macblaze.ca

The day started with breakfast. After digging Zak out of bed we headed off for our wine course. For two hours we sat and listened to the history and nature of wine, generally French and specifically Bordeaux. Grapes, terroir, as well as colour, smell and taste were all covered.

The course was taught in a special classroom where we had our own lights and sinks for spitting and also rinsing our glasses. Other than the fact it was at 10 am and only Carmen was willing to admit to drinking that early, it was a great experience. The instuctor was a young Hugh Grant clone who was quite knowledgeable and didn’t toe the pro-Bordeaux line as much as he could. I actually loved his description of the differences between Burgundy and Bordeaux. Essentially burgundy is all about the terroir, while bordeaux is reliant on blends and savior faire. One thing we did learn was the reason that Carmen had enjoyed the sweet white we had tried the day before was not because it was ‘short’ but because of the balance between sweetness and acidity. The acidity helps cleanse the sugars.

Zak had sat the course out in a nearby park, enjoying the French shade. We met up after and headed off for a walk in a generally southern direction. Leslie and I grabbed a baguette sandwich while Carmen opted for a wierd rice mix with veggies.

At about the third shop, Carmen finally broke and started lingerie shopping. I have to say they have a beautiful sense of colour in their choices. Carmen emerged last, denying have bought anything, but patting her bag smugly.

Apparently the French like to be good at their jobs; the shop girl had flicked Carmen’s sweater aside and nailed her size in one glance. Interesting skill to have and one I might try to acquire in case I need a second career. Also in favour of that particular career, is the privledge of barging into the change rooms to ‘help’. I’m not sure C properly appreciated the quality of personal service she was getting.

A few twisty, narrow streets later we came across an olive oil shop with free degustation. We tried a few oils and moved on to balsamic vinegars, mmmmm. I wanted to get the 75 Euro bottle of vinegar, but mean old Leslie made me settle for the € 25 bottle.

Next was the scarf and india fabric shop. Beautiful silk but we moved on sans purchases.

Around the corner we found the Catherdral Saint-André. It was begun in the 11th century, built mostly in the late 12th century with most of the construction complete by 1340. In the 16 century they added monsterous flying buttresses. Inside it had everything a cathedral needed, but I especially liked the green tone of the choir from the stained glass.

We spent some time soaking it in, but after having so many churches to ourselves it was hard to share it with tout les touriste. Still the beauty of a cathedral is that it’s big and it would take a massive amount of tourists (read Notre Dame de Paris) to make it an obnoxious experience.

Inside was a statue of St Anne and a baby Mary. Apparently one of the first references to the mother of Mary (and by conclusion, the grandma of Jesus). There were also some medieval paintings that had been rediscovered in 1990 under the plaster.

The Pey-Berland Bell Tower was built in high gothic style in the mid 15th century but, to minimize vibration, it was constructed as a separate building. We waited in line (only 19 people allowed up the tower at a time) for quite a while in the hot sun. The longest wait of the trip.

While we waited I spotted a t-shirt: “Life is Sailing. The rest is just details”… a good philosophy for life, although this particular trip was more of my Quebec City t-shirt: “La vie en simple: manger, dormir, boise du vin”

The tower is 230, narrow, spiral steps up to the first balcony. Passing people on their way down was, well, interesting. No one died although Carmen and Leslie’s worry gene got some exercise. The resulting view was awesome and the signage about the history of the city was informative. The sign desigenrs decided to put the 14 panels facing the area of the city they referenced rather than in order. This meant panel 3 and 11 might be on the same board, while 4 or 12 might be in complete opposite areas of the tower resulting in a haphazard learning experience.

Another couple of hundred steps further up brought us to the high point, with even better views, narrower pathways and some intimate aquaintence with protruding stonework. Descending the dark staircase was not the disaster that the less visually apt among us feared, although Leslie opted for barefeet over flipflops and Carmen did it in her sunglasses. Luckily passing people on the way down was way easier.

Next was some sorbet, a bottle of Clairet (which we had discovered in wine lessons and had never previously encountered: basically a more red rosé), and an discussion about the state of aboriginal relations in Alberta in which I had the only reasonable position no matter what Carmen and Leslie would tell you. I know this because Carmen picked up the stick with bits of tinsel on it and, while waving it around, she pretended, not to be a beautiful fairy as we were all expecting, but an S&M gnome with her magical fairy flogger. Really, could you take her seriously after that?

Afterwards the walk took us to the Art Deco museum but it was closing as we arrived: once again the girl’s boozing caused problems. I think they are going to have to go into a program when (or if…sigh) we return.

We turned back north, trying all the shops searching in vain for pickle and mustard chips. This search culminated in the big grocery store near our hotel that once again disappointed the girls, but found me exercising my newfound knowledge of wine. The problem with the tiny hotel living is that our purchasing has now vastly outpaced our consumption. I begin to fear the duties as we are way over our allowances. Three or four bottles up we dropped our loot at the hotel and made for the Church of Notre Dame. Alas the wine problem once again interfered and it was now also closed. So Carmen sat astride a giraffe to console herself. Leslie opted for the more traditional moment of sitting on her ass.

Unfortunately for them the old carousel had also just closed, extending our streak of “missed it by that much…” Pizza ensued. Pretty damn good pizza with a sangria apperitif and a Cabernet blanc for dinner. Carmen continued in her carnivorous creed and used the thin crust as an excuse for ham and mushroom.

One thing we learned in booze school was that the predominence of apperitifs was due to the fact that the French almost always had wine with food. Therefore our barbaric custom of drinking wine before eating was not practiced, and the hard core boozers need something while they wait.

More walk ensued, this time north along the quay. And, out of the blue, the friendly natives decided to pit on a display of country line dancing. Carmen wouldn’t dance with me. Leslie tried but polka, flipflops and cobblestones made it less than examplary of our native Albertan talent.

Across the street was the quinceconce (sp?) and a massive monument with larger than life bronze statues. Beautiful but we were tired and strolled by after spending a few moments. Back at home we fired up the fan to move the moist air and I attempted to finish my book. Didn’t make it before I … Zzzzzzzzz…

Carmen got up in the middle of the night and rocked the boat. Just sayin’…

I got up to a quiet boat so I put the water a boilin’ and read for a bit. Eventually C showed up with a chocolate breakfast and the obligatory baguette. After we got our ducks in a row (not literally this time) we started packing. I’m not sure how we collected so much wine but there it was. Eventually all was contained but we did find out later at the train station that Carmen’s underwear was playing loose and fancy free.

We dumped our bags in the office, filled out the obligatory paperwork and headed up hil into town. For all that people said there wasn’t much in Le Mas, we found one of the nicest washhouses of the trip, a wonderful old covered square and a fantastic example of a XII century romanesque church (probably my favourite so far…).

The church’s main advertised feature was an original Rembrandt. While beautiful, I believed it paled in comparison to the huge barrel arches and vaulted windows that characterized the interior. Most of the interior walls dated from the 12 century, unlike previous churches that had only naves or columns remaining. The light in this paricular church was beautiful as it illuminated various statues, carvings and alcoves.

Afterwards we headed through town in searchnof the elusive pickle and mustard chips that had been much advertised but never seen. Once again foiled, C settled for a pear at one of the markets. Eventually we made our way back to the port and our taxi arrived to rake us 15 kilometres into Marmande and our train.

The luggage is getting heavier. I had booked first class tickets on an express, so the trip should only be 30 minutes or so with no stops. Our hotel awaits in Bordeaux so hopefully it will be an afternoon of walking and enjoying.

I think we all agree that it’s sad to leave the canals behind. There is a lot to be said to being away from the crowds and the pace and cultural immersions certainly suit the adults of the party. We’ve got 4 days of cities and hotels again, and as Carmen said, if it wasn’t for Versaille, we could skip Paris alltogether. Still, the entire city of Bordeaux is a world heritage site and it is in the heart of some of the oldest wine country in France.

First class is nice and we resolved to give it a try on the way to Paris. Little did we realize that Paris to Bordeaux 1st class was 600+ Euros… So much for that little dream. I guess we are doomed for proletariat class.

Bordeaux station is big and busy. After we’d got the Paris tickets we went in search of a taxi; we found a tram. The lrt system here is above ground slower moving trains called trams. They have no barriers and run through the middle of busy plazas and there is the occasional curb to indicate a station.

A stop a the info booth scored us a map and the location of our hotel. We grabbed a cab, or attempted to. The first cabby rejected us outright once he saw the 4 of us and all our luggage. Our accumulation is starting to cause problems. Once we found a willing taxi, he had no idea where we were going. Granted, Rue Franklin has to be the single shortest street in the city, but it is disconcerting. Luckily I had the map from the info booth and he had his gps.

The Hotel de France was small and tucked down a tiny alley-like street. Unfortunately it was so small it had no elevator and more unfortunately we were at the top of three flights of spiral staircase with suitcases stuffed full of wine. I only made it 2 flights and abandoned the case for zak.

Leslie elected for a rest and a shower while C, Z and I headed for another tourist centre. Bordeaux is very 18 century. Long streets of elegant buildings. We came across a huge wine map and a stranger walked by and pointed out the best regions for vin blanc. We popped into the building and it was a strange mix of bar, wine collection and office. Turns out it is a wine school and wine bar.

Across the street at the tourist place we found all the days tours for tomorrow were full and the Colbert (the battle ship Zak wanted to see) was gone. That took care of most of our reasons for coming to Bordeaux. After gathering some info we headed out and heard the call of the wine. Carmen and I sat in the wine bat and had a glass of Sauternes Chateau Laville. It was a super sweet wine but, as Carmen said it didn’t stay on the palate so it wasn’t as cloying as you’d expect.

After we swung by and picked up Leslie we headed for the old quarter and wandered. We found ourselves on the busy shopping street (St Catherines) with thousands of people and high end shops. A quick glance at the map and a quick left took us away from the hustle and bustle. After a while we stopped for a lemonade and some maki. L’s bottle had a small glass ball in it for fizzing the soda. We found another church which helped settle our jittery ‘city nerves’ and resumed our meandering. Around 6 we found a restarant we liked and resolved to walk a bit before it opened. Around the corner we ran into Place de la Bourse with is huge line of 18 century buildings and mirror pond. Thus particular reflecting pool only has about 2 cm of water in it which drains to a couple of milimeters. Pretty cool (with all the waders, that was a double entendre.

Oh and kites. There I am staring at architectural masterpieces and object d’arts and Carmen and Zak are staring the otherway, enraptured by a kite. Sheesh.

Afterwords we headed back for dinner. At 7 we approach our choice only to be rebuffed: “after 7:30…” So we headed back down the alley to have a pre-dinner sorbet in the shadow of the church. When we finally headed back we were the first diners to arrive. Dinner was more shrimp. It was advertises as scampi so o thought finnaly I wouldn’t have to shell the stupid things, but no… More finger food that was more effort than food.

After dinner we headed back to Place de la Bourse to see it all lit up. The quay was crammed with young people and beer; quite the happening place. A nice walk back to the hotel took us by the the Notre Dame all lit up and beautiful.

We agreed to meet at 9:30 for our wine course and said goonight.

A beautiful sunny morning follows last night’s Carmen-Skipbo-Powerfest in the dark. Someone should have suggested tealights… A few more bottles of red Buzet (which once again were not up to snuff for our resident wine snob) and we hit the sack after an evening filled with pretzel innuendo.

This morning Leslie enjoys the last few bowls of her chocolate covered chocolate cereal; they sure like chocolate here. Then it’s off for the boulangerie to fufill her French morning duties.

After breakfast we grunted at sleeping Zak and unshipped the bikes to go to the vigneron (the local wine cooperative). When we got their we tagged on to a French tour that explained little but was interesting nonetheless. We saw their oaking facilities, storage and bottling areas. Afterwards we sampled many many wines. They had a great machine which would keep the reds sealed and at 16 degrees and dispense a small portion for tasting. Carmen, under Leslie’s good influence managed to restrain herself (that and the bikeride laden with booze that lay ahead). In the end we picked up a few 37.5cl for tasting tonight and three bottles destined for Edmonton–we will see if they make it.

We pedaled back by a different route, passing ripe wine grapes everywhere. We stopped to pick up a few more supplies at the small store and Leslie mailed her letter. I went on ahead to check my mail one more time to ensure the next couple of days were arranged and then met up with the others.

Back at the boat Zak crawled out of the sack and headed off to check his mail. As he failed to be expeditious about it, I cast off and left him to his ingenuity. As we swung around the base, he popped his head up and we gratiously bumped the dock to allow him to reboard. Since we were in the port with a posted speed of 3, I naturally wasn’t using any throttle. One of the hire boats came barrrelling up on my ass and decide he needed to blow by. This elicited one of my many ‘stupid tourist’ comments, but even better he created so much wake as to piss off one of the local boats. Their skipper was much more frank and louder about his opinion. Seriously, how hard is it to realize that slowing down is to everyone’s benefit. And don’t get me started on the idiots ignoring the 6kph limit on the river where evidence of eroded banks is everywhere, especially in the huge trees now half blocking the navigable route… selfish morons are everywhere from alpine switchbacks to ancient French waterways.

Soon we were on our way down the canal on our final leg. I had booked the boat cleaners and a late arrival so we were pretty care-free, excepting I’m rarely carefree about schedules. After the first lock we pulled over for lunch. Baguette dogs again: I think C is addicted!

We started up again and at one of the listed stops, someone had gone to great lengths to create an inviting place to pull in with signs advetising some sort of musee. At the last minute Leslie and I decided to stop and called the crew to attention. After Zak had the bow rope ashore and as Leslie made her way forward, the was suddenly a big splash. She had lost her footing and all I could see was her hair floAting underneath the canal water and the stern of the boat moving in to squeeze her.

Luckily the boat was almost at a stop and she popped right up. I jumped a shore, grabbed her upstretched arms and hauled. The banks right ther are a sort of corrigated iron and she had no purchase to get out. So a thouroughly soaked and mucky Leslie emerged from the murky depths, sputtering, laughing and apologizing: quite the combination. For some reason she decided a shower was in order so we paused for a minute or two to let her primp.

Anyway, at the top of the bank there was a French gentleman waiting to show us his museum. He and his wife were rockhounds and had thousands of samples they had collected from around the world. His English was pretty good although he kept apologizing. He insisted on giving us a tour of his samples; and he ended his 20 minute exposition and an apology stating (in his broken English) that otherwise we would have spent the time looking at the pretty yellow rock and ooooh the pretty green rock. He was right.

Anyway, it was a fascinting tour and I learned more from him about geology than I did in from my formal education. He took us through all the major mineral groups, identifiying their chemical and molecular composition and the metals that granted them colour. In the end, I recommend the Musée de La Falotte run by Colette and Jean-Pierre as an amazing place to stop. I picked up a Chalcopyrite that originated in France as a souvenier.

Back on the water we pulled into ? For an icecream and some Internet and moved on to ? to stop for the night. While we enjoyed a beer (a couple of small heinys for me and a Leffe for C). After Zak returned from his recon, Carmen decided that our present location at the side of the bank was too far from a boulangerie. So we moved the last 2 kilometres to Le Mas d’Agenais and pulled into the harbour.

We explored some of the other boats including the Asteria we had originally booked and decided for the sake of late night crunk manuevers, we had got the right boat. Dinner ensued (French toast and tomatoes) and a bottle of the Buzet white took me to my armagnac. Mmmmmm. The boat was parked beside a leaky faucet so I singlehandedly moved it to a new mooring to mild applause.

Tonight shall be cards again I suppose and the 37.5cl samplers of red

It is raining, so Carmen trudged off in the rain to fetch bread. Then she proceeded to bribe the ducks with yesterday’s bread. At 9:48
a discussion of CBC broke out. Luckily I distracted them by staring at Carmen’s blue plaid clad knees. Works everytime.

We settled on cruising to Buzet and stopping at the winery before ending the day in Damazan. We set off in the rain, piloting from indoors. Thankfully ther was just the initial locks and the double set as we rejoined the canal at Buzet. The cruising was pleasant ad we retraced our path and eventually moored at the dock. Unfortuneately it was closed until 2 so we couldn’t get our wifi and even worse, the winery was closed on Sundays. New plan… we go down canal to Damazan for the afternoon and come back to Buzet for the night. So lunch was catch as catch can before we hit the waterways again…

Laundry broke out sporadically as Carmen proved that she had a unique ability to waste clean towels; no sense of towel conservation at all. We backed into a slip at Damazan 40 minutes later and wondered of Zak would shrink since he was the only one without rain gear.

Damazan is another ex-English city. It features a real well that you could look alm the way down and see water. Of course we through in centimes. There is covered square, a couple of towers, one of which was a pigeon house, and a church. Pigeon towers were places that pigeons roosted and deposited their soon to be fertilizer bits at the base. It also provided a place for easy gathering of squab.
L’Eglise Notre Dame de Damazan was built in the XVI century. After the revolution it was Used as storage (after 1794). Restored in 1850s to a church it featured beautiful wooden doors and a gorgeous dark wooden entrance way.

We wandered around town and came across some French outhouses. French modesty is interesting. We stopped by some wash houses and headed back to the boat.

We travelled back to Buzet and pulled into the base. We paid our fee, got some wifi and posted a couple of days of blog. Bruce made a delicious dinner while Carmen criticises and Leslie tried to keep my spirits up under alm the pressure. Who am I kidding, she was totally on the evil C’s side…sigh.

We also booked our hotel in Bordeaux because it was the last thing left undone. Our first choice was full but the second had room.

A bottle of white with dinner and a Buzet red after leaves us with a walk through the evening sun (first time today we’ve seen it) and some Skipbo to come.

We walked around town although it was all closed up. I stole some grapes from a public garden so Leslie and Carmen in a show of typical one-up-manship, stole grapes from a home for retired nuns. I think some serious penance will be due when we get back. On the wag home we encounter a chocolate point that was willing to put up with stupid Canadians so we got some kitty quotient in. I’m off for some cards so gonna post this early.

Night night.

Today started with Leslie and Carmen up before me. Yet I still had to fetch my own fresh baguette… Carmen says that makes me wench number 3: the tertiary wench. Since C is the secondary wench of the primary set, she oughta know.

Breakfast was baguette and then we turned our boat in the port and headed back downstream. Leslie’s back on duty so we hum along like a well oiled boating machine. The first couple of locks went fine but number 3 closed up and then wouldn’t drain. We reinitiated the cycle a few times but nothing. I picked up the phone and called the emergency number only to encounter someone who had no English. After repeating the same words a couple of times we both established that we knew there was a problem but we had no idea how to communicate it. Coincidentally at that point the lock started to cycle properly; so I said bien, thanks and bye.

Just before noon we pulled up the quay between Lavardoc and Barbaste. We tied up, greeted the neighbourhood goats and walked into Barbaste. There we espied the old roman bridge and the 12 century fortified mill. We all picked up some souveiniers for various of you readers, briefly contemplated a very expensive lunch in a cave, enjoyed the view and headed back to the boat.

On the way we stopped at the Super U to pick up some bread, ham, beer, wine and ice. This was sort of the European version of Walmart albeit much smaller as befits all things Continental. I grabbed some pictures of the booze section; seriously why are we so uptight about booze? I do wonder however if the French, or the Spanish for that matter, ever learn about good Australian or American wines. I haven’t seen any in the stores; there is usually a small selection of foreign wines, but they are usually bordering countries. Maybe in a way our system has an advantage, but oh the plethora of good wine…

Back aboard we cast off and started on lunch. 6 kilometres or so later we pulled into Vianne, ate, took on water and shuffled the boat down the pontoon for some privacy. At this point we realized to our horror that we were out of red wine. We’d been concentrating so hard on replenishing the white that we were down to out ‘take-home’ stock in the reds. After we awoke Carmen from her swoon we determined to head into this lovely walled bastide in search of wine sustanence.

Vianne was originally an English village built in 1284 under Edward 1st just before the start of the Hundred Years War. There are still 1250 metres of original walls and 2 out of 5 towers. All 4 gates are still extant. It is also home to Joël Gallo, a glass blower who makes some gorgeous sconces and glass vanity sinks among other things. www.souffleur-verre-fusing.com

The Templars were based here in the 1st century and built a small romanesque church at that time. It was quite serene with wide roman vaults defining the tiny nave. Outside we had a chance to clamber over the ramparts. Next on the walk was the mid 19 century bridge: tiny; I didn’t believe a car would fit on until I saw one barrel across. We walked almost completely around the town. What makes a bastide unique is that they were built rather than evolved. Thus they are more like a town we are used to with streets a right angles to each other and the lots being of similar size. All in all, it is a lovely town missing only a bank.

We ended our tour a a small market where we replenished the wine stock with a local 2000 that the owner recommended, oh and one Carmen picked and everyone will “love” and shower praise on and Carmen will make that self-satisfied smacking noise and she’ll be the wine buying hero ‘again’… Sigh…

I picked up a mini armagnac there that I can open here and not have to wait until we’re home before I too become a character of mysterious foible.

Next it was across the street in the town square where we stopped for a couple of pression, a coca, et un vin blanc. Afterwards it was back to the boat for quiet time until dinner. We’ll likely head back to the market square and eat outside. The weathers been cloudy all day but it’s still been warm. Unfortunately people have docked fore and aft of us so our privacy disappeared, but we are the loud drunken ones (or at least Leslie and Carmen are) so it’s their problem. Actually as time passes more and more boats pull in so it looks like it might be a full port tonight.

We had dinner in town: gambas, magret pasta, seafood soup and steak with a pleasant Sauvignon blanc. Desert was sorbet for them (Carmen’s was bitter lime and vodka… blech) and chocolate cake with hot chocolate sauce for me. We retired back to the boat to find our hopes for an early bed time for the screamy kids was in vain and it was too dark for cards on deck.

Still, a bottle of rosé, some tea lights, and a headlamp in a bamboo holder and Leslie and I triumphed in a lightening round of cribbage.

Many years ago I had read a science fiction novel in which the lead character, one of those mischievous and clever anti heroes, who succeeded more by coyote-like cleverness than derring do — always my favorite type of character — always drank armagnac. Even the villains knew of his preference and no matter where he went, he was always able to order it. I’ve never seen it anywhere. Little Do Carmen, Zak and Leslie know, but this whole trip has been about my search for armagnac which comes from Condom (about 20 kilometres upstream from here). I had contemplated booking the trip from the Condom base but was unable to swing it. Thus I have driven my crew like dogs (basset hounds I think…) for 6 days of hard sailing to achieve my objective. This detour down the Baisé was little more than the fulfillment of my master plan. Today I achieve my ultimate goal: a cask of amontillado… I mean a bottle of armagnac!

This morning, for the first time ever, Carmen made me breakfast before we awoke. And for something completely different, she decided to go for baguette. After we had our fill, we set off on the walking-tour-of-doom sans Zak (who remained comatose).

First stop was the remains of the Chateau of Henri IV (1570s). It was 3/4 destroyed a few years after the French revolution but the wing that remained was pretty amazing. There were rooms dedicated to the history and family of this king of Navarre who became king of France. Down the spiral staircase of the remaining tower were rooms dedicated to ancient France and it’s gallo-roman past.

The walking tout then took us past a few old mansions/homes that weren’t open to the public. The neo classic Church of Holy Nicolas, built 1758-1856 was a nice architectural contrast to the gothic churches we’d seen. It’s purely decorative facade with gestures to all the classical elements gave way to an interior that was leaving the baroque behind but not yet the over ornamented indulgences of full out roccoco. The curved, painted ceiling left behind the pointed arcs of the gothic churches in favour of the stylized Greco-roman feel. The stained glass was gorgeous and a level of detail above anything we’d seen so far.

After we left the church we split up with C and L going for baguettes and heading back to the boat and me off in search of my armagnac. I asked at the info booth and they directed me to the big marché by the market square. Unfortunately it closed just as I arrived. On the way back I stole some wifi long enough to post the last 2 days sans pictures. Hopefully I can add the pictures later.

Lunch was waiting aboard and it was baguette dogs again with Carmen once again indulging in the sweet mystery of meat by-products. We set off again and Zak elected once again to remain behind.

First up was the pont vieux which we of course had seen already. It was apparently first erected in the 1600s and has been repaired according to the original specifications since. As we sat on the bridge we noticed a boat that had neglected to let of a crewman to open the lock before passing under the bridge. I got him to toss me the key card so I could start the cycle and another boat was crowding his stern and be couldn’t reverse.

After the cycle started a huge clang startled all the pigeons on top of the mill house and for a moment the sky was covered by a cloud of wings. Meanwhile the second boat was trying to negotiate the narrow lock. Two older gentleman and their wives. The wives might as well have not been there as all they provided was being in the wrong place and giving unneeded and unheeded advice. The fellow at the helm did a wonderful job of bumper boating his craft of the various pylons and walls to get it into the lock while the remaining crewman ran back and forth with a line in his hand but not actually doing much. Unfortunately the helmsman didn’t grasp the principle of controlling the boat first and kept ramming it into reverse and running for a line, only to have return to the helm in order to steer the boat back into the lock.

Eventually the gyrations ceased thanks to the help of a few of some fellows standing on the locks. I think it was the women who bothered me most. They didn’t lift a finger big there is one thing that 40 years of women’s lib have brought, it’s the expectation that however coddled a women may be, she should at least aid in whatever task is at hand to the best of her ability. Maybe it’s all the farm wives I grew up around, but it’s been a long time since I’ve seen anyone of any gender remain that inactive in an uncertain situation due to privilege.

The next stop was blocked off because of a huge limestone boulder which had fallen from the retaining wall above. I would have hated to have been in the next door home when it happened. Carmen’s’ incredible map skills (insert gentle and loving mockery here) were sufficient to get us back on course to the viewpoint high above the Baisé. Here Carmen stole some plum-plum-plums from a nearby tree and violently forced me to suck on one. Next was a few encounters with French cats. I think I would like to be a French cat.

The Church of Our Lady was across the river from Nicolas. It is a neo gothic construction that was actually built much later (1866-1878) but had all the familiar elements we’d been seeing for the last 10 days. On closet examination you realized that the buttresses and stone work were more decorative than functional. They built this church to look gothic even though they were no longer retrained by that level of architectural technology. Inside it was stunning. Hone was the painted ornamentation of Holy Nicolas. The stained glass was incredible although they had generally forgone the method of leading in favour of incredible detailed painting. The vaulted ceilings and massive columns evoked the great gothic churches without having to have the closed in feeling that 13th century building methods necessitated.

Since we’d seen the final items on list but one we headed off route to find my wifi again and, at last, my armagnac. The internet seemed to have vanished, but the store was open. I eventually found a bottle of 40 year old armagnac for 30 euro or so. I wait with anticipation being able to open it once we are home. We also picked some groceries and some wine. If for some reason Carmen fails to return, it will be the fault of the wine in the stores. This supermarket featured 2 aisles of French wine sorted by region and vineyards. A chart on the wall gave a 1-5 rating for each region, colour and year. FYI 2005 and 2000 were the best years across all regions of France. Carmen offered to lift her shirt while I stole the sign, but in the end we decided she’d left the flashy bra on the boat and it wouldn’t distract enough genders.

We hauled our loot back to the rabbit hole and unshipped the bikes for a ride through the royal park of Garenne. Next we checked out a few art galleries, and I captured some excellent Carmen video footage. Be sure and ask to see it when we return.

When we got back we decided to pause for a cold beer but alas all the places had closed in preparation for dinner. Back at the boat I cracked open a few Leffe bruin and caught up on my blogging. Leslie and Carmen started to relax in the bow but then Carmen, in an unusual fit of inability to chill, lept into the kitchen to start on dinner. Don’t know what came over her… : )

It’s now 7:58 and dinner is served and wine awaits. Stolen rosemary in tomato sauce with orange tomato salad. Carmen had ‘appropriated’ the rosemary 2 days earlier from a hedge outside a private residence. I had thought she had been raised better than that, but apparently you can only teach a H-chuk so much before the stubborn kicks in. Still it was tasty and when the suretè take her away, I’ll inherit her half of her imaginary twin brother’s wine cellar… Woot. A bottle of rose for dinner; Carmen actually like my pick this time.

Crib ensued. B&L vs Z&C. Z&C scraped up a bare wine in game one/bottle one. For game 2/bottle 2 Carmen changed into her cherry pjs to help her chances. She won. Sigh.

Next hand involves tea lights and crunk cards. C&Z were totally skunked…hah. But no one would dare Bruce to jump in the river… Sigh. In the end B & L triumph; third game; they were skunked.

It was a hot and muggy evening but we all drifted off to sleep. Morning found me up and about first so I grabbed a shirt and went into town for fresh baguette and some OJ. When I got back all was still quiet so I boiled some water and read for a bit. Eventually Carmen stirred insisting she’d been awake for hours on account of the noisy bonjour bird (that apparently only speaks to her, but is louder than me clanking around the galley?).

I was anxious to get the first locks over with so I roused Zak and settled in for bageuette and coffee. Soon he was up so I fired up the engine, cast off and headed for the locks just up canal from Buzet. There was a mechanical problem with the lock so we waited for about 6 minutes to get it sorted then followed a boat in. The boat in front is manned by a couple and the woman seems rather nervous. That leaves the gentleman trying to manage the boat and the ropes. He hasn’t seemed to master boat handling enough to realize he should stay at the helm rather than jumping off and trying to handle it with ropes. In the 2nd lock I gave him a hand with the stern line while he got the bow sorted out.

After the two consecutive locks we had descended into the Baise. The next two days are river travel but the Baise is very slow. The banks are lush and much more natural than the canal and generally more shady. We passed under the canal which is a neat experience and slowly made our way upstream. The river is a bit busier as this seems to be more locaboat territory; we’ve passed four boats already, more than we’ve done in entire days. There go 2 more…

Leslie’s been at the helm mostly this morning and I’m enjoying the shade. Zak is spending his time sleeping and C is mostly draping herself elegantly over various bits and pieces of furniture.

Vianne was gorgeous with it’s weir and old mill. We’ll stop on our way downstream. Also in the river are small day boats that you can rent in Buzet. They look a lot like the jungle ride boats at an amusement park. The locks are controlled by key card. So if the lock isn’t ready we let Zak off and wait for him to start the cycle. Since we were going upstream and the locks were deep, the crew got their practice throwing ropes up to Zak.

We passed some old mansions, lots of mills and locks and some peaceful, peaceful scenery. We pulled into Nerac around 2:30. The last lock leads to an ancient bridge with the port right on the other side.

About 10 seconds after docking we head for beer. Leffe blonde d’Abbeye is our current beer after this stop. Mmmmm, Carmen and Leslie tried for witty Bruce bashing but failed miserablely. After a 25 cl we moved on to a 50 cl. Cold. Beer. Good.

After Carmen failed to drink Bruce under the table we paid our port fees and walked up to the info centre and picked up some info. We will stay the night and likely the day tomorrow so we picked up some more wine, coke, tomatoes, onions etc. And headed back to the boat to absorb the beer and wait for the restaurants to open. So Carmen made salad.

A quick snack of bread and tomato salad and we retired for some quiet time. Leslie had a nap, Zak read inside, I read in the bow and Carmen read in her pajamas.

7 rolled around and we headed up the hill for pizza. About 5 minutes in we heard a tremendous crash of glass and dinnerware. A few minutes later the hostess brought out four drinks: une cadeaux! Seems dinner was going to take a few minutes longer. About 6 or 7 minutes later a car pulled up and the hostess and driver hauled in stacks of new plates from the trunk to a laugh from the patrons. The pizza was delicious with a pichet of rosé. Stuffed, we left content for a stroll around town before settling back at the boat.

A bottle of medoc and a quick cribbage slaughter which saw Zak and Les being handily skunked put the polish on the evening.

Last nights dinner at Le Perigord was lovely. Having sorted out the menus we all got something that we expected and there was delighted appreciation all around. Leslie and I had the specialty of the house for dessert, a caramelized filo with apple and Armagnac. Zak and Carmen went for the chocolate crepe. Carmen’s white top especially enjoyed the chocolate sauce. Our perfect waitress swooped in with a spray bottle of stain remover and voilà, the evening was saved. As it was so hot, we had a bottle of Buzet rose with dinner but otherwise kept to the endless supply of cold pitchers of water which kept appearing.

The port at Agen is on the other side of a shady area of town from the sights, so we decided to call it a night and walked back. After a bit of star gazing we hit the sack with the agreement that tomorrow was a ‘sleep in’ day.

That was foiled by the garbage/recycling truck dumping a whole bin of glass about 50 feet from the boat. Quite effective as an alarm. We all manfully tried to put in a extra hour or two but 9:30 found us up and about (except for Zak of course). Carmen and Les headed into town for fresh baguette: warm baguette, mmmmmmm.

Leslie is a bit bruised and sore from her tumble and might be on the sick list for crew duties today. She also has a monster bruise on her arm from a stumble getting off the boat. This puts Carmen solo on the stern line.

The trip began with the second biggest viaduct in France over the Garonne. It was followed by 3 automatic locks that you have to make it through in 30 minutes.

Leslie walked the bridge to get some pictures but rejoined at the first lock. Carmen disembarked to have a look at the bridge but we had to leave her behind. She walked to the next lock only to find we had tied up on the opposite side. Luckily we pointed out to her she couldn’t walk on water so she crossed over after the gates had closed.

After the last lock you hang a hard right and then kilometer after kilometer of huge trees, blackberry thickets and high banks. It was very Amazonian. After a couple of hours (and no locks) we hit Sérignac-sur-Garonne. The port was full of boats resting during the hot part of the day. We had tomato salad and ham baguettes for lunch with a nice cool white.

We took a walk into town, visited the air conditioned info office and passed through some half-timbered homes on our way to the church. The church featured a unique spiral bell tower. Inside it was spartan but beautiful. The floor was wood inlaid in a beautiful pattern. As we were standing in the church the bells rang causing the nervous among us to start. A few minutes later Carmen dropped her sunglasses and, since her other pair was already ruined, she cursed out loud at the thought of having wrecked them. Enough of the Catholic remains in her to send her scurrying from the church immediately after.

After a wander around town we picked up some Heineken and headed back to the boat. We immediately got underway to try and generate a breeze because it’s that hot.

The canal from here on was more of the same. Dense trees and no places to stop with only 3 locks total. We picked a gentleman following solo who’s lock-handling put ours to shame. The last set of locks was after we passed over the Baise, which we will pass under tomorrow. This set of locks needed you to flick the switch to set off the lock and then hit it again to open the doors. After which you have only 3 minutes to exit the lock or be trapped.

We pulled into Buzet sur Baise around 7. We tied up opposite the port because we didn’t need water and went for the free docking. Leslie and I took a quick peek in town while Z and C rested. After we got back we had quick cold showers, while Carmen toiled in the hot kitchen making French toast. Dinner was on deck with a super sweet bottle of white. Cribbage followed and then chat and a red Buzet to watch the full moon rise.

Morning started early. Blech. Once we were up and about, we pumped up some tires, unloaded the bikes and headed off. About a hundred yards in Leslie started the excitement by taking a header by trying to do too many things at once whilst going down a hill; a few scrapes and gouges resulted but overall everything was good.

Auvillar was beautiful, perched up on a hill overlooking the valley and river. You could see the reactor at Golftech and the church towers of the surrounding towns: quite the contrast. The church was once a Benedictine abbey dating from the 12 century and it had quite a few of it’s original bits left. Once again the simplicity and grandeur mixed together to create something so much larger than us. Leslie said that most art and architecture these days is humanist and human centric; these old churches are anything but.

Auvillar was full of friendly cats so everyone got their kitty fix. C unfortunately tried to smuggle one out of town, but we got her straightened out. We also took in the view and checked out an art gallery before stocking up on wine and heading back. The 6 kilometres went faster since there was no uphill.

Back at the boat, we fired her up almost exactly at noon and slipped away. Lunch was French bread and jam on the run. There were only three locks on the leg to Agen so things went smoothly. We passed through some pretty hilly terrain and some gorgeous countryside. The last bit was more industrial but still fairly pretty. We decided to finish in the city and backed into our slip at the Locaboat base almost exactly 4. We filled up with water, had a cool shower and are about to head off to find a nice traditional dinner.

Wifi is again iffy so I might post this early.

Day 11: Rain. The inmates are restless. Must buy more baguette and move on to prevent mutiny.

We started the day in the rain, slowly meandering down the canal. Not many locks so far as we drove from inside. Outside Malause, dozens of fisherman were out with their poles. It was a gorgeous stretch of canal. Fishing consists of poles on excess of 15 feet with bobbers floating in the middle of the canal. The rods break down as you bring them in to change bait or get the fish. Some well-equipped fishermen have little saw horses behind them to rest the butt of the pole on. Others have these long tubes that have one end in the water so they can drop the fish down them from the side of the bank; a lot like those garbage chutes on the side of construction sites.

Just before Pommevic we came upon a lock out of order so it was time to break for lunch. Carmen fried up some hotdogs, sliced up some baguettes and voilà. Even more interesting, she had some…Mmmmmm, mystery meat!

The sun is out now so L and C are off for a bike ride while we wait. So far no one has fallen off. The boats waiting are starting to stack up.

Well after Leslie came back (with Carmen) the lock reopened. The next 3 locks were in tandem with a Spanish group who arrived at Valence d’Agen just ahead of us and took the last slip at the harbour. Since the is a grand historical festival taking place right in the harbour, we had to move on a couple of hundred yards down the canal to find a place. The banks here are pretty steep but we’ll survive. The Polish family pulled in behind us and the sight of the 20 something daughter in her bikini was offset by the sight of her father in his mini speedo. I think the girl watchers among us came out ahead. Luckily for Carm’s sensibilities, they had decided to move on by the time we were back from our walk.

A beer and a rest followed by a chat and a plan set the agenda for the next few days. Then we set off to explore. Mondays are a traditional closed day so not much was open. Even the church was off limits due to a funeral. Still it’s a pretty French town, an example of a bastide or King’s town. Tomorrow is the market day so we will probably head up again. We also want to bike to Auvillar, 6 kilometres away, so we’ll see.

Valence is famous for it’s washhouses, so Zak and I tried to convince the girls to do our laundry at the one we visited, but they kept muttering something about feminism and independence and some sort of not-so-veiled threats which we manfully ignored. Anyway, they were quite beautiful and a sign of how much things have changed in the last hundred years.

We picked up some batteries at a tabac and a couple more loaves of backup baguettes and some patisseries for dessert at the only open boulangerie. I blew the heel strap on my sandal but I think I can make do.

Back at the boat C started in on her famous French toast and we opened the last bottle of cava to tide us over. Dinner=good.

Tonight it is my choice Le Vin Noir (2004), a Cotes de Brulhois specialty which I enjoyed and Carmen’s Chateau de Grezels Prestige Cahors (2005) which in typical Carmen overachiever style was wonderful.

We spent the night on deck enjoying the fading light, the company and the essence of France. There is nothing like sitting under the stars and absorbing the moist night air with a good philosophical discussion made slightly ridiculous by red wine. The night ended with a lovely sense of calm.