Tannay -Clamecy– 18km, 8 locks, 1 drawbridge (Total: 236km, 107 locks)
Long luxuriant shower as we are parked by a fresh water supply. We top up with gas, as the Australians cruise by, boathooks at the ready. They plan to go through first today and possibly separately. The bread van toots, so we just have time to get a baguette. We arrive at the first double lock, to find the Australians already in the second half, which means we have to wait while the first one refills. They look a little shamefaced when they see me standing on the bridge between the two locks looking down on them. “Look Fred, there’s Jennifer,” Ian’s wife hisses. Ian shouts out that his wife will open the drawbridge for us both – this is why they have gone ahead. By the time they get to the next lock, we are well behind, but the next lockkeeper insists on waiting for us, so we meet again.
But at the following lock we are able to part ways. It is just a two kilometre bike ride over the hill to Dornecy, home to two old washhouses. By now the sun is out, and the whole landscape looks clean and new, a beautiful basin holding a vast cloud-scattered sky. From the top of the hill, you feel as if you can see forever. When we arrive in Dornecy, I ask a pedestrian where the ancient washhouses are. She doesn’t have the faintest idea what I am talking about – even though as it turns out we are just a few feet away from one of them – and directs me to a hairdresser. When we do find the lavoirs, I recognise them as what I had earlier taken for some sort of hay barn or covered duck pond beside the canal. Apparently each village in some parts of Burgundy has its own washhouse, most built in the 18th and 19th centuries, when there was a new awareness of the benefits of hygiene. They were meeting places for washerwomen. The second one in Dornecy has its own little canal, with very clear running water. The lavoirs were covered in 1802 after a cholera epidemic.
A military plane flew overhead earlier today – it is the second we have seen. They fly very fast and very low and very loudly. They are a rude reminder of the outside world – like the BBC4 news this morning of some awful brutal murder in Bath. We arrive at our second post-lunch lock to find the Australians waiting. Fred has stepped ashore for the first time to help do the gates. Ian is at the helm for the first time. His eagle captain’s eye notes that their bow rope is tied off as the water level starts to sink. When the gate opens, Ian steers the boat out with one hand on the wheel and one fending off the wall. There is a huge old English sheepdog who gazes down with interest at the scene, as Ian ricochets from one side of the lock to another.
We arrive together at Clamecy, one of the highlights of the Nivernais Canal, where I insist on spending the night. John fears we are behind schedule, and is anxious to ensure we get our 20 kilometres a day done. But I think he is reading the distance calculator upside down. Tomorrow he will ring the boat base and check. Clamecy is a beautiful little town with narrow streets and waterways. The mooring area is lovely, right down town, near gardens and the old war memorial which has been remodelled after being knocked down by the Nazis. The 12th century church on the hilltop, by the town square, is quite extraordinary, particularly lace-like with all its carvings and curlicues. Unfortunately it is shut for renovations, but the exterior is enough in itself.
We take our washing to the laundromat, and painstakingly work out the instructions. There is quite a convivial atmosphere in the laundromat – a young mother with a vociferous child, a lean young man who carefully folds everything from the dryer, item by item, and packs it into his carry bag. He offers us helpful suggestions by prodding the buttons on the machine. The laundromat is situated in the heart of the historic centre of Clamecy, so the waiting time can be spent very pleasantly. There is a tabac with an internet sign – the first we have seen in many days – but when we go in, the owner shrugs his shoulders, runs his fingers over the keyboard and shakes his head with a “desolé” when the screen remains obstinately blank.More or less opposite the laundromat is an old house with a sign saying it is the birthplace of Gerond de Villette (1752-1787), the first man to go up in a captive hot air balloon along with Pilotre de Rozier. In the booklet I get from the tourism office, which is itself housed in a beautiful old timbered building, there is a list of Clamecy’s famous sons, who also include Nobel Prize winner for literature, Roman Rolland (1866-1944). He has his own museum, which includes an exhibition dedicated to the timber floaters of Clamecy. He described Clamecy as “the town of beautiful reflection”.
For dinner we go to the Auberge de la Chapelle near the mooring – a hotel with a restaurant in an old chapel. We make the mistake of having a pre-dinner snack of duck paté with a glass of wine. The €16 menu embraces an amusé bouche, a hefty wedge of terrine, a large helping of burgundy beef and cassis ice-cream. The Australians have arrived before us, and next to us is a table of three Brits who sound as if they may be food critics. The food is, to our taste buds anyway, excellent value for money. We stagger back to the boat, John clutching the remains of our bottle of wine. We miss out on the cheese course – the British table spend ages examining the offerings on the cheese trolley, which are many, sniffing, and enquiring as to its origins. The maitre d’ at the restaurant has the most enormous girth, a testament to the quality of his food.
Friday 4 May
Clamecy - Cravant – 42km 20 locks (Total: 278km 127 locks)
We spring up early for John to secure first position in the queue for
the lock opening at 9 am, and me to go to the boulangerie. Overnight the Avenue de la République has been transformed into a festival of colours – large models of cakes sit on top of the bus stop, and a purple cow peers into a shop window. John jumps the gun and gets into position a full 15 minutes too early, galvanising the Australians into action. The neat little Dutch boat, Patjak VI, with its dark green bodywork and beautiful roping fender, stays demurely by the lock. Its owner wears a crisp blue and white striped tee-shirt – I am in the third day of mine, and my trousers (white) have numerous oil stains from the lock work.
The passage out of Clamecy passes under the Bethleem bridge, at the centre of which is a large statue “aux flotteurs de Clamecy” which gazes down the length of L’Yonne River. He is a short chap, dressed in cap and working clothes, holding his tools of trade. There is an inscription by Romain Rolland and Colas Breugnon – “Ils seront dans son histoire sa noblesse aux rudes mains”. And overseeing him, at the head of the lock several hundred metres behind, is a bust on a high pedestal of Jean Rouvet, the inventor of, I think, the commercial exploitation system of le flottage du bois. He stares sternly and proudly ahead while behind him, in the lock, imprisoned, are our three boats – us, the Australians, and the Dutch boat. Two policemen turn up to collect the mooring fee from the night before. €5 for a 10.5 metre boat. They issue a receipt, and then we are released.
It is a perfect day – warm, sunny, clear blue skies. The initial stages of the day are a bit tricky – two weirs to avoid – but we proceed without incident through seven locks and moor just before the lunchtime lock at Lucy. A large barge is sitting in the lock, ascending, and moves out, shouting at us. It is not apparent why, until t
he barge passes our moored boat, creating a strong wash that pulls the boat away from the mooring pegs, uprooting them as it goes. We fear we have lost one mooring pin, until John spots it overhanging the edge of the bank. He has been pulled down the bank, his foot entangled in the rope. A lesson learnt. So we move on into the lock to await the lockkeeper’s return after lunch. All around there are green fields, and about half a kilometer to our right, set against a bank of trees, with a wheat field in front of it, is a large chateau – Chateau de Faulin – shimmering in a heat haze. While we saved the mooring pin, it is now apparent that we lost the hammer. The lockkeeper has a quick check of the shed to see if there is something there to take its place, but returns shaking her head. “Desolé”, she says, and can offer no advice on where we can buy a replacement.
Luckily, a couple of locks ahead, we see a Connoisseur base, so while the lock goes into operation, I sprint over to the base. In answer to my urgent “hello?” a man appears from out the back, and without any questions asked goes in search of a mallet. “Problem if you lose them in the water is that they sink,” he says. He is English. When I explain we started in Chatillon, he snorts “they take all my kit”. I spring back to the boat, just in time to climb back on board. The countryside around this area is quite dramatic – limestone cliffs. Under 20 kilometres from Chatel-Censoir, there is the town of Vezelay, in whose basilica St Bernard urged crowds to take part in the crusades. It is a holy site for pilgrims. But John is determined to make up time, so we press gamely on, managing a peek in passing at the 16th century stone bridge over the Yonne at Mailly-le-Chateau – one of the oldest in the region. It has a chapel dedicated to St Nicholas, patron saint of timber floaters and bargemen. At the side of the canal, several teams of workers up and down its length are laying down a new cycle path, making irritating high pitched squeaks of warning as they reverse.
The Dutch boat stays behind after lunch, but the Australians and we carry on. Ian takes his turn at the helm, his navigational skills marginally improving as the days go by. Fred tells us Ian is pushing 80. He too is worried that he’ll never complete the loop in the time available. So both Fred and John are very happy when we reach our last lock and gain admission into the small mooring at Cravant after a record 42 kilometres. It is quarter to seven – 15 minutes before the locks shut. We started on the dot of nine this morning, with just the enforced hour for lunch.
John has a lie down, and I go for a brisk stride into Cravant, just across the Yonne bridge. At this hour there are small clutches of boys and girls swooping around the narrow streets on bikes. The boulangerie is on the verge of closing and everything else is already shut. A young woman tells me there will be a Saturday market, but is very small – just vegetables and fruit. I go for a wander through the streets and tick off a number of the recommended sights, including a nice old 14th century tower that once formed part of the town's medieval fortifications. Today it has been absorbed into the housing around it, and provides nesting crevices for pigeons. The town’s residents seem quite house-proud – lots of potted flowers – but when I return along the Route de Paris to the boat, I wonder how many of them would gladly take that road to the bright lights of the capital.
John absolutely buggered tonight – we have chicken salad, as the rain briefly comes and goes, accompanied by a sudden sharp wind that tugs at the mooring ropes and then dies away again. We try the Quincy 2004 wine that we bought at the Decize market, which is lovely, and listen to John’s I-pod music.
Saturday 5 May
Cravant - Auxerre – 19km 10 locks (Total: 297km 137 locks)
Up early to make dash to boulangerie. The butcher’s, boulangerie, post office and general store all open, with morning chorus of "bonjour madame", "bonne journee", "merci madame", "au revoir", "bon vacances". The market is just being set up – as the lady told me, it is tiny, and is actually run by the general store just a few metres down the road. Receive text from Barbara to say their train to Auxerre leaves Paris at midday. We make prompt start, passing two swans sliding down the canal on our way to the first lock of the day. No sign of movement from the Australians, so maybe today is the day we part ways. I shall be quite sorry after yesterday’s gruelling run. We had at last developed a pattern of helping each other efficiently through the locks.
Our first lockkeeper is a young woman – we get chatting and she says that while the cottages are very pretty, they are small and not so comfortable. At the second lock, Vincelles, I get off to help, plunging through the lockkeeper’s pretty little garden. The lock opens onto a section of the Yonne, which makes it impossible for the boat to stop and pick me up again, so I am obliged to jog along the towpath for some distance until I reach Vincelles and its wharf. By the third lock I feel as if I have done a day’s work. The lockkeeper there has a car boot full of wine and sells us three local Chablis (we are near the town of Chablis) at a discounted price of €6.90 a bottle.
It is an overcast day, and cooler. My white trousers are wound over a chair on deck to dry, after being washed in the remains of the dishwater. Consequently they are spotted with croissant crumbs. At Vaux the lockkeeper’s five year old son, still riding his bike with trainer wheels, gamely closes the lock gates on one side while his father works the other. The little boy holds his tongue out to catch the rain that has now set in. In the previous lock, we saw in the middle of the weir the two arms which used to guide the logs of wood towards the flash lock. In the days before the canalisation of the Yonne, downstream navigation was made possible by artificial flash floods. On a weekly basis, weirs on the Yonne and three other rivers were opened in order, and barges, timber rafts and passenger boats cast off together, carried by flood water to the Seine. Our Connoisseur guide book says that while this worked well for timber, it made things difficult for river boats filled with wine, cereals and even passengers.
In 1838 an engineer setting out for Paris from Auxerre in a six ton launch wrote that for 30 hours he navigated the Yonne with a motley collection of craft “constantly at the point of being sent to the bottom of the river. I attached myself first to a boat, then to a timber raft, pushed aside by one of these, the gunnels of my boat were jammed on an Auxerre passenger boat and I found myself suspended from this craft. My boat was only saved by the fact that the gunnels shattered …. I saw timber rafts climb on top of other ones, break into pieces and fall apart, boats climb onto rafts. I was deafened by the cries and shouts of the barge men, each one trying to save his skin as his neighbour’s expense.” After the flood, the flash locks were closed, followed by a rapid drop in water level. Boats which couldn’t keep up were grounded, and had to wait for the next flood. 
With just two locks to go, it is time for the lunch break, so we wait outside the Preuilly lock for one hour with the tourist boat Hirondelle II. Our last lock, at the very gates of Auxerre, is run by an official city lockkeeper in a proper VNF rain jacket. He instructs us how to behave in a lock and takes our ropes, and we dutifully obey and listen. Straight ahead is the Cathedral of St Etienne with its 13th century stained glass windows. And we have the best address in Auxerre! We are allowed to take the only free mooring, right by the Passerelle bridge, next to a fine Linssen boat owned by an English couple who sail the French canals every summer. The wife told us they spend a lot of time protecting the rope fender.
Auxerre is a handsome town – we can just walk across to it on our own personal pedestrian bridge. We find an electronics store with large flat screen TVs showing the America’s Cup – New Zealand is in third position. We walk through the St Etienne Cathedral, which is under restoration – the wall at the back is a scintillating white. The interior is cool and austere, and the windows are dazzling rich reds and blues, with intricately detailed scenes. The organ, which is not visible due to the renovations, is playing all the time we are there. After prolonged wandering we also find the Leblanc-Duresnoy Museum, which is housed in an 18th century private mansion. It has a porcelain collection, with lots of lovely faience ware, some of it quite religious and other pieces of naïve folk humour. Downstairs there are tapestries depicting the early dealings between the Jesuits and the Chinese emperor Kangxi. They depict the astronomical instruments of the Jesuits, which exist in Beijing today. There is a sign saying there is to be no photography, but on the first floor there is a woman carefully photographing many of the large dishes.
Outside the museum John gets a text from Rod and Barbara saying they have been held up in Paris, but have now arrived. We make our way back to the boat, which Barbara and Rod have already found – they are sitting on the bank in the rain. I thought they had recognised the New Zealand flag on the back, but in fact it is the only Connoisseur boat here today, and that is what alerted them. And no sooner have we found them, than we also find the Australians, who slept in and set off at 10.00am. They have decided to retrace their steps rather than continue around the loop. Fred confides that Ian is tired, and they worry that he might not be able to cope. So they will spend three nights in Auxerre, and then return slowly, staying at little villages en route. We all shake hands and wish each other well.
Barbara and Rod set off to look at Auxerre, and John and I tackle the local supermarket which is enormous, with everything you could possible want. To get to the supermarket, you walk through the park behind the marina, which is home to ten or 12 mainly young drifters with bedrolls and beer cans. For dinner we wander through the rain and end up at one on the waterfront, returning across the bridge which offers a fine view of the illuminated cathedral and the St Germain Abbey, silvery against the night sky. Another boeuf bourguignon in the interests of research …
Sunday 6 May
Auxerre - Joigny – 32km 11 locks (Total: 329km 148 locks)
Another cool grey day, but no wind. Barb and I set off for the boulangerie which we have been told is open and will surprise us, and so it is, and so it does, with its delicious and beautifully crafted pastries and cakes. Outside the window, with its mega strawberry and chocolate gateaux, there is a man with a basked of lily of the valley posies, which he is selling for €1. The grocer’s will not open till 9.00am, so we wander slowly back through the town, and come across the statue of St Nicholas, patron saint of river men, looking out from his niche in the wall over the river.
The first lock is enormous, built for river traffic. The lockkeeper warns us that today is election day, so there will be a two hour lunch break to allow the lockkeepers to vote. All throughout this trip we have seen the election posters outside the village town halls, all tidy and centralised, rather than the plethora of hoardings you get in New Zealand. The two candidates, Nicholas Sarkozy and Segolene Royal, were in a TV debate the night we stopped in Tannay – we saw locals huddled around the TV at the restaurant, chatting animatedly. The two lockkeepers John has asked both support Sarkozy.
It is so cold my breath fogs up my glasses. These river locks are huge – like municipal swimming pools. Barb says hopefully that she thinks the sun might come out. She sees her first otter swim across in front of us, and swans preening on the bank. This morning we saw the body of a t
iny bird in the streets of Auxerre, face down, little legs stretched out behind it. Maybe it died of the cold. But when we stop for lunch the grey clouds suddenly and quickly recede, and within a few minutes the temperature rockets.
Taking advantage of the two hour break, we cycle to Appoigny, but Barb is uncomfortable in the traffic and chooses to walk the bike much of the way back. The road is quite narrow, and there seems to be some sort of caravan convention as seven or eight cars are towing large white caravans.
We locate the 24/24 supermarché, but despite its name it shuts at 12.30pm on Sunday, so no milk.
At Monetau, we encounter our first sloping sided lock, which works brilliantly – floating pontoons on the sloped side gently descend with the boat. Not at all the nightmare that John had envisaged. The course today alternates between stretches of canal and stretches of the Yonne. The canal is much more sheltered – even in the sun, there is a chill in the air on the river. “Crikey, not another flipping lock,” says Barbara as we encounter our eighth one for the da
y. At the ninth, La Graviere, we wait for a boat to emerge, and a swan eyes us up from the far bank as we stay midstream. He swims out to us with determination, and Barb gets the hint and feeds him over the side of the boat. He takes bread from her hand and dips it in the water to soften it.
When we enter the lock, the lockkeeper’s 9½ year old son takes the ropes for us and works the automatic devices. The final run into Joigny, some way past the entrance to the Burgundy Canal, is along a wide stretch of the River Yonne, the wind rippling the surface. The boat feels more like a ferry than a canal boat, bumping up and down. We moor at the marina, from which we get a wonderful view of Joigny on the opposite bank,
vineyards on the hills, which rise steeply behind. Barb makes herself a cup of mint tea, using only hot water and the wild mint we found on the lock side, which she claims is delicious, and after that we walk into Joigny’s old side, which is quite remarkable in its way for the sheer quantity of medieval housing in one place, winding up the hillside. Wandering through the streets, it is a bit disconcerting to hear the murmur of TVs from behind ancient doors and windows. We count five Turkish kebab shops in one small area, and another two small grocery shops run by Turks. Neither stocks fresh milk.
The two churches are both interesting – the St Jean church was started in 996, and has an old tomb dating back to the 1100’s.
The St Thibault church was first built as a chapel to receive the remains of St Thibault. It, like many other churches we have seen, is under restoration and the part completed is a startling white. Opposite, somewhat incongruously, is the Bar St Thibault. When we exit through the gate at the rear of the town, there is a fine avenue of trees, and more avenues of trees along the waterfront. It is all very charming. Walking back to the boat on the opposite bank, the objects I to
ok for bollards turn out to be signs identifying the various river birds. Back on the boat, Barb says it has been one of the best days of her life, and talks about running a business with a canal boat, targeting the New Zealand market. Something we have begun to think of ourselves. Dinner on the pontoons, with setting sun.
Monday 7 May
Joigny à Sens – 32km 7 locks (Total: 361km 155 locks)
John gives me my morning cup of tea with a pretty little garnet ring for my birthday. Barb and Rod give me chocolate from Maxims in Paris, and a pretty little blue and white condiment set. Barb is upset that the little tray is broken, but I can fix it when I get home. We buy almond croissants for breakfast and tarte citron for afternoon tea. John fills up with diesel after lengthy discussions over whether or not the marina can sell it, because they have no meter on the pump and it is for Locaboats. Overcast and a bit rainy again, but not as cold. We nudge into a bank so John can move out of the rain to the inside steering position, and Barb takes the opportunity to plunge through the stinging nettles to pick wild blue ir
ises to replace the fading bunch of assorted wildflowers I have picked over the past two weeks. Five dogs appear out of nowhere barking loudly, happily on the other side of a fence. Barb makes a quick leap.
Our first lock is sloping on both sides, but the pontoons make it straightforward. When the water levels sink, you can see the old steps, now heavily caked in mud, like fat slices of chocolate cake. The lock opens into a very attractive stretch of river, with fine strands of trees on both sides, and groups of fishermen. The lock man tells us that Sarkozy won the election – he does not appear particularly moved by this news. The second l
ock appears unmanned – Barb knocks on the door and eventually the lockkeeper appears, slightly unsteady on his feet, or perhaps that was the effect of the wind. The lock takes forever to lower a metre and a bit, and we think he has not opened all the sluices, possibly as punishment for our looking for him.
We stop at Villeneuve sur Yonne for lunch and take a quick hike through the town. The Church of Notre Dame, a solid, square edifice, is securely shut. The lock out of Villeneuve remains closed at 1.00pm, with no sign of anyone. At a quarter past, I walk down and up the stairs to the office. No-one answers. I go over to the house, and can see a y
oung man sitting with a cigarette at his table. He comes to the door, and says the lunchtime lasts till 1.30 – the first lock to do so in 150 locks. At half past, he saunters, slowly, to the gates and spends five minutes clearing away debris. Then, when the lock has drained, he spends more time on the telephone …
But at Etigny, we are excited to come across a commercial barge, with another headed our way, creating significant wash. This is the first time to be in a lock with a barge, and suddenly these huge river locks seem much smaller. We assume the barge man has kindly left the one puny little pontoon for us, but the lockkeeper says we must moor onto the barge itself. We succeed in mooring onto the aft, until the barge man directs us forward so we go through the procedure all over again. The barge is enormo
us – the driver sits high above his cargo in a raised glass cabin from which he waves cheerily as he lets us leave first.
Another barge passes us on the way to the next lock – it is a family-run commercial barge, with a children’s playpen enclosed in a 2-metre high steel fence, complete with swing, at the front, and lace curtains hung in the windows. Our barge, Puebla, overtakes us before we reach the lock, and we moor against it with more confidence this time. Peering into their cavernous holds, you can see exquisitely neatly coiled ropes at the far end, beyond the piles of gravel it is carrying. But certainly no lace curtains.
We arrive at Sens at 4.15pm and tie up. Sens was a major Roman centre. Harold from Florida in the canal barge behind helps tie us up in the wind – he says he shares his very handsome barge with ten others on a time share basis. Florida is too hot, he says. We sit down for a cup of tea, and Barb produces a brilliant raspberry mousse cake with a thin jelly layer on top that is just divine. I have three helpings. Then we tackle Sens, which has an all day market on Monday. We catch the end of it. Barb buys a top and a €3 cotton tee-shirt. The fruit and vegetable market, housed in the covered market, is almost over. W
e spend so long in the market, and in the St Etienne Cathedral, that we are too late to go through the adjacent museum with the cathedral treasures and the orangerie. But the lady at the counter reluctantly agrees to let us rush right through to the garden in the remaining ten minutes, which also gives us the chance to take a quick squizz at the exhibition material, including the fragments of Roman mosaic flooring, en route.
We follow the walking path suggested on the tourism map, which brings us to a large car park, in search of La Poterne,
the remains of the town wall. We ask a young mother where it is. She inspects the map closely. “It is here,” she pronounces as she looks at the map again and nods. “We can see it with our own eyes,” she jokes, and laughs. We never do find La Poterne.
For dinner we go to the Auberge de la Chapelle near the mooring – a hotel with a restaurant in an old chapel. We make the mistake of having a pre-dinner snack of duck paté with a glass of wine. The €16 menu embraces an amusé bouche, a hefty wedge of terrine, a large helping of burgundy beef and cassis ice-cream. The Australians have arrived before us, and next to us is a table of three Brits who sound as if they may be food critics. The food is, to our taste buds anyway, excellent value for money. We stagger back to the boat, John clutching the remains of our bottle of wine. We miss out on the cheese course – the British table spend ages examining the offerings on the cheese trolley, which are many, sniffing, and enquiring as to its origins. The maitre d’ at the restaurant has the most enormous girth, a testament to the quality of his food.
Friday 4 May
Clamecy - Cravant – 42km 20 locks (Total: 278km 127 locks)
We spring up early for John to secure first position in the queue for
the lock opening at 9 am, and me to go to the boulangerie. Overnight the Avenue de la République has been transformed into a festival of colours – large models of cakes sit on top of the bus stop, and a purple cow peers into a shop window. John jumps the gun and gets into position a full 15 minutes too early, galvanising the Australians into action. The neat little Dutch boat, Patjak VI, with its dark green bodywork and beautiful roping fender, stays demurely by the lock. Its owner wears a crisp blue and white striped tee-shirt – I am in the third day of mine, and my trousers (white) have numerous oil stains from the lock work.
The passage out of Clamecy passes under the Bethleem bridge, at the centre of which is a large statue “aux flotteurs de Clamecy” which gazes down the length of L’Yonne River. He is a short chap, dressed in cap and working clothes, holding his tools of trade. There is an inscription by Romain Rolland and Colas Breugnon – “Ils seront dans son histoire sa noblesse aux rudes mains”. And overseeing him, at the head of the lock several hundred metres behind, is a bust on a high pedestal of Jean Rouvet, the inventor of, I think, the commercial exploitation system of le flottage du bois. He stares sternly and proudly ahead while behind him, in the lock, imprisoned, are our three boats – us, the Australians, and the Dutch boat. Two policemen turn up to collect the mooring fee from the night before. €5 for a 10.5 metre boat. They issue a receipt, and then we are released.It is a perfect day – warm, sunny, clear blue skies. The initial stages of the day are a bit tricky – two weirs to avoid – but we proceed without incident through seven locks and moor just before the lunchtime lock at Lucy. A large barge is sitting in the lock, ascending, and moves out, shouting at us. It is not apparent why, until t
he barge passes our moored boat, creating a strong wash that pulls the boat away from the mooring pegs, uprooting them as it goes. We fear we have lost one mooring pin, until John spots it overhanging the edge of the bank. He has been pulled down the bank, his foot entangled in the rope. A lesson learnt. So we move on into the lock to await the lockkeeper’s return after lunch. All around there are green fields, and about half a kilometer to our right, set against a bank of trees, with a wheat field in front of it, is a large chateau – Chateau de Faulin – shimmering in a heat haze. While we saved the mooring pin, it is now apparent that we lost the hammer. The lockkeeper has a quick check of the shed to see if there is something there to take its place, but returns shaking her head. “Desolé”, she says, and can offer no advice on where we can buy a replacement.
Luckily, a couple of locks ahead, we see a Connoisseur base, so while the lock goes into operation, I sprint over to the base. In answer to my urgent “hello?” a man appears from out the back, and without any questions asked goes in search of a mallet. “Problem if you lose them in the water is that they sink,” he says. He is English. When I explain we started in Chatillon, he snorts “they take all my kit”. I spring back to the boat, just in time to climb back on board. The countryside around this area is quite dramatic – limestone cliffs. Under 20 kilometres from Chatel-Censoir, there is the town of Vezelay, in whose basilica St Bernard urged crowds to take part in the crusades. It is a holy site for pilgrims. But John is determined to make up time, so we press gamely on, managing a peek in passing at the 16th century stone bridge over the Yonne at Mailly-le-Chateau – one of the oldest in the region. It has a chapel dedicated to St Nicholas, patron saint of timber floaters and bargemen. At the side of the canal, several teams of workers up and down its length are laying down a new cycle path, making irritating high pitched squeaks of warning as they reverse.
The Dutch boat stays behind after lunch, but the Australians and we carry on. Ian takes his turn at the helm, his navigational skills marginally improving as the days go by. Fred tells us Ian is pushing 80. He too is worried that he’ll never complete the loop in the time available. So both Fred and John are very happy when we reach our last lock and gain admission into the small mooring at Cravant after a record 42 kilometres. It is quarter to seven – 15 minutes before the locks shut. We started on the dot of nine this morning, with just the enforced hour for lunch.
John has a lie down, and I go for a brisk stride into Cravant, just across the Yonne bridge. At this hour there are small clutches of boys and girls swooping around the narrow streets on bikes. The boulangerie is on the verge of closing and everything else is already shut. A young woman tells me there will be a Saturday market, but is very small – just vegetables and fruit. I go for a wander through the streets and tick off a number of the recommended sights, including a nice old 14th century tower that once formed part of the town's medieval fortifications. Today it has been absorbed into the housing around it, and provides nesting crevices for pigeons. The town’s residents seem quite house-proud – lots of potted flowers – but when I return along the Route de Paris to the boat, I wonder how many of them would gladly take that road to the bright lights of the capital.John absolutely buggered tonight – we have chicken salad, as the rain briefly comes and goes, accompanied by a sudden sharp wind that tugs at the mooring ropes and then dies away again. We try the Quincy 2004 wine that we bought at the Decize market, which is lovely, and listen to John’s I-pod music.
Saturday 5 May
Cravant - Auxerre – 19km 10 locks (Total: 297km 137 locks)
Up early to make dash to boulangerie. The butcher’s, boulangerie, post office and general store all open, with morning chorus of "bonjour madame", "bonne journee", "merci madame", "au revoir", "bon vacances". The market is just being set up – as the lady told me, it is tiny, and is actually run by the general store just a few metres down the road. Receive text from Barbara to say their train to Auxerre leaves Paris at midday. We make prompt start, passing two swans sliding down the canal on our way to the first lock of the day. No sign of movement from the Australians, so maybe today is the day we part ways. I shall be quite sorry after yesterday’s gruelling run. We had at last developed a pattern of helping each other efficiently through the locks.Our first lockkeeper is a young woman – we get chatting and she says that while the cottages are very pretty, they are small and not so comfortable. At the second lock, Vincelles, I get off to help, plunging through the lockkeeper’s pretty little garden. The lock opens onto a section of the Yonne, which makes it impossible for the boat to stop and pick me up again, so I am obliged to jog along the towpath for some distance until I reach Vincelles and its wharf. By the third lock I feel as if I have done a day’s work. The lockkeeper there has a car boot full of wine and sells us three local Chablis (we are near the town of Chablis) at a discounted price of €6.90 a bottle.
It is an overcast day, and cooler. My white trousers are wound over a chair on deck to dry, after being washed in the remains of the dishwater. Consequently they are spotted with croissant crumbs. At Vaux the lockkeeper’s five year old son, still riding his bike with trainer wheels, gamely closes the lock gates on one side while his father works the other. The little boy holds his tongue out to catch the rain that has now set in. In the previous lock, we saw in the middle of the weir the two arms which used to guide the logs of wood towards the flash lock. In the days before the canalisation of the Yonne, downstream navigation was made possible by artificial flash floods. On a weekly basis, weirs on the Yonne and three other rivers were opened in order, and barges, timber rafts and passenger boats cast off together, carried by flood water to the Seine. Our Connoisseur guide book says that while this worked well for timber, it made things difficult for river boats filled with wine, cereals and even passengers.
In 1838 an engineer setting out for Paris from Auxerre in a six ton launch wrote that for 30 hours he navigated the Yonne with a motley collection of craft “constantly at the point of being sent to the bottom of the river. I attached myself first to a boat, then to a timber raft, pushed aside by one of these, the gunnels of my boat were jammed on an Auxerre passenger boat and I found myself suspended from this craft. My boat was only saved by the fact that the gunnels shattered …. I saw timber rafts climb on top of other ones, break into pieces and fall apart, boats climb onto rafts. I was deafened by the cries and shouts of the barge men, each one trying to save his skin as his neighbour’s expense.” After the flood, the flash locks were closed, followed by a rapid drop in water level. Boats which couldn’t keep up were grounded, and had to wait for the next flood. 
With just two locks to go, it is time for the lunch break, so we wait outside the Preuilly lock for one hour with the tourist boat Hirondelle II. Our last lock, at the very gates of Auxerre, is run by an official city lockkeeper in a proper VNF rain jacket. He instructs us how to behave in a lock and takes our ropes, and we dutifully obey and listen. Straight ahead is the Cathedral of St Etienne with its 13th century stained glass windows. And we have the best address in Auxerre! We are allowed to take the only free mooring, right by the Passerelle bridge, next to a fine Linssen boat owned by an English couple who sail the French canals every summer. The wife told us they spend a lot of time protecting the rope fender.
Auxerre is a handsome town – we can just walk across to it on our own personal pedestrian bridge. We find an electronics store with large flat screen TVs showing the America’s Cup – New Zealand is in third position. We walk through the St Etienne Cathedral, which is under restoration – the wall at the back is a scintillating white. The interior is cool and austere, and the windows are dazzling rich reds and blues, with intricately detailed scenes. The organ, which is not visible due to the renovations, is playing all the time we are there. After prolonged wandering we also find the Leblanc-Duresnoy Museum, which is housed in an 18th century private mansion. It has a porcelain collection, with lots of lovely faience ware, some of it quite religious and other pieces of naïve folk humour. Downstairs there are tapestries depicting the early dealings between the Jesuits and the Chinese emperor Kangxi. They depict the astronomical instruments of the Jesuits, which exist in Beijing today. There is a sign saying there is to be no photography, but on the first floor there is a woman carefully photographing many of the large dishes.
Outside the museum John gets a text from Rod and Barbara saying they have been held up in Paris, but have now arrived. We make our way back to the boat, which Barbara and Rod have already found – they are sitting on the bank in the rain. I thought they had recognised the New Zealand flag on the back, but in fact it is the only Connoisseur boat here today, and that is what alerted them. And no sooner have we found them, than we also find the Australians, who slept in and set off at 10.00am. They have decided to retrace their steps rather than continue around the loop. Fred confides that Ian is tired, and they worry that he might not be able to cope. So they will spend three nights in Auxerre, and then return slowly, staying at little villages en route. We all shake hands and wish each other well.
Barbara and Rod set off to look at Auxerre, and John and I tackle the local supermarket which is enormous, with everything you could possible want. To get to the supermarket, you walk through the park behind the marina, which is home to ten or 12 mainly young drifters with bedrolls and beer cans. For dinner we wander through the rain and end up at one on the waterfront, returning across the bridge which offers a fine view of the illuminated cathedral and the St Germain Abbey, silvery against the night sky. Another boeuf bourguignon in the interests of research …
Sunday 6 May
Auxerre - Joigny – 32km 11 locks (Total: 329km 148 locks)
Another cool grey day, but no wind. Barb and I set off for the boulangerie which we have been told is open and will surprise us, and so it is, and so it does, with its delicious and beautifully crafted pastries and cakes. Outside the window, with its mega strawberry and chocolate gateaux, there is a man with a basked of lily of the valley posies, which he is selling for €1. The grocer’s will not open till 9.00am, so we wander slowly back through the town, and come across the statue of St Nicholas, patron saint of river men, looking out from his niche in the wall over the river.
The first lock is enormous, built for river traffic. The lockkeeper warns us that today is election day, so there will be a two hour lunch break to allow the lockkeepers to vote. All throughout this trip we have seen the election posters outside the village town halls, all tidy and centralised, rather than the plethora of hoardings you get in New Zealand. The two candidates, Nicholas Sarkozy and Segolene Royal, were in a TV debate the night we stopped in Tannay – we saw locals huddled around the TV at the restaurant, chatting animatedly. The two lockkeepers John has asked both support Sarkozy.
It is so cold my breath fogs up my glasses. These river locks are huge – like municipal swimming pools. Barb says hopefully that she thinks the sun might come out. She sees her first otter swim across in front of us, and swans preening on the bank. This morning we saw the body of a t
iny bird in the streets of Auxerre, face down, little legs stretched out behind it. Maybe it died of the cold. But when we stop for lunch the grey clouds suddenly and quickly recede, and within a few minutes the temperature rockets.Taking advantage of the two hour break, we cycle to Appoigny, but Barb is uncomfortable in the traffic and chooses to walk the bike much of the way back. The road is quite narrow, and there seems to be some sort of caravan convention as seven or eight cars are towing large white caravans.
We locate the 24/24 supermarché, but despite its name it shuts at 12.30pm on Sunday, so no milk.At Monetau, we encounter our first sloping sided lock, which works brilliantly – floating pontoons on the sloped side gently descend with the boat. Not at all the nightmare that John had envisaged. The course today alternates between stretches of canal and stretches of the Yonne. The canal is much more sheltered – even in the sun, there is a chill in the air on the river. “Crikey, not another flipping lock,” says Barbara as we encounter our eighth one for the da
y. At the ninth, La Graviere, we wait for a boat to emerge, and a swan eyes us up from the far bank as we stay midstream. He swims out to us with determination, and Barb gets the hint and feeds him over the side of the boat. He takes bread from her hand and dips it in the water to soften it.When we enter the lock, the lockkeeper’s 9½ year old son takes the ropes for us and works the automatic devices. The final run into Joigny, some way past the entrance to the Burgundy Canal, is along a wide stretch of the River Yonne, the wind rippling the surface. The boat feels more like a ferry than a canal boat, bumping up and down. We moor at the marina, from which we get a wonderful view of Joigny on the opposite bank,
vineyards on the hills, which rise steeply behind. Barb makes herself a cup of mint tea, using only hot water and the wild mint we found on the lock side, which she claims is delicious, and after that we walk into Joigny’s old side, which is quite remarkable in its way for the sheer quantity of medieval housing in one place, winding up the hillside. Wandering through the streets, it is a bit disconcerting to hear the murmur of TVs from behind ancient doors and windows. We count five Turkish kebab shops in one small area, and another two small grocery shops run by Turks. Neither stocks fresh milk.
The two churches are both interesting – the St Jean church was started in 996, and has an old tomb dating back to the 1100’s.
The St Thibault church was first built as a chapel to receive the remains of St Thibault. It, like many other churches we have seen, is under restoration and the part completed is a startling white. Opposite, somewhat incongruously, is the Bar St Thibault. When we exit through the gate at the rear of the town, there is a fine avenue of trees, and more avenues of trees along the waterfront. It is all very charming. Walking back to the boat on the opposite bank, the objects I to
ok for bollards turn out to be signs identifying the various river birds. Back on the boat, Barb says it has been one of the best days of her life, and talks about running a business with a canal boat, targeting the New Zealand market. Something we have begun to think of ourselves. Dinner on the pontoons, with setting sun.Monday 7 May
Joigny à Sens – 32km 7 locks (Total: 361km 155 locks)
John gives me my morning cup of tea with a pretty little garnet ring for my birthday. Barb and Rod give me chocolate from Maxims in Paris, and a pretty little blue and white condiment set. Barb is upset that the little tray is broken, but I can fix it when I get home. We buy almond croissants for breakfast and tarte citron for afternoon tea. John fills up with diesel after lengthy discussions over whether or not the marina can sell it, because they have no meter on the pump and it is for Locaboats. Overcast and a bit rainy again, but not as cold. We nudge into a bank so John can move out of the rain to the inside steering position, and Barb takes the opportunity to plunge through the stinging nettles to pick wild blue ir
ises to replace the fading bunch of assorted wildflowers I have picked over the past two weeks. Five dogs appear out of nowhere barking loudly, happily on the other side of a fence. Barb makes a quick leap.Our first lock is sloping on both sides, but the pontoons make it straightforward. When the water levels sink, you can see the old steps, now heavily caked in mud, like fat slices of chocolate cake. The lock opens into a very attractive stretch of river, with fine strands of trees on both sides, and groups of fishermen. The lock man tells us that Sarkozy won the election – he does not appear particularly moved by this news. The second l
ock appears unmanned – Barb knocks on the door and eventually the lockkeeper appears, slightly unsteady on his feet, or perhaps that was the effect of the wind. The lock takes forever to lower a metre and a bit, and we think he has not opened all the sluices, possibly as punishment for our looking for him.We stop at Villeneuve sur Yonne for lunch and take a quick hike through the town. The Church of Notre Dame, a solid, square edifice, is securely shut. The lock out of Villeneuve remains closed at 1.00pm, with no sign of anyone. At a quarter past, I walk down and up the stairs to the office. No-one answers. I go over to the house, and can see a y
oung man sitting with a cigarette at his table. He comes to the door, and says the lunchtime lasts till 1.30 – the first lock to do so in 150 locks. At half past, he saunters, slowly, to the gates and spends five minutes clearing away debris. Then, when the lock has drained, he spends more time on the telephone …But at Etigny, we are excited to come across a commercial barge, with another headed our way, creating significant wash. This is the first time to be in a lock with a barge, and suddenly these huge river locks seem much smaller. We assume the barge man has kindly left the one puny little pontoon for us, but the lockkeeper says we must moor onto the barge itself. We succeed in mooring onto the aft, until the barge man directs us forward so we go through the procedure all over again. The barge is enormo
us – the driver sits high above his cargo in a raised glass cabin from which he waves cheerily as he lets us leave first.Another barge passes us on the way to the next lock – it is a family-run commercial barge, with a children’s playpen enclosed in a 2-metre high steel fence, complete with swing, at the front, and lace curtains hung in the windows. Our barge, Puebla, overtakes us before we reach the lock, and we moor against it with more confidence this time. Peering into their cavernous holds, you can see exquisitely neatly coiled ropes at the far end, beyond the piles of gravel it is carrying. But certainly no lace curtains.
We arrive at Sens at 4.15pm and tie up. Sens was a major Roman centre. Harold from Florida in the canal barge behind helps tie us up in the wind – he says he shares his very handsome barge with ten others on a time share basis. Florida is too hot, he says. We sit down for a cup of tea, and Barb produces a brilliant raspberry mousse cake with a thin jelly layer on top that is just divine. I have three helpings. Then we tackle Sens, which has an all day market on Monday. We catch the end of it. Barb buys a top and a €3 cotton tee-shirt. The fruit and vegetable market, housed in the covered market, is almost over. W
e spend so long in the market, and in the St Etienne Cathedral, that we are too late to go through the adjacent museum with the cathedral treasures and the orangerie. But the lady at the counter reluctantly agrees to let us rush right through to the garden in the remaining ten minutes, which also gives us the chance to take a quick squizz at the exhibition material, including the fragments of Roman mosaic flooring, en route.We follow the walking path suggested on the tourism map, which brings us to a large car park, in search of La Poterne,
But on the way back to the boat we do find a fun fair which stretches for three blocks and is great fun. The French version of sausages on sticks in New Zealand – deep fried dough items – kebabs, ice creams, luck
y dips, numerous merry go rounds of varying degrees of sophistication, happy kids, bored looking attendants – it is all great. We wander into town for dinner, and find an inexpensive place near the cathedral. And after dinner, we walk back through the fun fair in the dark, until rain returns and we run back to the boat and sit with a glass of wine and Nina Simone, watching the rain on the wet cobblestones of the quay. It has been a lovely birthday.
Tuesday 8 May
Sens - Villenavotte – 6km 1 lock (Total: 367km 156 locks)
We need water if we are to have showers. Sens was supposed to have water, but the only means of getting it was a hose hanging from the middle of the bridge when we arrived. As there was no visible means of connecting to a hose some ten metres above our heads, we gave it away. So the next idea was that first thing in the morning we make a dash to water some six kilometres down the road, but we all sleep in. And it is raining. We do the boulangerie run and discover that 8 May is also a public holiday marking the end of WWII. So everything is shut, including the museum, which is a shame, as it held a collection of paint
ings I would like to have seen if we are to spend some extra hours in Sens. One of the few things open is the laundromat, so that is where we end up.
And I discover looking at the by now somewhat tattered tourist map that there is a park which comes highly recommended. It is described as being between the city and the start of the countryside, and there is an arrow pointing the direction to take. Clasping the empty laundry bags, Barb and I set off with Rod to the park via the library, where Rod hopes to find internet access. It is closed. He retraces his steps to the laundromat, and Barb and I press on. Forty five minutes later, it becomes clear, as we survey open countryside, that there is no park here. There is no-one around to ask, until an ambulance driver passes by, and tells us that the park is in a completely differen
t direction. On closer inspection of the tourist map there is another arrow that I completely missed. Doggedly determined now to find the park, we walk another half hour and eventually track it down. It is frankly not worth the effort, but we enthuse to each other all the same over the fragrance of the roses, which are just starting to come out.
Returning to the boat, we pass the small grocery shop that was open in the morning, but has now shut, dashing our hopes of fresh milk. Rod, however, has had more success, chatting up the locals in the laundromat, then carrying the washing back to the boat wrapped in a towel, since he had no l
aundry bags. For lunch we have brie on baguette – a Normandy brie that emits a powerful smell every time the fridge door is opened – so much so that after lunch we put it in the tool box on deck. John watched the barge behind us set off today with a second barge attached to its front end – the Pueblo, presumably a sister to the Puebla we hooked up to yesterday. He said the driver, maybe 25, controlled the whole operation expertly with a mooring rope in one hand and the rudder in the other. He put his engine in gear, which caused the two linked barges to move out sideways. He then flicked the rope off, reversed to get enough room to pass us, and once he had enough sea room, took off under the bridge, turning up his rock music to full blast. This impressed John mightily – the fact that he could control that entire arrangement with one piece of rope.
In the late afternoon we head off through the lock we
had booked for 10.00am, as the lockkeeper smilingly reminds us. We are only going six kilometres, as far as a restaurant on the bank with its own private mooring at Villenavotte. The restaurant is also a two star hotel, Le Manoir de l’Onde, with high eaves and a little turret. The owner comes over and helps us tie up and immediately inquired if we were dining in. John and I go round to the quite sumptuous restaurant through the wood panelled reception and take a cautious look at the menu. It is rather more than we wanted to spend, so we ask if we can order a la carte. The owner, who seems quite cheery and possibly 
slightly tipsy, is amenable.
Across the railway track that was alongside the road behind the hotel is the village of Villenavotte. A hotel resident from Alsace comes over to us and says that in villages across France today people laid wreaths at war memorials to mark the end of World War II. Maybe they did in Sens, but if so we missed it. Although the cathedral did ring its bells in a long, slow, funereal peel at mid morning. With the thought of finding the village war memorial, Rod and I cross the railway line and climb a long flight of steps to the village on the hillside. There are stunning views from the top of violet skies and endl
ess green wheat fields swaying in the breeze. The man from Alsace had said the village would be shut, and so it is, but there are no shops there anyway. The church is shut, and we can find no war memorial. There are some very large houses behind high walls. Some have garden gnomes – a popular garden feature in these parts.
At 8.15pm we arrive at the hotel restaurant which has a covered terrace overlooking the river. It is all very froufrou, with about seven tables, all very hushed. There is one rather tense lady with a bandaged wrist and laryngitis serving by herself. She tackles it table by table, leaving us till last, since we arrived last. When she serves the main course, she has to orchestrate as near as possible the simultaneous removal of the silver covers. We confuse and annoy her visibly by ordering a mix of a la carte selections off the prix fixe menu. Barb, who is keen on her fish and her vegetables, orders veau de mer. When it arrives, it has the texture of brains. There is nothing fish-like about it. We think she might have mistakenly ordered the ris de veau – veal sweetbreads. She gamely tackles it, but its identity continues to trouble her. Meanwhile, in the sitting room, where earlier diners are enjoying their coffee, the hostess is grappling with a dumb waiter that emits loud groaning noises as it disappears with the used plates and reappears with the covered orders.
At the end of dinner (I have a quite tart, but delicious gratin of red fruits) we are the only diners left. We go to pay the substantial bill, and find the hostess with her own dinner at the reception desk. Back on the boat I try to text Adele, but end up talking to her, to figure out what veau de mer is – Adele and her friend Mo run through the possibilities, and offer suggestions such as whale. Barb retires to bed none the wiser.
Wednesday 9 May
Villenavotte - Montereau Faut Yonne – 34km 7 locks (Total: 401km 163 locks)
The chef appears early with a large box containing two loaves of bread – one sliced, loosely wrapped to maintain its moistness, and the other a bit blackened on top, plus a pile of croissants and pains de chocolat, still hot. “Voila,” he says as he hands them over. We had been anticipating a breakfast of yesterday’s bread, so this is a lavish feast. After filling water and thanking the chef profusely – it was all free – we set off for our first double sloping sides river lock minus a working pontoon. We manage despite the breeze to moor to one bollard with enough rope to allow us to descend without hitting the slope.
At Pont sur Yonne we pass the remaining three arches of the old stone bridge that was blown up in 1814 to stop the advance of Austrian troops. A little further along, is the Aqueduct of the Vanne which was built in 1874 and carries more than 120,000 cubic metres of water a day towards the Montsouris reservoir in Paris. Behind us comes a commercial hotel barge – a thing of beauty called Nenuphar, skippered by a windswept and interesting young Brit, in navy blue polo necked sweater and jeans. The barge is empty of passengers, but there is a young woman with pink gloves, and another insouciant young man with a fag at the front. The skipper says he’ll go out first, since they are so much further forward than us. “You can overtake us later if you want,” he says crisply. “If you can catch us up.” He smiles.
At the next lock we do catch up, and he says he skippers for a company targeting the American market – they generally stay on board for six nights. “Is it horrendously expensive?” I ask. “Yes,” he replies. Their season starts on May 20. It is an all year round job though, with refitting during the off-season. While we are in the lock, a car draws up and disgorges four of the barge staff, a washing machine, and large piles of grocery bags which they swiftly unload onto the barge. But when the lockkeeper goes to open the gates, one jams and we squeeze out leaving the barge inside.
Just before lunchtime, we moor up before our first 3.8 metre double sloping sided lock, the barge behind us. Before the barge can get underway, a small private boat zips pas us both and snaffles the pontoon. This is bad maritime manners on two fronts. The owner nips out on shore with his little dog for a toilet stop. There is nowhere we can conveniently tie up with the length of ropes we have, so with the barge’s agreement we tie onto him. The Englishman says he has been doing this work since 1990 – his family is in England and he lives in Burgundy. You needed papers when he started, but it helped to take the instructor out for a nice lunch. He didn’t even have to go into a lock or turn the barge around in his test. But now things are different. He reckons the Nenuphar is worth US$1m.
In the next double sided sloping lock, the little French boat again nips in front but discovers there is no pontoon. He ties up on the left, and then moves over to the right, discombobulating Nenuphar. When the lock opens, he jockeys for position and belts ahead, heading for La Brosse. We pass giant square barges, carrying gravel, which is unloaded on the bank in great piles. When we reach La Brosse, the little French boat is already moored in the lock, impatiently awaiting our arrival. The little dog – a Chihuahua – is let off again. Barbara recalls how as a child she knew a family with Chihuahuas. She dropped one and broke its leg, which subsequently had to be amputated. At a later date, she did a flip in the family's garden, falling on the other Chihuahua and killing it outright.....strange but true.
The Frenchman’s Chihuahua sits in the cabin window, barking as ferociously as it can manage at
the neighbouring boats. When the gates open, the Frenchman noses up against the barge and is out before the gates are even fully open. The barge guys shake their heads in bemusement. Where can he be going? There is yet another lock ahead. The Frenchman waits again, and yes, he fires off abruptly as soon as the gate opens, his little dog yapping excitedly. But the race is over, as we are now at our destination, Montereau-faut-Yonne, situated at the point where the Yonne falls (fault) into the Seine. And so we say farewell to the Yonne – in the guidebook it warned that while the river has been tamed by modern weirs and electrified locks, the river can be “capricious and impetuous” in spring, but the worst we have experienced is a chill wind from time to time.
We cross the bridge into the grubby centre ville, calling in at the museum of faience. It is sad to see the old photos of the ceramic factory, with all the workers leaving at the end of the working day, and then photos of the final demolition of the factory in the 1950’s. In its heyday, it made some lovely stuff, and you can see the love and imagination that went into the design of the pieces. We check out the internet café – Barb and Rod still can’t get their laptop to work, but do manage to check their emails. Barb is worried 
about finding work in the UK, and is a bit tearful thinking about the big change they have chosen to make in their lives by leaving New Zealand for up to five years. But they have some nibbles on the work front, and I am sure it will all be fine. And if it isn’t, that’s fine too. Look at Napoleon, whose statue is at the confluence of the Yonne and the Seine. “Le boulet qui doit me tuer n’est pas encore fonds”, he said. Right here, in Montereau.
y dips, numerous merry go rounds of varying degrees of sophistication, happy kids, bored looking attendants – it is all great. We wander into town for dinner, and find an inexpensive place near the cathedral. And after dinner, we walk back through the fun fair in the dark, until rain returns and we run back to the boat and sit with a glass of wine and Nina Simone, watching the rain on the wet cobblestones of the quay. It has been a lovely birthday.Tuesday 8 May
Sens - Villenavotte – 6km 1 lock (Total: 367km 156 locks)
We need water if we are to have showers. Sens was supposed to have water, but the only means of getting it was a hose hanging from the middle of the bridge when we arrived. As there was no visible means of connecting to a hose some ten metres above our heads, we gave it away. So the next idea was that first thing in the morning we make a dash to water some six kilometres down the road, but we all sleep in. And it is raining. We do the boulangerie run and discover that 8 May is also a public holiday marking the end of WWII. So everything is shut, including the museum, which is a shame, as it held a collection of paint
ings I would like to have seen if we are to spend some extra hours in Sens. One of the few things open is the laundromat, so that is where we end up.And I discover looking at the by now somewhat tattered tourist map that there is a park which comes highly recommended. It is described as being between the city and the start of the countryside, and there is an arrow pointing the direction to take. Clasping the empty laundry bags, Barb and I set off with Rod to the park via the library, where Rod hopes to find internet access. It is closed. He retraces his steps to the laundromat, and Barb and I press on. Forty five minutes later, it becomes clear, as we survey open countryside, that there is no park here. There is no-one around to ask, until an ambulance driver passes by, and tells us that the park is in a completely differen
t direction. On closer inspection of the tourist map there is another arrow that I completely missed. Doggedly determined now to find the park, we walk another half hour and eventually track it down. It is frankly not worth the effort, but we enthuse to each other all the same over the fragrance of the roses, which are just starting to come out.Returning to the boat, we pass the small grocery shop that was open in the morning, but has now shut, dashing our hopes of fresh milk. Rod, however, has had more success, chatting up the locals in the laundromat, then carrying the washing back to the boat wrapped in a towel, since he had no l
aundry bags. For lunch we have brie on baguette – a Normandy brie that emits a powerful smell every time the fridge door is opened – so much so that after lunch we put it in the tool box on deck. John watched the barge behind us set off today with a second barge attached to its front end – the Pueblo, presumably a sister to the Puebla we hooked up to yesterday. He said the driver, maybe 25, controlled the whole operation expertly with a mooring rope in one hand and the rudder in the other. He put his engine in gear, which caused the two linked barges to move out sideways. He then flicked the rope off, reversed to get enough room to pass us, and once he had enough sea room, took off under the bridge, turning up his rock music to full blast. This impressed John mightily – the fact that he could control that entire arrangement with one piece of rope.In the late afternoon we head off through the lock we
had booked for 10.00am, as the lockkeeper smilingly reminds us. We are only going six kilometres, as far as a restaurant on the bank with its own private mooring at Villenavotte. The restaurant is also a two star hotel, Le Manoir de l’Onde, with high eaves and a little turret. The owner comes over and helps us tie up and immediately inquired if we were dining in. John and I go round to the quite sumptuous restaurant through the wood panelled reception and take a cautious look at the menu. It is rather more than we wanted to spend, so we ask if we can order a la carte. The owner, who seems quite cheery and possibly 
slightly tipsy, is amenable.Across the railway track that was alongside the road behind the hotel is the village of Villenavotte. A hotel resident from Alsace comes over to us and says that in villages across France today people laid wreaths at war memorials to mark the end of World War II. Maybe they did in Sens, but if so we missed it. Although the cathedral did ring its bells in a long, slow, funereal peel at mid morning. With the thought of finding the village war memorial, Rod and I cross the railway line and climb a long flight of steps to the village on the hillside. There are stunning views from the top of violet skies and endl
ess green wheat fields swaying in the breeze. The man from Alsace had said the village would be shut, and so it is, but there are no shops there anyway. The church is shut, and we can find no war memorial. There are some very large houses behind high walls. Some have garden gnomes – a popular garden feature in these parts.At 8.15pm we arrive at the hotel restaurant which has a covered terrace overlooking the river. It is all very froufrou, with about seven tables, all very hushed. There is one rather tense lady with a bandaged wrist and laryngitis serving by herself. She tackles it table by table, leaving us till last, since we arrived last. When she serves the main course, she has to orchestrate as near as possible the simultaneous removal of the silver covers. We confuse and annoy her visibly by ordering a mix of a la carte selections off the prix fixe menu. Barb, who is keen on her fish and her vegetables, orders veau de mer. When it arrives, it has the texture of brains. There is nothing fish-like about it. We think she might have mistakenly ordered the ris de veau – veal sweetbreads. She gamely tackles it, but its identity continues to trouble her. Meanwhile, in the sitting room, where earlier diners are enjoying their coffee, the hostess is grappling with a dumb waiter that emits loud groaning noises as it disappears with the used plates and reappears with the covered orders.
At the end of dinner (I have a quite tart, but delicious gratin of red fruits) we are the only diners left. We go to pay the substantial bill, and find the hostess with her own dinner at the reception desk. Back on the boat I try to text Adele, but end up talking to her, to figure out what veau de mer is – Adele and her friend Mo run through the possibilities, and offer suggestions such as whale. Barb retires to bed none the wiser.
Wednesday 9 May
Villenavotte - Montereau Faut Yonne – 34km 7 locks (Total: 401km 163 locks)
The chef appears early with a large box containing two loaves of bread – one sliced, loosely wrapped to maintain its moistness, and the other a bit blackened on top, plus a pile of croissants and pains de chocolat, still hot. “Voila,” he says as he hands them over. We had been anticipating a breakfast of yesterday’s bread, so this is a lavish feast. After filling water and thanking the chef profusely – it was all free – we set off for our first double sloping sides river lock minus a working pontoon. We manage despite the breeze to moor to one bollard with enough rope to allow us to descend without hitting the slope.
At Pont sur Yonne we pass the remaining three arches of the old stone bridge that was blown up in 1814 to stop the advance of Austrian troops. A little further along, is the Aqueduct of the Vanne which was built in 1874 and carries more than 120,000 cubic metres of water a day towards the Montsouris reservoir in Paris. Behind us comes a commercial hotel barge – a thing of beauty called Nenuphar, skippered by a windswept and interesting young Brit, in navy blue polo necked sweater and jeans. The barge is empty of passengers, but there is a young woman with pink gloves, and another insouciant young man with a fag at the front. The skipper says he’ll go out first, since they are so much further forward than us. “You can overtake us later if you want,” he says crisply. “If you can catch us up.” He smiles.
At the next lock we do catch up, and he says he skippers for a company targeting the American market – they generally stay on board for six nights. “Is it horrendously expensive?” I ask. “Yes,” he replies. Their season starts on May 20. It is an all year round job though, with refitting during the off-season. While we are in the lock, a car draws up and disgorges four of the barge staff, a washing machine, and large piles of grocery bags which they swiftly unload onto the barge. But when the lockkeeper goes to open the gates, one jams and we squeeze out leaving the barge inside.
Just before lunchtime, we moor up before our first 3.8 metre double sloping sided lock, the barge behind us. Before the barge can get underway, a small private boat zips pas us both and snaffles the pontoon. This is bad maritime manners on two fronts. The owner nips out on shore with his little dog for a toilet stop. There is nowhere we can conveniently tie up with the length of ropes we have, so with the barge’s agreement we tie onto him. The Englishman says he has been doing this work since 1990 – his family is in England and he lives in Burgundy. You needed papers when he started, but it helped to take the instructor out for a nice lunch. He didn’t even have to go into a lock or turn the barge around in his test. But now things are different. He reckons the Nenuphar is worth US$1m.
In the next double sided sloping lock, the little French boat again nips in front but discovers there is no pontoon. He ties up on the left, and then moves over to the right, discombobulating Nenuphar. When the lock opens, he jockeys for position and belts ahead, heading for La Brosse. We pass giant square barges, carrying gravel, which is unloaded on the bank in great piles. When we reach La Brosse, the little French boat is already moored in the lock, impatiently awaiting our arrival. The little dog – a Chihuahua – is let off again. Barbara recalls how as a child she knew a family with Chihuahuas. She dropped one and broke its leg, which subsequently had to be amputated. At a later date, she did a flip in the family's garden, falling on the other Chihuahua and killing it outright.....strange but true.The Frenchman’s Chihuahua sits in the cabin window, barking as ferociously as it can manage at
the neighbouring boats. When the gates open, the Frenchman noses up against the barge and is out before the gates are even fully open. The barge guys shake their heads in bemusement. Where can he be going? There is yet another lock ahead. The Frenchman waits again, and yes, he fires off abruptly as soon as the gate opens, his little dog yapping excitedly. But the race is over, as we are now at our destination, Montereau-faut-Yonne, situated at the point where the Yonne falls (fault) into the Seine. And so we say farewell to the Yonne – in the guidebook it warned that while the river has been tamed by modern weirs and electrified locks, the river can be “capricious and impetuous” in spring, but the worst we have experienced is a chill wind from time to time.
We cross the bridge into the grubby centre ville, calling in at the museum of faience. It is sad to see the old photos of the ceramic factory, with all the workers leaving at the end of the working day, and then photos of the final demolition of the factory in the 1950’s. In its heyday, it made some lovely stuff, and you can see the love and imagination that went into the design of the pieces. We check out the internet café – Barb and Rod still can’t get their laptop to work, but do manage to check their emails. Barb is worried 
about finding work in the UK, and is a bit tearful thinking about the big change they have chosen to make in their lives by leaving New Zealand for up to five years. But they have some nibbles on the work front, and I am sure it will all be fine. And if it isn’t, that’s fine too. Look at Napoleon, whose statue is at the confluence of the Yonne and the Seine. “Le boulet qui doit me tuer n’est pas encore fonds”, he said. Right here, in Montereau.
1 comments:
Thanks for writing this.
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