One of the things we noticed this trip is the difference in attitudes between Lorraine ducks and Alsatian ducks. The ducks in the Lorraine are reserved, generally PFwD’s (Professional Fowl without Ducklings), and disdainful of handouts. Alsatian ducks on the other hand are usually big families, gregarious, and quick to partake in a shared baguette or two. Carmen however, was not prepared to accept this generalization — she’s got some pretty strong feelings about stereotypes, often very sensitive about it, not at all breezy, downright adamant about pigeonholing… can lead to extreme pinching and hitting if you are not careful — and set out to correct the situation.

Since we had left the Lorraine behind so quickly, she had days to devise, rehearse and perfect her plan. And then day yesterday she rolled it out for the world. It began with some breadcrumbs and a lone PFwD. She went to the bow, leaned way over, and in her sultriest voice, quacked a stern yet righteous greeting, exhorting our fowl friend-to-be to partake in the communal largess, and to embrace the communopoly!

The duck flew away.

The squawk of indignation from the bow kinda rocked the whole boat back. To make things worse, the reticent duck had landed a couple of hundred feet upstream. This time as we approached the PFwD didn’t even hesitate. He took off and was gone before Carmen could even bend over.

She was not going to be defeated. The next duck got it all: Carmen’s tail feathers twitched and waggled, the quack had just that perfect air of je ne sais quoa and all at once a huge thunderclap rocked the Canal du Marne au Rhin and voilà! That PFwD ate itself some bread. And let me tell you there was one smug, waggling Carmen in the cabin.

Last night we ended the evening with the stars Carmen had ordered. She must have twinkled right at the clerk because we got some stars and then we got some more stars and then there were so many stars that some were actually falling out if the sky. Now you may be thinking to yourselves that this was after two 100cl bottles of red plonk and perhaps there is a bit of exaggeration going on here. Mais no! There was tout la stars in the sky.

As we lay on our backs the sky just lit up around us revealing that no cathedral can compare to the majesty of nature.

This morning we got up and as we have no locks to negotiate I was not at the mercy of the crew’s tardy ways… and no more time and a half! I cast off and headed to Gondrexange to visit their Alimentatiere for provisions. We tied up and walked into town. It was a busy little tabac with a little of everything. We grabbed enough for supper tonight and stopped by the church. While the door was open, the lights were off so we wandered away and found ourselves back at the boat. 2 or 3 klicks down the canal and we came to the branch. Left to Nancy and right to Sarreguimes. We went right with the intention of tying up at the marina beside the etang and walking around. The huge Étang de Gondrexange was supposedly originally built by monks as a giant fish pond and it’s open to fishing and non powerboats. As I tried to back into the marina, the proprietor waved us off as there was no place if we weren’t staying overnight. A couple of hundred yards back down the canal and we staked up and tied in in preparation for a walk.

Up the steep bank where Carmen ignored the offer of my hand and grabbed my pants instead. I still don’t get her logic there, but she insists she has some. Leslie, always the lady, accepted the gracious offer of my hand as she stepped delicately up the canal bank. At least she makes sense to my male-centric outlook. It could be she panders to me, being a Doctor and all, but I prefer to think shes just more logical and realizes I have the tenderer ego.

Up top you could see how the canal is separated and runs alongside the main body of water. These etangs are one of the sources for water for the canals and all 3 run downhill from here.

We headed back to the junction and wandered down towards Nancy just a bit. Eventually I pulled into a little harbour and we had lunch (baguette dogs) and a small rest. Carmen made same saucy noises about wieners but, in the end it was all talk and no bun.

Afterwards Carmen attempted to thread a needle and worked at preventing a wardrobe malfunction. Seems that while her ‘Mommy’ had patched one side of her jeans, she had failed to spot the incipient disaster waiting to occur on the other side. And while Carmen apparently had enough bras to bring modesty to an African village, pants were in short supply. All I’m going to say is if Carmen offers to pack for you, I suggest you demure… using any excuse possible.

After lunch we read some interpretive signs about the circle of privileges of toads and the presence of forest cats. I caught up on the blog and then cast off on our last journey back to Hesse.

I asked Leslie for some entertainment as we cruised along and so she stepped into the bow and treated me to a brief Uninterpretable Dance. Very… umm…

Anyway, next thing you know she’s talking about dance lessons and A Chorus Line and omg I think I’m going to have to watch dance movies when we get home… Anyway, there was dance. And later an encore for Carmen. No veils though…

Back in Xouaxange we decided to stop and once more see if we could find the invisible chateau. For some reason the dock is now roped off so we tied in exactly the same place as we left this morning. A nice stroll through town revealed the same church, the same closed restaurant and the same bridge over the tracks. As we paused to contemplate life, the universe and invisible chateaus I glanced unto a field and espied a wall-like pile of rubble partially covered in vines. “A-ha!” I decried.

As we meandered back into town and down the hill, Leslie spotted Rue de Chateau on a street sign and muttered something about obvious and seeing the signs in front of our face. Down the street, across the culvert and into the farmers field. As I set up the obligatory group portrait to prove only we among all Other Tourists had the fortitude and intrepitude to actually find the ruins, an old, old, old, older than the ruins, old dog came over for a visit. I’m pretty sure it was deaf as well from the way it was ignoring its owner.

So, having succeeded, we headed back to the boat, cast off and left town to the sounds of ringing bells, cheers, fireworks and the sounds of thousands of streamers floating down from tall buildings. It was glorious and I reveled in it. The girls didn’t seem to notice it, but then again they are often clueless to the magnificence that is the world that I perceive.

Anyway on the way back we passed the barge that we had first seen in Strasbourg. And it all came full circle. That barge had a banner in it that said Tchekov and theatre. Xouaxange had posters that said Tchekov and theatre. The dock was closed because supposedly a theatre company was coming in. The dock area was filling up with young, fit happy people with beards. The lightbulb went off and I finally realized there was a itinerant theatre barge following us up the canal putting on performances of Chekov in all the small towns! I am a genius.

We hit Hesse at around 4:45, and I backed in between two boats. Now that we are done, I’ve almost got this boating thing. We talked to the office and a mechanic came along and flipped a breaker in the engine compartment and voila! Shore power. Leslie and I went for a walk and, typically, headed the completely wrong direction. Good thing about these small French towns, it doesn’t take long to reach the end of town and realize you need to head the other direction. We checked out the church which has some bits left over from the 12th century but it was locked up tight. I have to say, this cruise has been not as scenic, town-wise, as our other two.

Leslie remarked it was easy to see we were in the Lorraine now. The town architectures are completely different and there’s not a half-timbered house to be seen. All in all I am glad we went to the Alsace. It really is a micro-culture worth experiencing.

Back to the boat and a pre-dinner bottle of Pinot Gris. We only have two left so we will have to pace ourselves tonight. The base is pretty quiet, I think we’re the only hire boat on the dock. All the visitors seem to have moved on. Carmen is whipping up some lardon and pasta and I’ve organized and cleaned up. We need to catch a train tomorrow around 10:30 so I want to be organized. At the very least, more organized than the other two so I can lord it over them tomorrow.

I think we’ll eat on deck one last time. It’s a bit breezy but the sun is out albeit fading a little as it’s 7:30. Overruled. Leslie said we were indoors because it’s breezy and the sun is fading. Um.

Dinner was tomato salad with shallots. Pasta with sweet lardon, canned mushrooms and tomato sauce. Leslie opened the 2009 Muscat and we finished off the last of the baguettes. Leslie had already devoured 3/4 of the chocolate I had picked up that morning so she generously allowed Carmen and I to finish off her leavings. I called dibs on the crumbs and C licked the last piece. Somehow she thought that would stop me.

A quick clean up of dishes, some pics of the incredibly still night on the water and a session of Witchy-boobs postcard writing brought us to our last bottle. It’s a Riesling. And probably the last Alsatian wine of the trip. Tomorrow we are off to the Mosel and Germany. We’ll wait a few more minutes and stretch out our last evening a bit more.

Before we popped the cork I wandered the boats in the harbor, eyeing up the next trip and considering the options. I really do think I might try the West Coast if I can get my certification. I also think that 2-3 weeks on one of the Kuhnle boats might be an option. They have some amazing 1-way options in France and Germany.

With the 220 shore power going Leslie’s iPhone is charged again and we have music.

Louis and What a Wonderful World help the sun fade on the horizon and the tea lights are shimmering in their couscous beds. Time to open the wine and let the first phase of our trip fade to black.

Well it’s the holiday Monday back in the real world so my crew are threatening mutiny if they don’t get time and a half. Not sure what to do with that, maybe that means more booze?

It poured last night as we finished off the last bottle. Rain is such a pleasant thing when you are on holidays and have no agenda.

Leslie’s first attempt at an ebook hit a road block as I somehow managed to drain the battery on the old Sony. So I gave her mine and finished my book on the iPad. It’s a bit of a conundrum; the iPad drains the battery faster but charges more reliably. The Sony is generally better on batteries but won’t seem to charge off the USB. Anyway we got it sorted and slept the night away.

I was up first so I headed into town to get baguette. By the time I got back Carmen was just emerging, but I still had to boil my own water. Butter, jam, baguette and caffeine later I hit the shower and was ready to start the day.

Eventually the same could be said for the crew (this is when the first mention of overtime came in) and we cast off, the last of our mooring to do so. The trip to Lutzelbourg is short (only 10km) but has quite a few locks. The mountains are beautiful though. We decided to cruise through town and keep going. Especially after we realized the boat in front of us was stopping. I’m not saying they were dangerous to be in a lock with, I’m just sayin’.

After Lutzelbourgh, there are 4 more locks then the Arzviller boat lift. As we approached the lift Carmen whipped up some couscous, which wasn’t as good as my Bruce-goose, but they say the jury’s still out on that one. Couscous… Pah! Anyway I had a couple of ham sandwiches and token couscous to prove I am a man.

I slugged back my beer as the lift light went green and cast off solo. By the time the crew caught up to me I was halfway in the lift. Just keeping them on their toes… The lift up was both old hat and more exciting as we were less distracted. Up we went alone and then down the canal to the first tunnel.

Du Maurier’s wife had told us we should stop and ride out bikes back down the path by the old locks. So we did.

The first 9 or 10 locks have had the lock keepers’ houses renovated. The locks and canals are filled with water in varying depths creating ponds and margins that have an incredible diversity of flowers and plants. Quite stunning. You can see how much effort has gone into it as you approach lock 12 and the abandoned house and dry canal stand in stark contrast. When we get to Trier I will come back and post some pictures.

We turned the bikes around and pedaled back up hill. Carmen with her ‘weak’ ankles and larger mountain bike zoomed past me on the hills. It’s an interesting landscape: 30 or 40 meters of flat, followed by 10 meters of hill by the lock. Repeat X 12. There are 17 locks in total in that old section of canal and after they finish the whole path it will be one of the most beautiful walks I could imagine.

Back aboard we had a green light to enter the tunnel so we cast off and went. Both Carmen and I kept imagining a boat ahead of us heading our way, but we both refused to say anything. It’s a two km tunnel and we both kept seeing this ghost boat at the far end, slowly, inexorably, getting ever closer.

Leslie took over the controls as I was trying to figure out some way to get a picture of a dark tunnel’s hole in a moving boat; I will have to wait till I get home to see if I was at all successful. Anyway, Leslie got into one of those odd feedback cycles you can get into on a boat where you over correct in increasing amounts until its almost impossible to avoid banging off the walls. That was the point I stuck my head in from outside and said something pithy like “Drive straight much?” That was quickly followed by a pretty large over correction that she blamed on me… Sigh.

Anyway, i popped inside and took over the helm and immediately slammed the boat into the wall to prove I had the biggest nuts on the boat.

I had given Carmen a set of nuts that morning in Saverne. I had found them lying in the path after the Rain and said to myself “Self. Carmen needs some nuts more than she needs baguettes.” So I brought her the nuts. She said “Wow, hazelnuts.” and ate my baguette anyway. I really don’t understand girls.

So having proved my nuts reigned supreme, I straightened out the boat and cruised through the last part of the tunnel. About 500 meters for the exit Carmen and I exhaled a sigh of relief as we simultaneously realized that there was in fact a boat in front of us, it was in fact heading the right direction and we weren’t about to die under a mountain. The Nicols hire boat was obviously going extraordinarily slowly and, a evidenced by the huge slew they made immediately upon exiting the tunnel, helmed by a m’eginner.

We caught them just outside of the tunnel and they signaled us to pass them. Into the shorter 450 meter Niderville tunnel and then once again into the sunlight. We need a few provisions (down to only 3 bottles of wine) so we pulled into the port right at the tunnel exit. I performed a perfect marina docking maneuver to the pontoon, marred only by the fact that my damn boat is about 4 feet longer than I thought it was and I smacked the stern into the wharf just feet shy of a standing ovation… Sigh.

Anyway we tied up and headed into town. As we did the Nicols boat also pulled up to a pontoon. A French family. Loud mom, loud dad at the helm. Helpful 12 year old on the bow rope. Better than a sitcom… Anyway I stood there willing to help until they yelled the bow rope around a bollard. At that point they figured the stern would come around so we said “Beau!” and I mosied on.

Over the bridge and down the lane and the road swung south away from town. A couple of hundred feet down and we decided to head back to the boat and break out the bikes. Then I remembered that there were two ports; and the other one was definitely closer to town center. We reboarded and cast off (to the confusion of all the other boats flocking to the pontoons like spiders to Carmen’s ears) and motored away.

Around the bend we came to Kuhnle Tours’ base and pulled in I adequately to the mooring. I unshipped two bikes and sent the girls into town while I fixed the boat and had a nap.

Then they came back. I expect every one of you readers to ask them about the store they visited. I have heard at least 4 versions and it still doesn’t make sense. It involves porn, plonk, stale cookies and sketch. Suffice it to say they returned with odd cookies and two bottles of plonk: one white and one red. Except they were both red. And 1 litre bottles. With nipples instead of corks. And not even reminiscent of anything local.

And they are still talking about the store…

I cast off while they were still sitting around muttering to themselves and stating at the walls in an unfocused way. 30 minutes later we cruised through Hesse and completed our round trip. And then motored on. The next leg was all new to us and some of the prettiest canal banks I think we’ve seen… One of the longest trips as well.

When we pulled into Xouaxange around 6:20 we had done over 32km. The fact that there are no locks after the Inclined Plane helps a lot. In fact unless we do something unexpected, the lock before Arvzviller was the last lock of the trip.

As I was saying, the canal leading into Xouaxange was very scenic and we passed under the arch of the last bridge in those lovely low angle light conditions that make beautiful photographs. So I took a shit ton.

The wharf was full so we tucked in I front of Le Panache, a hotel barge that is based out of here. A nice French gentleman tried to help us tie up but L ignored him. She can be so mean… Eventually she noticed him standing there and tossed him the rope and we staked in, tied up and battened down.

A bit of freshening up found us awalk, looking for a restaurant, a fortified tower and the ruins of an old chateau. The restaurant was closed, the church not-so-fortified and the ruins hidden from mortal view. We put on about 5 km in search of things the signs say were .5 km away. Uphill. Three ways. Sigh. Back to the bailey before Carmen gets us thrown in jail for grand theft fruit… Plums, pears, apples; this town was a fruit-o-maniacs worst nightmare.

Back aboard Leslie napped, Bruce blogged, and Carmen slaved in the kitchen to somehow satisfy our immense appetites. It worked. Mostly. But I have to say when she offered me sloppy seconds, I thought she was trying too hard … I mean really, I was satisfied with the measly 3 pieces of garlic toast I got. I didn’t need the slobber-covered Carmen remnants that she deigned to offer me. Even if she had devoured two whole pieces without any care of my delicately rumbling stomach…

It’s hard to be Bruce.

Pasta and tomatoes, plonk from a nipple bottle, insufficient amounts of garlic toast and dinner was done… like dinner. So we opened the next 1 litre of plonk and broke out the chocolate. Nougat, cognac, nuts, we had remnants of just about everything chocolate you can imagine.

After dinner Leslie read a brochure about Woden’s wood. Apparently we need to band together to prevent a lack of heroism in the wood of Woden. There is a serious need of English translators here. But then if they did a good job it wouldn’t be half so amusing.

Carmen just reminded m e about her bizarre hallucination first thing this morning. Apparently as she was “preparing” to go for a baguette this morning, a large tailless muskrat in a purple vest and gold accoutrements bounded (in a very distinct and complex way) up to her window and leaned its paws up on her window and peered in.

This distracted Carmen. She didn’t go for a baguette and moments later apparently heard me leave to get it anyway. For the record, I didn’t see any beaver. Or muskrat. Or otter. Or even small dog. And no waistcoats. Purple or otherwise. but she’s told the story at least 4 times and is more insistent every time. Even without the wine. But the wine helps…

Today it is dangerous to be me. I crawled out of bed to boil some water for coffee. That’s when it started. First Carmen broke every Bruce rule in an attempt to create a fog of confusion. Questions, questions phrased as statements, statements with a rising tone at the end… she tries it all. Then, refusing to make me baguettes for breakfast, I was driven to the bathroom for a shower. But rather than clearing my head, her and Leslie’s careful pacing was designed to leave me stunned but with an air of confidence that I had somehow gained control.

And then they struck. Since they were ‘busy’ I still had to make make my own baguette, butter and jam and they had carefully arranged the crust to catch in my throat. I immediately began to cough and choke. And hack. My nose ran, my eyes teared and they just watched with a mild look of interest in their eyes. I figure they were just wondering where I would finally collapse and how far they would have to haul the body.

Eventually after drinking copious amounts of water (which I had to fetch), smacking my own back and hurling myself against the wall to try and self-Hemlich myself, I finally caught my wind and — despite the look of disappointment in the girls eyes — settled into the rest of breakfast.

We unshipped the bikes and packed a lunch (that’s the excuse the girls had used to ignore my imminent death), and headed up to Haut Barr. This was ‘supposed’ to be a leisurely 90 minute walk, but turned out to be phase 2 of ‘someone’s’ evil plan to do away with Bruce.

So there we were, walking our bikes. Uphill. After a solid diet of wine. And you think they didn’t plan the gallons of sweat and heaving lungs? I tell ya, if it wouldn’t have given them satisfaction I would have collapsed there right in the
Middle of that forest. Oh yes, you heard me right, they lured me deep into the woods to watch me expire. That way they could just roll me into the underbrush.

Anyway, just to spite them, I made it through to reach the top. And you know what they were concerned about? My complete dehydration? My exhaustion? The oxygen deprivation, poison oak or even the danger of being consumed by rabid pigeons… No it was all about Carmen’s weak ankles. Ankles… PAH!

Still in the end we made it to the ruins of Chateau Haut Barr which are high upon the first edge of the Vosges and overlook the plains of Alsace. We could almost see Strasbourg. It is a cloudy day so not too hot. We started our visit with a Panaché regardless. Priorities are priorities and Leslie had her second beer (with lemonade).

The fortified chateau was first started in the 1100s and built up largely in the 1500s. It was partially destroyed in the 1600s as a result of a treaty, although construction continued through the 1800s. It has some stunning views and awesome architectural elements.

After a quick lunch we meander around. The touristes seem to be on a schedule as they are racing through at a prodigious rate. On our way out we checked out the baby pigs and bunnies and greeted the ass.

Unlocking the bikes we took a short pedal over to the telegraph tower. This was a system of signal towers set every 15km or so that the French used as a telecommunication network in the 18th and 19th century. It’s more of a giant semaphore tower with telescopes than anything else. Still and all, pretty ingenious.

Downhill was pretty damn easy. Whoever suggested we haul the bikes up was a genius. About an hour uphill between my dramatic pauses and the girls evil cackles but less than 10 minutes down. It would have been quicker if I had a bigger bike and trusted my brakes more.

At the boat we changed shoes, did our eyes and headed out to the Chateau de Rohan. We hope to check in with the Riders and see if Gondor was still an issue but apparently they were out for the weekend. So we went to the museum there instead.

Inside there was displays about local architecture and history. Even a few pics of chapels with Ossuaries. Just what is an ossuary for anyway? Were the cemeteries full? Did they need a room to attract ghosts and scare small children?

Later in the chateau there was a huge section dedicated to Louise Weiss. Apparently she was an early 20th century intellectual, radical and -ist. She created a pan-European magazine, believed in a European Union, rallied for peace between the Wars, worked for women’s suffrage (which didn’t come about in France until after the 30s). All in all a very interesting woman and worth some more research.

Upon exit we learned that Carmen won’t eat cone. Seems her evil, invisible twin sister once told her that food (in this case waffle cones) had calories and that ice cream was completely guilt free. And since Carmen had only ascended 200m that day she had to forgo the waffle. Girls. Huh.

In any case I had a Fraise Balsamic, and it had parsley in it… Mmmmmm.

Back to the boat and some quiet time. Around 7:30 Carmen insisted I do nothing while she prepared our repast. What could I do but acquiesce? Dinner was delicious. French toast, but this time with pain instead of baguette; a nice change. But we did keep the tomato salad on the recipe… it was Roma tomatoes though…

Carmen chose another Grand Cru and made a face. Turned out Grand Cru’s around here are sweet, sweet, sweet. At least it wasn’t creme floofie…pah!

Tonight is at least a two bottle (we’re on a Pinot Gris right now) night but I’m hoping to make it three. We’re behind and I’m worried about post boat. We need to put some in the bank.

Sunset, the couple down the path have let their smoky BBQ burn down and I need to work on the boozers.

Another anemic Alsation Pinot Noir, some sheet lighting coming in and a lovely end to the evening

The morning started with spider patrol. Apparently the Witchy Boobs attracts ravenous spiders as well as Carmens; a sweep of the boat must have dislodged 10 or 20 or maybe a 100…

Some stale baguette with butter and jam and I was good to go. Unfortunately the statement “We’ll leave first thing” means something different to Leslies… Something like “We’ll leave whenever I’m ready.” Eventually, after being ‘reminded,’ she was ready.

A lot more locks today but we got into the swing of it and I think upstream is actually easier in some ways. The bugs however were making the maneuvers a bit iffy. Hard to bring about in evenly when you are swatting horseflies out of your face. Carmen went on a bit of a rampage and was spewing testosterone after the kills. It wasn’t pretty. Except Carmen is pretty. So I guess it was pretty pretty…

I also moved the helm inside to stay out of the sun. It is a bit more social as well so C won’t get so squirrelly without Zak. And I get my bugs killed.

Laundry was also in the cards. While the crew was busy roping the locks, I washed some clothes and hung them to dry. At which point Carmen pointedly pointed out with her poinky nose that I had failed to dry the pants properly. So she fixed it. Then she asked if I minded. That’s how I know Carmen hasn’t been left behind and we are cruising with an alien substitute.

Just after Detwiller we passed the Italian family that had been docked near us in Strasbourg and again in Waltenheim. Just beyond then a Nautilia with a German family was flailing mid canal so I passed them. Turns out they were just dropping the parents off to bike into Saverne.

They followed us the rest of the way do we had to share the lock. This changes the dynamic as we have pull forward past the ladder and the lock control. All I can say is the two non-teenaged ladies that form my crew kicked some German 20-something ass. Soundly.

Crush, crush, crush… and hah!

Pulling into Saverne I cruised slowly looking for a spot in the marina. No luck but we’d thought we were going tie up beyond the lock anyway. As I slowed
Down the kids passed us and we followed them into the very deep lock in the middle of Saverne. Again our technique was flawless. A couple of hundred yards down we once agin outshone them in our docking maneuver. Man are we ever good… or maybe insecure… hard to tell the difference actually…

We closed up the boa and headed back to the lock and the patio we’d seen there. It was closed. A quick walk around found a fruiterie where I bought a 22 Euro bottle of Riesling and 6 Euro bottle of Pinot Blanc. A record. A loaf du pain, another baguette and we stopped at a local brasserie for a round of Panaché. That’s right, Leslie had a beer (with lemonade)! We are sitting with the locals in the sidewalk watching tourists wander by… we almost feel at home.

Speaking of which, I almost feel relaxed. Day 10 and I think holidays are starting to kick in. A few days with nothing going wrong and maybe I can officially declare the resting has begun.

The Dutch couple, Du Maurier and his wife have apparently been sailors all their lives. They have ‘retired’ to the canals after decades on the ocean Leslie mentioned that she thought cruising the West Coast might be more palatable if we were motoring and she was not having to worry about sailing. With the amount of cruising in the canals I have been doing I would feel
Pretty comfortable on a motor cruiser without that much more experience. I will have to check out the charter rates when I get back. It might be a compromise until I can find someone who wants to sail. Boats are boats and it would actually mirror our present experience pretty closely. And, as Du Maurier’s wife said, it’s actually easier on the crew.

Tonight we eat aboard. Pasta and whatever meat the crew can scrounge up. I left them in town to hunt something down as I returned to the boat to guard the wine. There’s a hot sun but a cool breeze so it should be pretty nice.

Well apparently we haven’t figured out French hours. The crew returned hours and hours later with more wine and hinting at the lack of meat. But they were pulling my sea legs and Leslie had found her sausage and was willing to share.

I continued to crash on the deck in the sun and Carmen whipped up a pasta and sausage dish to die for. Next year we will just hire her on as cook. We enjoyed the Pinot Blanc and then discovered the expensive Riesling was both only 500ml and sweet. But a good sweet. With a good finish.

After dinner Carmen napped and Leslie did dishes and I napped and dried. Cause I’m pretty damned talented. Soon all was preparé and we disembarked for town and dessert. Seems the town shuts down pretty early cause the first restaurant wouldn’t offer dessert and everything but our friend Fritz was closed, so Fritz it was.

Leslie had a creme brûlée that the waiter lit at the table, C went for the tart Tarte (apricot she said), and I thought I was having mousse but it turned out to be a lava cake. A carafe d’eau and a demi of Pinot Gris rounded it off. A quiet walk back to the boat, some candles, and Leslie’s techno-crap on the speakers brought the evening to a quiet end.

Brasserie L’Ami Fritz

Morning. Up and at ’em in a slow, slow way. We had some coffee, some showers and one last peek at the Internet before we cast off.

Leaving Strasbourg We are going up locks so we will need a new system. We cruises though the city harbors pretty fast this time and luckily the first two locks are manned by boys. That got us in the groove and soon we were experts again.

After the swing bridge at Reichstett we stopped for lunch. Leslie headed into town on her own to see if she could find a fort mentioned in the pamphlets and Carmen made pizza from the dough that had been bubbling and boiling in the fridge for the last couple of days.

After L got back I took a turn and found some beer… Not cold unfortunately. The first pizza was experimental and thus only really good. The second, perfection as usual: I think it’s the heavenly homemade sauce she made. Sometimes I hate her.

The weather’s been variable again; scorching heat followed by cloud, heat, a sprinkle of rain and then a cooling breeze.

We decided to skip another trip into town and cast off. A little while later we were cruising through la Forêt Communale de Brumath. Lovely but it had a few clouds of French horseflies. We killed half a dozen before they could bite, but eventually one got through Carmen’s guard. Apparently she’s still delicious.

Carmen took her turn at the helm. We didn’t die. Eventually we hit another lock and her bravery didn’t extend to negotiating it: some excuse about Walleye and the bow rope missing her tender ministrations, and how I would just screw it up anyway.

Come 4:30 we pulled in Waltenheim sur Zorn; same spot as last time. After
Marshaling the troops, we headed to Restaurant a L’Ancre for an aperitif. L had the Gerwürztraminer, while Carmen and I went for the panaché. Carmen made a face. She’s a bit snobby. I think it was just the wrong beer. Anyway we sat and watched the France go by…

Après aperitif, we walked up hill to see Willy. But Willy wasn’t there or maybe he was in a meeting. Goats get busy you know. Our path took us to new parts of town, and it really is beautiful. Such a mix of renovated traditional, rustic and new. We figure it’s less than 30 km to Strasbourg so maybe it’s a bedroom community as well as farm town.

Back to L’Ancre for dinner. Leslie tried something new and had a pizza Napoli… oh wait a minute… Carmen tried the pork knuckles again (stealing my idea), so I went for the pork cutlet. A pichet of Pinot Gris — very appley — and une cafe for dessert. We are still not in the French groove and find ourselves anxious to leave by the time the bill comes.

The proprietor had given a little lecture on asking for bills and tipping earlier, so we tried out our new French. It’s difficult when the staff move so fast. Anyway it was 8:30 before we got out and wandered back to the boat. Our canal bank now has 4 more occupants. Time to relax so L had a lie down, C had a lean back and I sat up to type.

The evening was a Sylvaner in chilled carafe with a sunset, killer spiders, bats, a chilly breeze.

And now for you Pete:

One, two snuggle with you,
Three, four I adore,
Five, six steal a kiss,
Seven, eight procrastinate!
Nine, ten do it again…

Grace, we expect to hear that you’ve read this out loud…

Morning is broken. I have slight headache from sleeping funny; at least that’s what I’m telling myself. The neighbors are feeding the ducks amazing the amount of noise they can make, especially the babes.

Our first evening in Strasbourg I had acquired a couple of roses from a traveling rose salesman. Carmen went for girly-pink while Leslie stuck with virginal white. The boys across the way however went with traditional red; seems romance has been lost among the women-folk of our generation. Thank god for men. The point of this comment however was that we finally found a use for the Pinot. The soft yellow label and clear bottle complement the beautiful tones of the flowers perfectly. We will definitely need to get another bottle if I buy more flowers.

Leslie and I set out after I waited and waited and waited. Even Carmen was getting anxious with all the waiting. Really… I had to wait and wait. And wait. We wandered towards the cathedral and past. I found a ceramic jug I think I’ll go back for and an awesome hat shop.

An antique shop with some 6th century figures (at least that’s what the sign said, an old book store, some awesome modern cookware and table settings were also on the hit list.

Eventually we hit the canal on the other side and swung west.

On the way to find some lunch we spotted another church so we detoured. The Church of St Pierre Le Jeune had some very old history. There may be some bits from the late 100s but the Romanesque cloisters dated from 1021. The choir was consecrated in 1320, with chapels added in 14th & 15th century. It became Protestant from 1524. In 1682 the Catholics were granted use of the choir by Louis and continued to share it until 1898.

We were treated to a practice session on the Silbermann organ dating from 1780. A bit jarring when he stopped suddenly mid-phrase but beautiful as only a pipe organ can be nonetheless. So far this has been my favourite church this trip between the cloisters, frescos and crypts.

We soon headed south and stopped at a crepe place just south of Gutenberg place for a Demi of cidre doux and some crepes. Little did Leslie know her crepe Marine was mostly cream and cheese… Oh well, she ate the buckwheat pancake at least.

After lunch we hit the Musee D’Alsace, a museum dedicated to the history of the Alsace lifestyle. Lots of info about culture and life in the region. Apparently I was correct about my assumption of u-shaped homes: house on one side, barn in the back, livestock pens across from the house.

The museum is in an old house itself. Quite beautiful with lots of wood and half-timbered construction. We learned about religions and conscription and day to day life. Quite an interesting area.

On the way home we stocked up on booze and other necessary provisions. I broke protocol and picked up a rosé from Roussilon as I couldn’t find one from Alsace. Looks like it’s French toast for dinner. Oh and I stopped by the ceramic store and picked up a traditional clay carafe for drinking wine out of. Seems the tradition is cool carafe and smaller glasses to keep the wine from warming up.

A visit in the shade, some blog catchup, a few moments marveling at Leslie reading her first ebook and it’s 6 and time to start drinking… I mean eating…

The rose went well with tomato salad, French toast and the traditional Maple Joe. Turns out I’m the only one that want Joe though, Leslie’s a sugar girl and Carmen’s salt and peppa’ all the way.

Since tonight is our last night in Strasbourg and dependable wifi, after dinner we headed to the wifi zone and booked a hotel in Trier. The Hotel Kessler if you need to know. So next Wednesday we will get off the boat and take the train to Trier via Luxembourg. We’ve got 4 nights there at least. It’s Moselle country so who know when we’ll sober up.

Speaking of wine, here we are in the heart of the third largest wine producing region and the German twits two boats down are drinking wine out of box. Really, they had a box of red and a box of white. Heathens!

Tonight we are in the bow as our neighbors are loud-ish Italians on the upper deck of their boat. Conversation is accompanied by an Alsatian Edelzwicker. None of us have ever heard of it. But we are slowly getting into the whites. We have to, the red scared us so much we haven’t dared to try the other bottle Carmen picked up on the first day. The carafe is useful and pretty.

It’s 10:30 a.m. Carmen’s ankle was sore last night so we sipped back a bottle of Sylvaner and made it a reasonably early night. And then slept in. There are signs that Carmen’s been stirring but I think she went back rest and relax.

I walked to the office to see if I could get wifi. No luck and they lady there couldn’t help. Breakfast was coffee, juice and the last pages of my book.

Carmen has volunteered to snooze the day away so Leslie and I headed up stream. On the way out the gates we ran into the female half of Dutch couple– Du Maurier’s wife. This is getting to be a habit. They are moored in the other side of the lock but might pull in along side us as Mr. Maurier is looking for more security.

Along the way we found the Barrages by Vaubon; completely under tarps for reconstruction. Sigh.

The Petit France area is all half timber buildings and canals. And a restaurant every 10 feet. Very pretty. So pretty in fact we decided to have lunch. I tried a Panaché. Turns out its beer and lemonade: very refreshing. Leslie got her standard Pizza Napoli while I tried another Tarte Flambé.

Some more walking brought us to the Protestant church. Protestant since the mid 1400s it’s quite beautiful and a bit less ostentatious than the cathedral. There’s an old organ once played by Mozart (this was one if his concert tour stops) and some beautiful stained glass, blue rather than the traditional jewel tones. There was also some beautiful light from the stained glass.

After a few stops on the way home, sticking to the shady side of the street as it was so hot, we eventually made it back to the boat. Carmen greeted us with a hot wave from the shade of the weeping willow. I tries to get the wireless going and finally succeeded. Go back to the old posts for a few pictures.

We read for a bit in the shade and then I tried to get the 220v shore power going. I never managed it. Not a day so far where something hasn’t gone awry.
Sigh.

Dinner was cool sandwiches; too hot to cook and too lazy to walk. A bottle of Alsatian Riesling, fresh baguette and a some Carmen tart to finish. I mean a jam tart I had bought especially for Carmen and she deigned to share.

After dinner a cool shower for me and we retired to the deck for a Grynbaum Crémant D’Alsace, Smoked Ham Lays chips and a quick review of some pictures. Oh and the chips… just plain wrong.

an organ Mozart once played

Oh and we all learned a few more things this evening. I tried Carmen’s bra on to prove I’m a better girl; the French couple from down the road showered together at the public shower right dockside from us; I saw Carmen’s belly button; the frosted windows on a Calypso’s bathroom… well, not so much; Crémant disappears too fast and Carmen’s forearm is darker than my creamy white thighs.

I think it’s time for another bottle.

Oh and btw, a Pinot Blanc follows a Crémant pretty well with French bugles.