives.  Most impressive are the many ship models, no doubt assembled as part of the ship building process.   There are lots of stock certificates and script issued by the Chamber mostly in connection with the French West African colonies.  Also lots of great poster art.  My favorite showed a four-engine prop Air France airplane soaring over the bright yellow Sahara.  Others showed various colonial products, among them Vegatiline (spelling?), a substitute for butter and oil, so I think it was margarine circa mid 1930’s.

March 20, 2002

Loose Gears carried us to Port St. Louis at the bouche – the mouth – of the Rhone, and the source of the name for the Bouches-du-Rhône, the governmental region of which Marseilles is the capital.  Today street market day in town center.  Strawberries from Spain are in, and they are fabulous.  Small artichokes are also plentiful and cheap, 5 of them for E2.   

The tiny town sits vulnerably, it seems to me, on the swift flowing Rhône with just a few feet in height preventing a flood.  Since the Rhône drains hundreds of thousands of square miles, heavy rains upstream could dump more water than the tiny elevation could contain.  The Rhône is not terribly wide, perhaps 300 meters (yards).  One large barge docked while we watched, the wife at the helm, the husband handling the lines.  Two barges headed upstream.   Perhaps the traffic through here is not intensive anymore.  

The tip of Port St. Louis has water on both sides.  Away from the river are a marina, and then the canal leading towards Marseilles.   The VNF’s Guide for the Pleasure Boat user (sic) says that pleasure craft cannot use the canal.  You must go via the Med.  

There is a chandlery at the harbor across from the marina.  It seems to be well stocked.  

After we left town with our strawberries and artichokes, we traveled through the flats.  The road takes you to a ‘bac.’  We learned this is a ferry that takes you across the Rhone.  It’s a 5-minute ride for a whopping E4!  But it does save a 35 km trip for those who want to get to this side of the Rhone south of Arles.  We came here because our map says it’s a scenic route.  I guess they think rice fields and the occasional hotel qualify as scenic.

In Ales, we ate lunch at a brasserie.  Today’s menu was Thumper’s rib cage and a bit of leg in a dark sauce, E9 with ¼ liter of wine.

Outside town fruit trees bloom.  We think the ones with pink and those with white flowers are both apple trees, made stumpy by aggressive pruners.  Marseilles is 60 miles away.  We take the local 4 laner, meaning we pass through a dozen traffic circles.  In Marseilles there is an impressive viaduct carrying you over the rail yards, with a simultaneous view of the huge passenger ferries in the harbor.  Then you go under the harbor, which takes you to the coastal road where more breathtaking views of the Château d’If and the other islands in the archipelago just off land.  The forever light blue water’s waves pulsate like a Dali waterscape.  He wasn’t fooling us; I’ve been wrong all this time.

Sent to here March 22.

March 22, 2002

Musee de la Faience (pottery) is another city-run museum.  This one is in Chateau Pastré, a stately mansion dating from the 1700’s.  There are a couple of dozen or more well-preserved pieces from before Christ, all from the area around Marseilles.  The oldest at 5500 B.C.E. is a replica but next to it is a fully intact authentic storage container from 3500 B.C.E.  

The bulk of the collection is 18th and19th century earthenware.  Earthenware is porous pottery is fired at (900̊-1200̊ C/1652̊-2192̊ F.  Once glazed it is waterproof.  Most painted ceramics are earthenware, including most ancient, medieval, Middle Eastern, and European pieces.  Stoneware is fired at 1200̊-1280̊ C (2191̊-2336̊ F).  It is much more durable than earthenware, although its traits vary according to the clay used to make the product.  The finest pottery is porcelain, invented by the Chinese and thus often called ‘china.’  It is made from kaolin, clay that is decomposed granite.  Porcelain is fired at 1280̊-1400̊ C (2336̊-2552̊ F.  Bone china is a European invention.  It is harder than normal porcelain because of calcium phosphate, made from bones and added to the clay.

The building’s interior is as fabulous as the exterior.  Smooth marble balconies line the finely chiseled stairs.  The walls are graced with large cameos and other plaster or marble decorations.  The windows reveal views of the Gulf de Lyon’s white speckled surface.  The same wind that made the waves pushed us up the long hill leading to the mansion, one of two on the wooded site.  Rear windows look upon the mountains, white limestone shining in the bright sun.   A class meets upon the lawn below.

The museum is in Montredon, a suburb on the eastern outskirts of Marseilles, reachable by bus 83 and then the 19.  The bus route passes several beaches.  Today wind surfers are out in force.  They scoot back and forth parallel to the 2-3 foot waves, which are far higher than normal.  They sometimes take a wave head-on to burst high into the air.  One did a complete flip as we watched.  Since the sail is a least 10 feet tall, he was higher than that from the water’s surface.

March 23, 2002

Cours Julian and the Docks Romains

The oldest part of Marseilles is called the Panier.  This is the area west of the Vieux Port that the Germans found too hard to police for its many narrow streets.  The destruction led to the 1947 discovery of the Roman docks in the Viexu Port.  The museum is located on the site of the discoveries, behind the Hotel de Ville (aka City Hall) on the Place Vivaux??.  [Note that the Nazis saved three buildings: the Hotel de Ville, Hotel de Cabre and the Maison Diamantee.  The latter is so called because the exterior is decorated with diamond-shaped stones.  It is now the home of an exhibition hall, closed for remodeling.]

The museum’s primary attraction is the many huge clay storage jars; there are about 20 of them in various states.   It looks like the jars were built on the site directly into the soil.   The capacity seems to be of about 100 gallons.  The Romans used the docks between   the 1st and 3rd centuries C.E.   The items on display range from the 6th century B.C.E. to the 4th C.E.  The one mosaic is impressive.  

Cours Julian is said to be the prettiest area for sitting outdoors enjoying conversation with a beverage from the many cafes.  It is on a hilltop but unfortunately the views are limited.   It slopes steeply at one end.  In the flat part there are a variety of trees, all labeled, the olive and palmetto among them.  Seating is scatted about in the shade more during the summer than now.   The cours Julian is also known for its several Indian and Pakistani restaurants.  There’s lots of graffiti on the storefronts, although most of it is the work of artists paid by the shop owners, so I guess I should refer to the work as ‘graffiti style.’  This would be much as you would see it in the U.S., which has once more demonstrated its ability to export culture.  

Place Jean-Jaurès is nearby but notable only for its outdoor market.  Today being Saturday the market is in full swing.  Bulk teas and spices are about the only items I noticed that you can’t easily find anywhere in Marseilles.  Otherwise its shoes, clothes and undergarments, make-up and so on.  The prices do not seem to be out of the ordinary.


March 25-27, 2002  

To museum at Chateaux  Borely,  still life collection of painters  born in the late 1800’s.  Lots of work from the 40’s and 50’s,  fairly traditional but edging into the modern.  

On the 26th we went to Pharo Park and Abey St. Vincent.  Pharo Park’s chateau was built for Louis Napoloean somewhere  between 1852 and 1870.  It offers fabulous views of the harbor.  We walked there through the warren west and downhill from our house.  You need a good map for this walk, not the one you get from the tourist bureau.  

There are Quite a few chandelries around the harbor.

On the 27th we went to The Musee de’Historie de Marseilles.  It is connected to the Jardin des Vestiges (Garden of the Vestiges) and is part of the Bourse, a shopping center.  The museum was built on the site of important discoveries dating from the 2nd century B.C.E.   The oldest remnants are of the Greek port.  The port at that time extended to this point east of the current harbor.  Parts of the Greek city’s wall, the base of three towers and a gateway lie exposed in the ‘garden,’  along with what looks like a swimming pool and assorted stone bit.  Inside the museum are numerous archeological treasures.

After studying the neat timeline at the entrance (which dates human inhabitation in Provence back 900,000 years), you get to see a reproduction of a Neanderthal axe, part of the museums exhibition on early man.   The rest of the exhibit is from the Greek and Roman era, all (I think) from Marseilles.  There’s a neat sarcophagus from the Roman period, expertly carved and in great shape.  Some such from the Greek era include the human remains.  There are some examples of Greek pottery, some with figures painted in black usually against the natural clay background.   

On the site they discovered a 2nd century C.E. 20 ton boat.  They froze it as soon as they got it out of the mud.  Then they filled the chamber with gasses that dried the timber.  Now it sits in a climate-controlled room.  There is a partial reproduction of it or it could be a similar boat.  

Also on site ther are several kilns.  The site was used to produce pottery.  They found amphorae by the score, all on display.  Other shops occupied the site.  The only other product displayed in this section were glazed tiles.

Scattered throughout are models of Marseilles of the Greek and Roman times, and others from various times startking in 1200 C.E..  The harbor extension upon which the museum sits was filled in some time around 1400.  

Neat place!  Gary Bob says check it out!


March 28- April 10, 2002

An unplanned early departure from Marseilles puts me in LaRoche-Migennes at 5 p.m.  The boat is just a ten-minute walk from the train station.  A quick organizing of winter’s mess gives me enough room to walk around, cook and sleep.  The ATAC supermarket closed just after I bought some necessaries.  

After dinner I drank wine with Mira and Ron.  We met them in Reims last August.  They had been among those who recommended Jo (no ‘e’) Parfit’s boatyard.  Like us they were disappointed at how little Jo had done.  Their planned trip in late March/early April could not take place.  They were doing some of the work themselves, the vacation on the boat taking place out and not in the water.

On the 29th I painted anti-fouling on the boat’s hull, reinstalled the wooden swim platform, and performed assorted tasks.  Around 4:00 a.m. Leo, Abby and Davia arrived after driving all night from Holland.  We spent their waking hours on Sunday touring Joigny and a few other less important towns in the area.  Leo and I removed the engine’s starter for examination.  

On the 30th they toured on their own, visiting Chablis and Auxerre among other sites.  On the 31st we left for Goor.  I stayed with them a few days, then went to visit Cees and Ada on April 8th.  Peggy, in the meantime, stayed in Marseilles until April 4th, then headed to Paul and Sally, on their boat in Landrices, in Picardy I think, north of Paris.  They traveled to Reims, then Peg joined me in Haarlem on April 11th.



Repair challenges

On April 13th Leo and I drove from Sliedrecht to the boat in Migennes.  We reinstalled the head the next day.  The boat splashed into the water on April 16th and off we went down the River Yonne.    Peg and I planed to go upstream into the Canal de Nivernais, but the VNF closed the canal since the water level was inadequate.

While in a lock, the transmission stuck in reverse.  I managed to get it unstuck but not before we nudged the wall.  I thought nothing of it at first, but when I tried to steer to starboard, I could only get the boat to go about half as far as it should!  Then I noticed we lost much of the hydraulic oil in the steering system.  Only one of the steering stations was affected, fortunately.   

The transmission linkage malfunctioned when we were in a lock with sloping walls!   Had the walls been vertical there would have been no damage.   We made it Sens that night.  Leo took the train to get his car in Migennes and to pick up Peg.  

The next day, the 17th, we noticed that the chart showed boat repair shop in town.  Peg went on her bike to see if it was indeed there.  The charts are wrong in these matters all too often.  In this case it was correct, and the Evans’ said to bring the boat over the next day and they would haul it out for us.  Simon came by later to say hello.  He told us to tie the boat up on a barge and come and come get someone when we got there.   

A Sub and a Shower

When we arrived we did as instructed.  Simon came out, backed us in until there were boats within inches of each side of our scratch-free boat.  By the time they got our boat past the others, our boat was no longer scratch-free.   The ancient crane lifted us out (Euro 160).  

Leo performed magic even though he had never worked on a rudder before.  He determined that it was bent, found a bar and had it straightened out in less than an hour.  We then found a Bosch machine shop that could fix our ancient, rigid plastic hydraulic hose.  I found some water hose and replaced the leaking hose on our toilet sink, also with Leo’s help.  He left for Goor, some 12 hours away, at 7 p.m., though I practically begged him to leave after a night’s sleep.  

We remained the chilly night at Evans.’   The people are very friendly and they even have a shower.  The premises, however, are not attractive.  It is littered with disintegrating wooden boats.  We later found out that Simon came to France with his mother about 10years ago; mom lives aboard a barge near our mooring still.  They were on the way to Greece to participate in a boating event having to do, I think, with old wooden rescue boats.  They stayed on in Sens and Simon continued to collect the old lifeboats that now litter the yard.  

The shower was a work of art if decrepit was the goal of depiction.  It was housed in a wooden shack with nearly all the paint peeled off, its door hung loosely on its hinges, the handle a piece of wood pivoting on a rusty screw.  The gas tank stood next to the hot water heater.  Such a good place for it!  Water dripped from the pipes and the hot water heater.  The shower hose, connected to sink faucet, dripped through the rag wrapped around it to keep it from spraying you in the face.  At least the water was hot and plentiful.

Next to the Evans yard Gypsies live in small, mostly shoddy campers.  Dogs trot about, mostly friendly to the rare passers-by on the dirt road.  Colorful clothing flaps on ropes strung from any rickety pole.  Old engines, shopping carts, tires and the like lie about any which way.  Small children look well fed and clean, their wide, curious eyes staring at anyone who passes by.

A Dutchman named Peter lives in the marina, where the occasional craft in good condition gleams in the cool sun.  We later found out his boat is an old submarine.  He bought it without checking the bottom.  Shortly after he towed it to Evans, it sank.  After divers attached plywood to the bottom, the Dutchman brought in machinery to fill the craft with air and pump water, and re-floated the rusting heap.  

The next morning the friendly Evans and employees helped us literally scrape by the other boats.  We spent a day or two in Sens, and then headed upstream.  We stopped at several towns I’ve mentioned in last fall’s journals

L’opital!

On the 25th we arrived in Montereau.  We were here last fall and stayed several days again across from the gothic cathedral.  One afternoon I was on the boat when I heard someone say, ‘Monsieur, monsieur!”  I looked out to see a woman gesturing for me to come outside.  She said in French that my wife was in the hospital (it’s ‘hopital’ in French).  “Pas grave, pas grave,” she hastened to add.  Not serious.  She explained that she was in her car when she saw Peg.  The next thing she knew, Peg and the car collided, and Peg was on the ground.  Peg’s hand was injured and she had taken her to the ‘opital’  (There is no ‘h’ sound in French).  The middle-French woman explained they were both at fault as we sat in her new car, one of the few with automatic transmission and air conditioning.

She drove me to the Emergency Room.  Forty-five minutes later Peg came out, her hand bandaged but she was otherwise unharmed.  Peg explained that she was given the wrong directions to a car parts shop.  She found herself on a bridge.  She looked back, saw no one coming, and pulled out to change directions.  This was when she met the very pleasant, friendly woman who sat next to me in the Emergency Room, inquiring every several minutes if Peg was ok and coming out soon until at last she appeared.  

Peg waited for someone to give her a bill while I rode the bike back to get her.  She was still waiting when I got back.  They probably sent us a bill but as usual emergency rooms here have no way of handling cash.

The Seine to Paris

On the 27th April we stopped for the night at St. Mammes.  We waited for a spot at the fuel dock.  A barge filled up, which took 45 minutes, and just as we were about to cross the Seine, another barge arrived.  We phoned and they told us we should have come over and tied up to the previous barge!!  So we tied onto this one, waited 15 minutes for someone to bring us the hose before I did it myself, hauling the heavy hose over the huge barge.  

We were going to head into canal system that begins at Moret Sur Loigne but since the engine seemed to be suddenly burning oil, I decided it needed to be run at a higher speed for a while.  Also if it needed repairs, we thought we might want to just take it to Holland where it would be easier for Leo to deal with it.  

On the 28th we arrived Chartrettes after passing through several of the Seine’s huge locks.  These docks are private but you can stay 2 days free with electricity and water.   After a rainy day, on the 29th we went for a ride on the left bank in the little town of Bois le Roi, surrounded by the Bois de Roi (the King’s Forest).  The forest covers many acres and at points is not far from Fontainebleau from the 13th century.  There the Edict of Nantes was nullified in 1685.  This revoked the religious freedom granted the Hugenots, leading to the departure of hundreds of thousands searching for religious freedom.  Napoleon abdicated at the chateaux in 1815.  The Germans made it a headquarters during World War II.  It was the seat of NATO until 1965.

The harbormaster came by – we had to pay for one night – and offered to take me to Mr. Bricolage to buy an extra starting battery.  Sometimes I am having trouble getting the starter to engage.  I thought, wrongly as it turned out, that having an extra starting battery would cure the problem.

On May 4th we docked near Paris at the Port des Cerise (the Cherry Port).  Of course, the chart said there was a port next to it with showers, lacking at Cerise.  We went there first.  We managed to dock in very windy conditions only to be told, after an hour of waiting for someone to show up, that the port was private.   No overnight boats were allowed.  

We called the Port des Cerises.  We were surprised to find that the phone number was correct and someone answered the phone.  They told us to come over and tie up a Dock C or D.   A narrow cut in the Seine took us into the harbor, which you can’t see from the Seine as it lies to starboard of the entrance.  We found the dock, and got in on the second pass with help, if inexpert, from the harbormaster, a youngish fellow who explained that he knew nothing about boating.  

They had showers.  The chart was wrong.  The chart said there was electricity.  Brand new connection points stood on the dock but they were not connected.  Long extension chords ran the 30 yards to the shore where they connected to a couple of old plugs.  I borrowed the end of one of those so we could run our electric heater.  Our diesel heater wasn’t working.  Joe Parfitt welded a new exhaust header on and either he damaged something in the process or I reconnected the wires incorrectly.  

From Cerise we went to Paris in 15 minutes from the nearby gare (station).  We had a coffee with Emoke, who runs the conversation group at the American Cathedral.   The next day it was lunch with Gaston and Gloria and also saw Paul and Vicky.  

At this point we had to decide if we were going back to Holland or go south.  After talking to Leo, who thought the problem was fuel related (causing the blue smoke, but that didn’t account for the oil consumption) or if not, the problem was not serious, we decided to continue on our journey as planned.  

Email Crashes

We turned upstream arriving again in St. Mammes on May 4th.   Along the way, the only incident of note, to add to our list including the oil consumption, a leaking but now repaired water heater and water hoses, the steering, transmission linkage and the on-going starter motor problems: the email failed.  The computer could not detect the modem in the mobile phone.  We visited several shops in Melun.  The friendly owners tried to help as.  One told us the problem was with the software as he was able to get the mobile phone to respond to his software.  I uninstalled, reinstalled, reconfigured again and again without success.   After several days of this I decided to reinstall all the windows software.  This meant wiping the disk clean.  I was going to start the process the following morning after having spent hours backing up our data onto zip disks, of which we no longer had sufficient numbers.  Peg decided to try it one last time the next morning and voila!  It worked.  I don’t know why, but it did.  Maybe it was the goat I sacrificed the previous night.  This success boosted our sagging spirits, as gray as the rainy skies.

A British flagged boat moored at St. Mammes about the same time we did.  We introduced ourselves and they invited us for beverages.  Maurice and Kay have a two engine, ten-meter steel boat that they cross the Channel in frequently.  This is their first voyage in the French canals having spent several seasons in the Dutch system.  Kay and Maurice, in their late 50’s or perhaps early 60’s, arrived in Le Havre at the mouth of the Seine not many days ago.  

Their craft is sturdily constructed and well equipped.  However, when they lower their radar arch, they have to duck underneath it to move around the aft deck.  There is stuff everywhere inside, especially on the dinette.  Their front cabin is stuffed to the gills.  She said she’d eventually sort it all out.

Canal de Loing

On the 6th both boats set out for the Canal de Loing, which starts at Moret sur Loing (the Loing is a river, ‘sur’ means ‘on’).  Our first stop was Nemours, dating from the pre-Roman era.    It boasts a 12th century castle and L’eglise Saint-Jean-Baptiste, a church built to house the relics of St. John the Baptist.   (Note: there are docks at Moret sur Loing.  If you want electricity you talk to the harbormaster in St. Mammes.  The harbormaster has someone at the Moret docks daily for a few hours but there is no sign to that effect.)

We were fast becoming friends with the Kay and Maurice.  They live in Ramsgate.  I think that is near the mouth of the Thames.  Sailing was their boating preference until they decided to turn to the inland waterways.  Their boat, however, has a meter and a half draft, a bit much for these canals.   They’ve grounded twice so far.

The 7th of May found us in Montargis.  Tom and Kathy will meet us here in a few days.  Montargis is the chief town of the area called le Gâtinais.  Small canals run through town; they have a section called Little Venice.  In some, Tudor (half-timber) houses 500 years old jut over the canals, which are crossed by some 17 bridges.  A former tannery sits on a canal, now housing the archeological museum.  Unfortunately it was closed the entire time we are there.  Across the street, high upon the hill, is an old castle.  

The people are quite proud of the local cuisine.  It features game and local fish.  For example, they serve some called ‘Rilettes de Sandre de nos rivierés.  Sandre is a river fish but I can’t translate it.  The dish is made with potatoes, onions, carrots, garlic, the yellows of three eggs, some ‘soupe de moutarde (??), vinegar, crème fleurette (some cream thing), chalottes, safran and little green peas.  The instructions in the recipe I found are too long and complicated for me to even begin to understand.

One Flew Over

Montargis was a good place to spend a few days, even though they turned out to be rainy and gloomy except for our time with the Blackburns.  They left on the 9th, I think.  One of the sad things about this life-style is that everyone you’ve made friends with moves on.  But we still keep in touch with some.  With Paul and Sally we use text messages.  A text message is done using your phone as a keyboard, mighty tedious but very inexpensive.  Paul and Sally are still in the north but moving south.   We’ve also kept in touch with Eamonn and Pat via email.  Perhaps we’ll be able to take advantage of the invitation to visit the Blackburns in Ramsgate or we may see them again further on.

 The countryside so far has been absolutely gorgeous.  Trees and plants bloomed in peaceful pastures, fields and vineyards.  There are herons, ducks, some swans and lots of fish in the canal.  We heard cuckoos along the way.  I never saw one, to my knowledge, though Peg said she saw one fly over the cuckoo’s nest.  

I looked forward to Tom and Kathy’s visit.  Other than David, none of our friends one from the States had stayed on the boat with us.   We had hoped for more and now we were to get our wish.  Having a couple with us who have so much boating experience would be a boon.  I was nervous, though, as the engine wasn’t yet right.  I wanted everything to work properly.  Of course, it didn’t.

Leo called one day to say he had figured out what the problem with the engine was: the valve cover (rocker box cover in the UK).   The reception on the mobile wasn’t great (we were losing it altogether for hours at a time) so I thought I had misunderstood.  How could it?  Leo explained that that there are two compartments inside the valve cover.  If the gasket is faulty (this one has been used about 6 times), the cover is warped or has a hairline fracture, oil would leak onto the intake valves.  I realized immediately he could be right.  He told me to get seal the gasket with silicon.  I did.  The oil consumption and smoking went away for two days!  Unfortunately it came back.  Couldn’t figure out why but the fact that it got better is a good sign.  Leo will come back to the boat on his way to Italy and bring two new valve cover gaskets. I hope that will fix the problem.  Nothing else I’ve tried, including running the engine at the lowest of oil levels (7 liters) and (several weeks hence) using a high quality 30w oil (hard to find here, unlike in the US) has helped.  Not even the sacrificial goat.  Perhaps I should hire an exorcist.

On the 13th, Tom and Kathy ready at the lines, we head down the Canal de Briare (the name changes as you move from one section to another) the canal to Ferriéres en Gatinais.  This small town holds the former Abbey of St. Peter and Paul.  It dates to Carolingian times when it was a prominent monastic center.  Apparently the original structure was replaced with the current one in the 12th century, with Renaissance era stained glass.  The Chapel of Our Lady of Bethlehem is noted for its Black Virgin.

Chatillion-Coligny, a monument to the 14th century was next on this day.  Medieval ramparts surround it.  Canals reflect upon old stone structures, flowering vines, shrubs and trees’ shimmering reflections settling gently above centuries old, smooth river stones silent witnesses to countless generations of residents.

June 2002


Degoin

The first of June 1 we arrived in Degoin.  Degoin’s municipal marina is beyond a lock and another fine aqueduct over the Loire.  The older Americans and their two mail order Philippine brides welcomed us in but left before we got to know the whole story.  

The attractive harbor at the head of the Canal du Centre lies across the canal from the harbormaster’s office.  To get to the harbormaster’s office to pay, and to the hire boat harbor just 20 yards across the canal, you have to cross the pedestrian bridge and walk 10 back up the canal, about 10 minutes on foot.  They expect you to go there to pay.  There are no signs telling you this, you have to figure it out. We went to pay, and no one was there.  We returned when the sign said he would be there.  Still no one was there.  Then the harbormaster came by the boat to say he’d be in his office in an hour.  He had no means of taking our 3 Euros on the spot so we had to go to his office for the third time.  Another fine example of customer service in France!

The hire boat company had a shore power connection.  What I paid 20 Euros for in parts and 50 or more in labor I bought for 7 Euros and installed myself.  

Degoin has some pleasant pedestrian zones and a nice view or two of the Loire.  

Canal du Roanne au Degoin

We headed back over the aqueduct into the Canal du Roanne au Degoin.  Roanne is our destination some 35 miles to the south.  This two-day journey takes us through tranquil farming country, tree-lined banks shielding us from the increasingly strong sun.

Peg writes:

One of our friends told us about a book swap on the canal run by a retired English couple that traveled for years in France on their narrowboat.  They found an abandoned wine storage and distribution warehouse and converted it into a really cute house.  The house is closed off from its large front room by a lockable door, and the large front room has been arranged into a small library.  The front of the building is about 60 feet away from the canal edge, and very cute.  It's called the Lighthouse.  Complete with carpet, card tables, reading lamps, chairs and a comfortable sofa.  The front door is always open, and people bring books to swap, or just come in and sit around, meeting other travelers.  
Because we brought greetings from another English couple that these people knew, and because we showed up around 4:00 pm, we were invited through the house into the back garden for tea.  Stacked around were a few beautiful old wine barrels, rose bushes, trees, etc.  Another English couple was already back there, so we had a very nice chat.

I told them I had nothing to trade, as we had just stocked up on books. They said to take what we wanted anyway, as they had more books than they had shelf space.  You might have never left!

The night before last, we stopped at a "way station" along the canal bank.  The cherry trees are in full fruit, and we could literally pick cherries from the boat.  While we were eating supper on the back deck, two sisters came by to pick cherries.  The older was about 12, the younger about 10.  When they arrived, they immediately both said "Bonjour, Messieurs et Madame" to us.  The older one climbed the tree and in short order they had a bagful of cherries.  Before they left, they came over to the boat and gave us some!  I was amazed.

On June 7th Peg left at 5 a.m., taking the train to Italy.  She is guiding a couple around Milan and Rome.   She drops them off in Milan and meets her father the next day.  They had to Rome where I hope to meet up with them for a few days at least.   Then we cruise the Canal du Centre.

Meanwhile, it’s chores for me.  For Peg’s birthday last year she got five new 220-volt outlets.  This year she got two.  We now have shore power on the aft deck.  I also installed an outlet for the satellite TV I bought second hand from Dougie, the Brit on Pearly Diver waiting for his second heart operation.  We’re getting’ right fancy on this here boat.  I also built a cabinet in the head, eliminating an ugly black hanging bag we were using for toiletries.

When I was not doing chores I was getting to know as many of my neighbors as possible. I spent several afternoon and evenings with a British couple, Alan and Shirley.  Their 11-meter boat is named Arabica, well equipped for crossing the Channel.  They ran a Saab dealership in Lincolnshire.  They enjoyed it until Saab wanted them to sell the cars to consumers at no markup, instead to earn their profit by getting volume bonuses from Saab.  They have two children.  One is 41 years old.  He just bought a 600 square foot apartment in London.   They were horrified at the price: $350,000.  They said it was not a particularly fancy place.  Alan and Shirley keep an apartment in London.  They are afraid to be without a house there as getting back into a house would be difficult due to the rapid inflation in the housing market, especially in London.

Dougie returned to England for a triple bypass.  He is in his late 50’s.  He is trying to sell his 12 meter steel yacht.  He has a portable air-conditioner.  Since his heart attack he cannot breathe well when it’s hot.  Linda and Roger are next to me.  He is English and she Canadian.  He works for Halliburton every other month.  It’s a two-hour helicopter ride from the Shetland Islands to the platform in the North Atlantic.  They invited me to have some white wine one hot afternoon.  Roger had just returned from work.  She got very drunk and put her arm around me.   Then she went to the forward cabin.  A few minutes later she was moaning.  I think the heat and wine got to her.  She never did that again while I was around.

Two Americans from San Francisco invited me for dinner after I brought over some cold white wine at 5 p.m.  Then her friend from San Francisco arrived.  The two women are both accountants working for a smallish firm in the city.  Pete is a retired attorney.  His practice was in a small town in New Jersey.  He’s 74 and his wife, Elena, is 46.  I spent several afternoons talking to the two Dutch guys on an 11 meter steel boat.  They have a 1968 steel yacht with 2 engines.  

The temperature soared well into the 90’s for over a week.  People sat under the shade trees along the harbor, waiting for the sun to go low enough so the trees could shade the boats.  Everyone put something over his boat to keep the sun off the deck.  I covered Caprice with tarps.  It helped a lot.

Roanne

Roanne’s relatively large harbor was dug in the mid-1800’s.  Coal was shipped on large barges up the canal.  On the southern end where Caprice is docked was a rail yard filled with coal cars.  

For the month when Peg was gone I had to speak French.  I had no major difficulty coping.  The dentist who cleaned my teeth spoke no English.  No problem.  I bought parts for my various projects from the little hardware store on rue Jean Jaures without much difficulty.  Sometimes I had to explain what I wanted since I did not know the word.  The best example is a ‘tap.’  Buying groceries is, of course, a piece of cake.  

I do wish I had found some way to meet locals.  I only met Claudette, Dougie’s petite girlfriend.  The locals like to be around the boats.  They walk the docks all the time, with friends, with dogs, or alone.  They look at the boats, sometimes peering inside even when someone is living aboard.  No one is noisy late at night and no one has reported any thefts.

One weekend there was a music festival, most Saturdays the docks host a flea market, and on an afternoon they rolled out a dance floor.  The d.j. cranked up the music until 11:00 when everyone went home.  

Roanne is a sleepy town surrounded by gorgeous countryside.  I biked through a bit of, when it wasn’t too hot, heading along the canal on the towpath or out of town to the south on tree-lined roads.  Along the canal farmers grow wheat and roll large bails of hay, swirling like a van Gogh rendering.  In the mid-1800’s I imagine things were a bit more active.  That’s when they built the harbor, quite large given the size of the town and its countryside setting.  It was filled with barges brimming with coal, heading up the canal.  A major rail junction terminated at the end of the harbor where Caprice now sits.

The Loire is just across the way.  I went to look at it most days on the bike.  Several islands host local swimmers on the now sunny, hot days, and fishermen wade to the middle of the river.  There are lots of fish to catch, some as large as 2 feet long, in the river and the harbor as well, which is open to the river.  Fish bang on the bottom of the boat, chasing one another or knocking things to eat off the steel, waking me up in the middle of the night to see who was dancing on the deck.  Schools of young kayackers in plastic boats come off the river into the harbor several times a week.  Their teacher gave them further instructions before the youngsters headed back out on the river.  

The boating community is large and active in the winters.  The harbormaster says about 100 boats now come for the cold season.  Brits, Americans and the occasional Canadian, Australian or New Zealander pack the harbor.  There are enough people around that you can take or give classes in drawing, painting, French, Spanish or whatever.  The people we’ve met who’ve spent the winter say the weather is usually mild.  And then there’s the price.  It costs $225 for the year (plus electricity) for 9-12 meter boats!  The month here cost us $50 plus $32 for electricity.  

There are several theatres showings and at least one shows films in V.O.  (original version, French subtitles).  Restaurants abound.  There are traditional French spots, pizzerias, Turkish (mostly sandwich shops serving ‘donor kebabs’).  There’s a guy in a small trailer in front of the Hotel de Ville selling fries.  The local wine is white or rose. They are average quality, meaning they are good.  Local food specialties include pave de charolais, filet de sander, fritture de la Loire, and la tripotee coselloise.  I have no idea what any of those are.

Peg returned on the 30th, a week ahead of schedule.  Rome was in the midst of a heat wave, and both Rome and Venice were very crowded.  At least Venice was quiet, as no cars are permitted on the islands.  Her father quickly tired of all the travel.  Now it’s three of us on this suddenly tiny boat.

July 2002

It took two days to retrace our steps on the Canal de Roanne a Degoin.  We entered Degoin, crossed the aqueduct above the Loire, coming to the Canal du Centre on July 4th.   Now in Burgundy, we stopped the night at Paray-Le Monial.  Within sight of the mooring stands the Basilica of the Sacred Heart.  The worship of the sacred heart began here in the Middle Ages, led by Saint-Marguerite-Marie Alacoque.  The town became a pilgrimage site famous for its art and architecture.  The basilica is a fine example of Burgundian Romanesque architecture; it dates from the 12th century.  Further downtown, if you can resist the temptation to see Saint-Marguerite-Marie Alacoque’s bones, you can see the Hotel de Ville, a renaissance mansion.  It is bedecked with knights and other figures in period dress.  In the old town are some good examples of Tudor buildings, roughly 500 years old, thick wood beams dry, cracked, perhaps bowed yet still standing.  

An Irish couple with their two children arrived in a sailboat.  They were taking their just purchased sailboat to Ireland.  This was their first experience in canals.  He said he prefers the cold bouncing seas where you can see nothing but sea, eating hardtack and suffering from scurvy, to this easy cruising past fabulous old buildings, through picturesque pastures, where you can eat cherries right off the trees.  I see his point.  Why drink chilled white wine when you can have all the cold salt water you want?

Genelard is a pretty spot further on, although the town is tiny and uninteresting.  A wide basin holds the free harbor (elec and water) situated in front of the lock.  One large barge came through the lock without incident but the next one touched our rail.  Peg said he demanded €104 (Euros) from us for being too close to the lock!  We were right in front of the electrical point.  Even if we were too close, his obligation is to avoid accidents, not have one that was avoidable and then play a blame game.  Peg remarked that it is common among the French when they make mistake to blame the innocent person, immediately taking the offensive. The French captain also had difficulty getting out of the lock.

On the afternoon of the 6th we arrived in Montceau les Mines.  This is a former mining town with a lovely harbor (€5) with all the facilities, and very nice ones at that.  The harbor is just off the main pedestrian zone.  Hundreds sat under umbrellas with beverages from the local bars and cafes.  That evening a live jazz band brightened one of the bars, wafting gentle tones to the boats.  

The shopping area filled with locals and tourists.  Teens were out in force, rural youngsters whose parents run farms and shops.  Perhaps they will learn about the coal miners who worked the area in days past.  On the quay is a monument to those who died in the mines, dedicated to the dead, both known and unknown, lives snuffed out prematurely, from accidents or disease.

Paul and Sally arrived on the 9th.  We met them last year in the Sambre, a river crossing the Belgian/French border.  Peg stopped to see them in April and now they returned the favor.  They’ve just bought a rustic house, with several acres.  They plan to raise a few goats and other animals.  Perhaps one or the other will find work.  Their barge is for sale.  

Paul and Sally are vegetarians and animal rights activists.  We had no trouble providing a meatless meal since we went to a pizzeria for dinner.  But afterwards Peg killed my pet spider, Fred.  Sally almost burst into tears.  I put him on Peg’s cereal the next day.  Couldn’t have Fred going to waste.

Our friends spent the night.  We put them on the dinette (not to eat them; it lowers into a bed), Peg and I inches away in the forward berth.  I wondered how well that would work out but there was no problem.  Well, Sally did sit up in bed and say to me, “Hi, there, Big Boy.”  

The next morning Paul found their car surrounded by the outdoor market.  He extracted it and perused the stalls.  From one of the Algerian purveyors he found incredibly sweet melons for breakfast.  Afterwards Paul drove me to buy a satellite signal finder.  We were unsuccessful.   But he did determine that the connections I used for the satellite were not good enough to cope with the vibration of the boat.  I found a new one that cost an amazing €26!   This connection was necessary if were to have two locations where we could put the satellite receiver.

After Paul and Sally left we went to Montchanin.  Jim and Elena were there.  They passed us while we were in Montceau les Mines when Elena shouted from the pilothouse as they passed, “Where’s the paella recipe you promised me.”  I had made them paella one night.  They said we could eat on their boat but only if I gave them the recipe.  I was pontificating on the subject that night when Peg intervened so I would not dominate the conversation.  I never got back to the recipe.  So I did this evening in Montchanin, while Elena poured wine while pedaling epoisse and chevre.  The latter are cheeses, not bicycles, local, powerful, creamy, and rich.

On the 10th we continued through the pastoral canal to St. Leger.  The pleasant mooring with all the facilities is free.  St. Leger is a tiny town with a few shops, including a large ATAC (a grocery store).  On the 11th we ended the day in Fragnes, just outside Chalone sur Saone.  Along the way we passed some locks gorgeously decorated with flowers.  In one a wheelbarrow had been upended, the flowers appearing to spill out over the ground.  Vineyards now appeared, along with wine cellars offering ‘degustation,’ the opportunity to taste the local wines.

As we were entering the final lock of the day, a gentleman came over to ask if his granddaughter could stand on our boat.  He said that she had been asking to do so all day.  Peg said they could come through the lock with us.  Grandfather sat with granddaughter on the bow.  Grandmother met us on the other side.

Later that evening grandfather came by with a bottle of wine produced by his neighbor.  It was a 1992 red without a label.  It was bone dry with a rich, nutty flavor.  They shared a glass with us.  

On the 12th we left the Canal du Centre by passing through a lock with an 11-meter (37 foot) drop.  A few minutes later we were in the Saone River.  Water skiers zoomed past, their wake rocking us gently, the first such movement we’ve felt since we left the Seine months ago.  Around the corner is Chalone-sur-Saone.  Caesar used it as a supply depot during the wars with the Gauls.  In the Middle Ages it was noted for its pelts.  

We tried to tie up at Chalone’s public quays but found the rings too far apart.  We ended up at the marina, lovely but at €16 a night, quite expensive for France.  To make up for it in a dyslexic sort of way, we ate an expensive lunch.  I had a sandre, a local fresh water fish, with a brown sauce made with noisettes (hazelnuts).  The sauce was excellent though a bit too much brown sugar for my taste.  The local burgundy at €7 was excellent although it was the cheapest on the list.

Chalone sur Saone (Chalone on the river Saone) has an expensive pedestrian zone with the usual shops.  It also has some fine Tudor structures, and 18th century mansions.  It’s a bit of a walk from the harbor, though only a few minutes on the bike.  Its busy narrow streets attract tourists from all over, but more the French.  This is the case with most of the smaller towns.

Upstream is Verdun sur Doubs, at the junction of the two rivers.  Verdun is in the category of the tiniest villages, with just a few streets, a church, a few shops.  It is quite attractive mostly due to the buildings that sit along the Doubs.  They sit at an angle so as you enter they look very skinny, precariously overhanging the water.  Only when on land do you penetrate the illusion as you walk over the bridge crossing the old canal, now home to lily pads, a few fisherman and canoes reflecting calmly in the lazy water.

Later on the 15th we come to Seurr, also on the Saone.  There are two harbors.  The one closest to the big lock is just for members, despite what our chart said.  The other is easily entered.  Perhaps in high water the current would make docking difficult, but now it’s the usual forward/reverse engine docking procedure.  Standing on the finger peers, however, is far more difficult.  These are so bouncy that even when you stand still the dock shakes, giving you the feeling that you’ve come down with a nerve disorder or Elvis has taken over your body.  I hoped for the latter as a young man but a glance in the mirror was not even necessary.  Not a woman about paid the slightest attention to my imitation lift-lipped sneer and my pitiful ‘Thank you very much.”

Next into the marina came two Brits on a sailboat.  The younger and his uncle were delivering the boat, starting in Marseilles.  The younger left to go back to work for a few days while Uncle waited for the boat’s owner to complete the journey.   In the early evening the harbormaster came to collect.  She stopped at the sailboat to exclaim that he had to move his boat as the mast extended across the dock, making an inconvenient if not dangerous condition.  

Uncle explained in English to the French-only harbormaster that he was not a boater and could not move the boat.  French only got her husband who also said in French only that Uncle had to move the boat whether he was able to do so or not.  Uncle stood his ground even when Husband said he would just call the Gendarmes.  These are the police.  Shortly after Husband peg-legged off the dock and Harbormaster completed her rounds, a young woman and her older male companion arrived bedecked with the unmistakable Gendarme cap, stiff brimmed, peaked and dark blue.  Young woman spoke a bit of French.  Uncle repeated his story.  Young Woman translated to Older Male.

The mediator in me made a sudden appearance.  In a combination of French, Spanish, Italian and English I inquired of the Dutch boat on the end if Uncle could moor up next to him.  Uncle objected, saying he would then have to moor again the morning, very early as Dutch Boat said he would leave as soon as the lock opened.  Did Dutch boat care if Uncle’s mast blocked the dock?  Not a bit, he said, it was Harbormaster who was making a big deal of this, not him.  As Dutchboat was the only boat whose crew may be inconvenienced, it seemed that all we had to do was move the boat in the morning.  I told Uncle I would help him untie his 300’ of mooring line (Nephew used the anchor rode to tie the boat), then pull him around.  

Dutch Boat waved good night, Uncle brought over a bottle of wine.  Young Woman and Older Man were satisfied, and so off they went, and peace filled the planet once again, stars winked in appreciation, the heavens’ wheels turning harmoniously.  I looked again in the mirror to see Elvis smiling at me, offering me a new 1957 Caddy, fins the size of a hotel barge, fully booked, brimming with bicycles, tires full of air, maps at the ready for tomorrow’s countryside tour.

Right.

The morrow brought us to the huge lock just outside of Seurr.  We waited twenty minutes while a boat sat in the lock, coming in our direction, but not moving.  A hotel barge arrived, sitting in the middle of the river behind us.  Another twenty minutes passed before the lone boat began to descend.  The hotel barge captain was new to the ship, or perhaps to boating.  It took another twenty minutes for him to enter and tie up.  He was also very slow leaving the other end, by which time Peg and I lost the remnants of our patience.

The Saone joined up in a few miles, taking us to St. Jean de Losne, passing boats moored under trees for shade, a few water skiers and fisherman.   Two hours from when we left Seurr we arrived at the fuel dock (a rarity) just outside the two marinas that combined make St. Jean de Losne the largest inland marina in France.  There are not just one but two relatively large chandleries here, two more than we had seen since we left Holland, the boaters paradise to the north where the wind blows in all directions at all times.

We spent the night at H20, which does repairs, sells boats and offers the usual docking facilities for €8 a night.  Since we had called in we knew just where to go.  We ended up next to Paul and Karen, aka Lady Di, who came to help us in along with the Polish guy from the UK living aboard the heavy duty 44’ double-decker Pedro, a Dutch steel motor yacht.

Paul and Lady Di (a near look alike, she is) are re-doing a 1967 twin engine Dutch steel boat.  It needs a lot, starting with the engines, then the interior and last the exterior.  Everything else is just fine.  Paul works for Irish ferries as a mechanic so plans to do the engines himself.  He also expects to do the interior since his hobby is woodworking, but have someone paint the exterior.  

The interior project is quite a challenge.  The hull is steeply curved, good to fend the waves off (so important in the canals) but hard on the carpenter.  The galley features an oven, but there is no table, just a built in sofa.  A large television is built into the forward area.  You watch from the pilothouse.  The refrigerator is just forward of the aft cabin next to the dishwasher.  The aft cabin has a single and double berth unseparated by a petition and thus affording no privacy.  A large cabinet between them sports a sink with hot and cold water!  The shower is roomy unless you need to stand in the corner, which slopes steeply due to the hull shape.  Theirs is a heavy, 11.4-meter refitter’s nightmare.

Lady Di ran a B&B in her home and did catering as well.  She plans to stay on the boat during most of the work.  From time to time they said they would stay in a gite (the French version of a B&B).  She’s alone on the boat while Paul is gone every other week, but she has made lots of friends among the boaters living here.

After several days at St. Jean we entered the Canal du Rhin au Rhone (Canal of the Rhine to Rhone).  The funny sounds coming from the prop shaft have gone, Leo has repaired the engine and we intend to make a run to Strasburg in the northeast of France on the border with Germany before coming back down the Saone, to the Rhone and then to the Mediterranean coast, where we’ll leave the boat for the winter.   Failing that, we could leave the boat at H20.

The entrance to the canal is just up the river from St. Jean de Losne (which thus is at the junction of the Canal de Bourgogne –Burgundy Canal- the Saone and the Rhin au Rhone).  After the past few days of fast river travel it’s creepy-crawly again until the canal gives way to sections of the river Doubs after a few locks.  Most locks take you past a barrage where the river diverts from the canal, dangerous spots to lose power, as you’ll be swept onto the flat tops of the dams and over the side if the current is swift enough.  Although the drop is just a few inches, getting off could prove to be difficult.  

Just after the first lock we passed Jim and Elena.  They’ve decided to sell their 24-meter barge.  She said seven years on the French waterways was enough.  Jim is ready for more but he can’t handle the boat himself.   We thanked him again for so warmly welcoming Peg’s father aboard last week and for commiserating with me for having had to put up with the old codger.

We made Dole the 26th July.  Dole is a small medieval town that would highlight any tour of France.  From the harbor you look up into a town packed with red tile roofs that jut at many angles like a cubist painting.  The otherwise unremarkable cathedral is lighted at night along with the museum.  The latter is at the canal’s edge, next to a disused mill where the current races past the lock.  Through town you walk in pedestrian zones in narrow streets and small plazas.  The Templier is a restaurant.  To get to the next floor of the building you use a covered exterior entrance, unusual in medieval design.  Louis Pasteur’s home is near the harbor, over a small canal.  He did his famous work here.   Everywhere you look the town has decorated with flowers red, yellow, white and purple aglow in the bright sun.

St. Vit came the next day.   There are just a few houses and an old mill, now being converted into apartments.  The unattractive harbor is between the river and the lock where the canal resumes.  There is just one other boat here.  Aside from being quiet the other pleasant aspect of this spot is the shade at one end of the pontoon.  

The clicking noise coming from the coupling resumes (a coupling is a device that connects the transmission to the prop shaft).  We needed repairs so we returned to Dole after quiet night.  In the meantime I decided I had enough of being a boat mechanic, enough of the heat, and too many locks and canals. We are tired of doing business with the French, boat related or otherwise.  They throw obstacles in your path seemingly at every opportunity.   In addition we’ve had bad stock markets.  Peg agreed so the boat will go on the market at St. Jean de Losne.

We arrived just outside Dole at a lock when the noise indicated that the coupling device was about to disintegrate.  I did not want to lose power as we were docking.  We called H20 to send out a mechanic with the part.  While we were waiting, four Swiss on a small boat passed.  We asked them for a tow and they obliged.  They’d never done this before.  

First they came along side and we tied the boats together.  We found that their boat was too light to steer us both.  Then they positioned themselves off our bow about 30 feet.  However, they didn’t cross our lines as they should, and tied us on just one of their cleats, so Caprice tended to move to port.  Then one of the fellows took the line, stood on the starboard side, making a triangle.  That kept us straight but he wouldn’t listen to my suggestion that he tie the line on the other cleat so he didn’t have to hold it.  At any rate they got us through the lock and to the harbor.  We docked under our own power.  I joked that this was all just a test of their nautical abilities.  

The mechanic was waiting for us.  The entire coupling had to be replaced.  We waited in Dole for a week, hoping our leaking toilet pump would survive until we got back to St. Jean de Losne.   The sun beat us while we there, but less so than it did in June while I was in Roanne.  But there is hardly a more beautiful spot to be stuck.

 August 2002


We were in Dole for over a week waiting for repairs.  I would have preferred Paris, Marseilles, or any other big city, but for a small town, Dole’s hard to beat.  Aside from the normal amenities and the reasonable slip fees, everywhere you go you saw flowers, red, pink, white, and purple, flow from baskets, droop over the canal, the sidewalks and the walls.  At night the cathedral is beautiful in the spotlights, though otherwise it is unremarkable.  Our only complaint was the heat.  

The harbor is not far from the barrage where the canal diverts from the river.  Dole is attractive from that side of the river as well, as we found on one of our several bicycle tours of the surrounding countryside.   Fisherman waded in the river or cast from shaded banks.  Apple trees are common outside town, and we saw a few pear trees.  Otherwise it’s wheat and sunflower fields, or cattle lolling about in pastures.

John and Anne arrived from Paris on the 8th.  On the 9th we returned to St. Jean de Losne, our repairs completed.  We put the boat in the H20 harbor on Dock A, where most of the boats are for sale.  And here the boat would remain until except for a short trip we would take with Peter and Caroline.  With them we crusied upstream to escape the afternoon heat.  We found a shady spot on river’s edge.  Also the eventual buyer took the boat on a short sea trial on the 26th.

The buyer was among the many dock walkers we saw in August.  They were mostly French.  However they are mostly just looking.  Only 25% of the buyers at H20 are French.  Most are foreign and come via the H20 website (http://www.h2ofrance.com).  Nonetheless our buyer was French.  He was looking for a live aboard boat, we later found out.   The sales people didn’t mention our boat but he found it walking by.  That was on the 23rd.  His offer came the next day.  It was only €2000 less than we were asking.   We accepted his offer.  The French are shy about bargaining.  They do not expect you to come down  about10% as would most American. British and Dutch buyers; of other nationalities I know nothing.  If they think you are asking too much the French just won’t make an offer.  When it came time to accept or counter, I decided not to counter.  I decided that he might find that insulting somehow, and the offer was a very good one.

The haul out came off without incident.  He made no further demands and left for Paris that afternoon.  Catherine, who heads the sales office although she never goes on the boats, told me he had left a personal check.  He told her he would replace it with a check from another account.  His final payment would be in the form of a personal check as well.  Per the simple contract (we promise that the boat is ours, he promises to pay us subject to the haul out and sea trial, otherwise the boat is sold as is) he is to pay by the 15th of September.  When he pays, the boat is his and I have to leave.  Then she tells me he will be here on the 20th.

I became nervous.  If his check arrives on the 15th, a Sunday, the check will go into the bank on Monday and won’t clear before the 20th.  So I would be turning the boat over to him without being sure of having the money.  Catherine told me that no checks bounce in France.  The fee is 1% of the total of the check, you can never get another bank account and all of your credit cards are cancelled, never to be reissued.   So what?  In the US we have the death penalty and people still kill one another.  

I noticed that the buyer was brand new to boats.  Ours was the first he had ever been on while it was in motion!  I surmised that he was just buying the boat to live on (he lives outside Paris) and he confirmed it.  I asked him if he was going to drive the boat to Paris.  He said yes.  “Alone,” I asked. “Should I have someone come with me?” was his response.  So it was obvious he knew nothing, that he would not be able to handle the boat properly, so there was a good possibility he would run into another boat.  He knew  might proceed without insurance.  If he hits another boat, his check bounces, so I am stuck with a damaged boat somewhere between here and Paris.  

I finally convinced Catherine to call the guy and have him either send a bank draft or send the personal check well in advance of the 15th.   She seemed to be quite reluctant.  She was so sure that the check would be good.  How different the French business attitudes and practices sometimes are!  Some things they are so casual about, like getting you the restaurant check.  Other times they are so bureaucratic that you practically have to beg them to sell you something.  Above all, a good part of the time they seem to too bothered to do anything at all.  I feared that Catherine would never call the buyer.  He would arrive on the 20th, I would refuse to leave the boat since the check had not cleared, and he would be upset.  I decided to blame it all on Catherine, or on him, if he hadn’t listened to her.

Meanwhile, Peg left on the 28th August for Tampa.  Peter and Caroline remained to keep me company and await the television and satellite dish they bought from us.  We went for bike rides, met for beverages, looked at boats for sale.  He is tired of their 28’ weekender.  It isn’t big enough to live aboard.  We advised them to look in Holland.  We were told, and can confirm by experience, that the same boat is 15-20% less there than here.  They had conflicts over how much to spend.  Peter confessed that Caroline would have bought our boat.   He wanted to spend about €100,000 more!  

After a slow weekend of short bike rides and visiting with the other live-aboards, the check from the buyer arrived.  It was only September 2nd.  It should clear by Friday.  And this phase of our lives shall come to an end.  What then, I can not tell.

Hosted by www.Geocities.ws

1