roadquill1

To Mid-Midi

Dear family and friends,

We are now actually over halfway through our thoroughly happy, stately, and very satisfying cruise through southern France – from Narbonne to Trêbes.

When we arrived on Saturday morning by taxi from Ayguade, we were about 1/2 hour early, but we got a quick overview of the rental issues for our boat and then Dan and Rita Haaf joined us.

Since we couldn’t take possession of the boat until 4:00pm, we wandered into the market areas of Narbonne, ate lunch in the square, and purchased all the supplies that we would need for a day of two. At the appointed time, ‘Nick’, a multi-lingual Aussie walked us all through the issues that we needed to know, and then we were on our way. I took the first turn at the “command” position at the helm, and we headed off up the canal – nicknamed the ‘kindergarten canal’ by Alice (not the Midi yet) towards our first lock. I managed to bump through our first bridge underpass. (These are the kind where those on deck must duck their heads…or lose them!)

There is a set sequence of events for entry and exit from locks, and it is quite a tension-builder to approach your first lock with people standing around the lock – waiting, and watching – and judging! My boating companions were newbies at this process also, but luckily a boat ahead of us had started the sequence, and it just remained for us to get someone on shore to catch our lines, and then enter the lock without creating a fuss.

As an aside, to the amazement of the three of us who would be rotating turns as “Captain for a Day”, the vessel doesn’t respond for a few seconds to wheel movements. This can set up an oscillation whereby the vessel takes increasingly wider swings. It takes a few minutes at the helm before confidence in your control of the boat’s direction grows to competency level. That’s my story and excuse for bumping my first bridge and I’m sticking to it!

We also learned, in this Kindergarten Canal, that the ‘bow thruster’ is very handy at pushing a wayward prow back on to the desired course. In addition, the crew had to learn the sequence for opening and closing locks, since we were sometimes the first boat to arrive at an unmanned “automatic” lock. At one point, something went wrong, and 4 boats sat in the lock with crew members shrugging at each other until someone was actually able to reach a technician on a phone. He came and quickly fixed the problem.

Thus, we made it through the first 3 or 4 locks of the Kindergarten Canal, but it was enough for one day, and it was time to make our first stop at the tiny village of Sallèle d’Aude. We pulled up along the bank, secured Elegance to the shore, crossed a bridge into town, and found our dinner at an outdoor pizza restaurant.

Dan did not sleep well with some nearby traffic noise, and city lights, but the next day dawned, and it was his turn at the wheel. After about 5 more locks, and traveling a bit further north, we turned east onto the Midi Canal and towards the town of Bézier – a number of hours east of us. We travelled for about 5 hours in total, and “shore-moored” for the night. This involves driving steel stakes into the ground and securing the boat to these.

We were celebrating our first day successes with toasts of wine and juice when Rita announced that the stove had quit. A thorough examination of all possible sources of the problem convinced us that we were out of propane. None of us had cell phone plans, and the only building we had seen while riding our bikes earlier, was a short way ahead of us. So, I hopped on a bike, returned up the path, where I encountered another boat shore-tied. I knocked on the hull, and painfully explained to 3 lovely young ladies that we had a problem and that I needed to make a phone call. One of the girls pulled out her iPhone, and handed it to me, explaining in English that she didn’t speak French (but her accent also made it clear that English wasn’t her first language).

I finally made it through to the “Le Boat” rep, Nick, who described how we could meet at a small village where he would deliver the full tank of propane. All was well that ended well, and we were able to finish cooking and eating our supper within the hour.

The rest of this early half of our journey saw the three guys taking turns (one day about) at the helm and in command, as we continued our slow cruising along the planetree-lined Midi Canal, first to the east to Bézier, and then back west towards Trêbes.

At the eastern end of our journey, we wandered through Bézier, and its marvellous Cathedral, and later, celebrated Dan’s birthday with a wonderful lunch just off the square behind the Cathedral. Then, we walked back to the boat climbing past the 7 locks that raise boats from Bézier up to the Midi. It is quite a sight, and a fascinating bit of engineering. (There is a horrible tale of slaughter of Cathars in Bézier, in the early 13th century. Look it up!)

In the following days, we often stopped to wander through the streets of small villages. We stopped at epiceries and boulangeries occasionally stocking up on baking goods. Most of our meals, however, were made on board, and were much more satisfying than the few that we ate in towns.

At one point, after mooring, I was trying to unlock the bikes on the foredeck so that anyone who wanted could go for a ride. Unfortunately, the keys to the locks were mixed up, so I had an ashtray containing them with me on the deck. A suddenly swing of a bike wheel knocked the ashtray and keys into the water. For an hour or so, I tried to fish them out from the edge of the canal, but was only able to locate the ashtray. Luckily, we had keys to two if the locks, so all but one bike were usable

In one small village, Bob was wandering around with a garbage bag in his hand, looking for a trash bin, when he heard a truck approaching from behind. Suddenly, the bag was snatched from his hand by the outrider on the garbage truck who called out, “J’ai votre sac!” Bob, trying to save our last garbage bag hollered, “Mais j’ai besoin de le sac!” The young man laughed and waved “Ayer un bon jour!”

To Trêbes.

During our last few days, the weather was changing, and one or two mornings were chilly with occasional fine misty drizzle.

On Wednesday, we decided to moor early, to rest and to wander through the nearby village. A strong wind was pushing us off the bank, but we hammered the steel mooring pegs in and tied up securely. About an hour after tying up, as we all read, or slept, I noticed that our bow was swinging out and away from the shore. This was one of those “All hands on deck” moments, and we jumped to get control of the situation. However, the bow was now too far from the shore, and I had to let go of the bow line, which fell into the water. When Skipper Dan tried to use the bow thruster to swing us back, the line got caught in the bow thruster, and we lost control of the bow. We let the bow swing downwind, and remoored it facing the opposite direction. Then, we called Le Boat for a diver, who came within the hour, and freed the line. Rescued again! A young couple sitting on a bench nearby were fascinated with our antics, and pointed a camera at us for much of the effort. I imagine that the episode is up on Facebook, or YouTube somewhere.

On our last day on the Canal, Friday, the sun never showed, but we were able to find our Le Boat Marina, back Elegance 566 into a space, and then head out for our last supper. (Everyone who had the “cassoulet”, a specialty in this area, enjoyed their meals. Sandy and I did not! Reminder to self…”Don’t eat beef again in France!”)

By 9:00 on Saturday morning, we were all packed, the boat was clean, and we found our way to a bus which would take us to Carcassonne for Chapter 4 of our European adventure.

We have now landed in Beaucaire, but next, I must tell you of Carcassone. But, for now…G’night to all!

Love and best wishes, as always!

La Plume et la Coutourière

For a while last night, there was a sense that the wind might be dying. Wrongo! This morning it was back with a vengeance, and getting stronger as the other 3 of us joined Alice to rent bikes.

Our fearless leader (Alice, of course) led us off back down the trail to the Super Marché in Gruissan about 2 km west of us. As we struggled to peddle into the wind I estimated our wind speed, as a good sailor should, at about 30 kts ( that is, “knots”) or about 45 km per hour. (Gale force is about 33 kts, storm force is at 49 kts, and hurricane is over 63 kts.)

As we entered Gruissan, it was almost impossible to peddle with the wind on our right, and all of us were tilted – severely – towards the wind…which was increasing in strength. Thankfully, we found a bike rack, chained our bikes up, and hurried into the shelter of the narrow streets. We strolled around, and then had coffees at a small street café, and then found our way to a climb up to an ancient hilltop tower above the town.

As we climbed higher, the wind increased in strength until we were all hanging on for dear life to the metal railing. A nearby woman had her sunglasses blown right off her face! The wind strength at the top was, I am sure, over 65 kts, and thus, hurricane force. It was almost impossible to stand, and rather than wait until Sandy was streaming horizontally from the pipe rail, and, since sand was blowing in horizontal lines, wetook a few shaky pictures, and then hustled on down out of the wind. However, we still had the ride home to contend with.

Back at the bike rack, we found our bikes blown over, and after unlocking them, and struggling to stay upright we headed downwind, down the path. This was great until we got to a corner, and had to turn towards the wind. Sandy got blown towards a large rock so she walked for a bit with feet sliding on the paved surface as she gamely attempted to keep the bike upright. Finally she was able to saddle up again, and the path turned downwind, so we had a very fast ride back to the bike rentals, where 3 of us turned them in – gratefully. (I’ll bet you guessed, correctly, that Alice kept hers!)

This afternoon The Bob, Sandy and I tried relaxing poolside, but when you see whitecaps on a swimming pool, you know that the breeze is a tad extreme!

The Bob and I are now catching up on our Internet communications, and soon we will share a supper at our place. Tomorrow, René will pick us up and take us to the boat rentals in Narbonne. If the wind persists, I may spend the first day adding docking lines and concrete anchors to ensure that we aren’t participants in a Midi Canal Bumper Boat Spectacular!!!

La Plume, et la Coutourière (My dictionary isn’t clear if this is the Sewer as in “sower”, or Sewer as in “soo-er”. I sure hope I picked the right one

Tuesday, September 11

Our first stop before we left Cahir had to be for fuel, so I pulled into an Esso station where a quick little man came out to fill the tank. As he bent over the pump handle, he said, what sounded vaguely like “Dittabitta nippindaray.” I smiled incomprehensively, and replied, “Pardon me?” He repeated the phrase, only this time it was closer to “Derz abitta nippinday ray”. I was about to tell him that I don’t speak Gaelic, and then I got it, and agreed with a smile. We paid up (EU$1.70 per liter – C$2.20) and were on our way.

The hour and a half trip into Dublin was uneventful, except for one directional sign as we entered the Dublin Airport area where we needed to return our Budget rental Skoda. All road signage in Ireland is in Gaelic, followed by English, though I think that few Irish actually speak Gaelic. This sign at the airport pointed to three areas: the first was to “Landa”, or something beginning with an “L”, meaning “Cargo”, the second I didn’t really notice, but the third really caught my eye – “Marbhlann” – and the translation was “Mortuary”! The thoughts raced through my mind…”How many pass through there? Or, do folks just pass on there? And, is it ‘Arrivals’, or ‘Departures’??? It was mind-boggling, and I left it unresolved.

We had a fun reunion with the Padghams at the hotel, then we all caught the Express bus into Dublin where we killed the afternoon, had a wonderful supper, and then caught the Express bus back to our hotel. Now THIS was experience! We all sat in a row at the front of the upper deck of the bus, and oohed and aahed, and gasped as the bus driver roared through Dublin traffic, weaving in an out, and always missing, but only by centimeters, other buses, running pedestrians, lamp standards, and cars. Bob compared it to the Wild Mouse ride at the PNE, and I concurred.

The day ended much as it had begin – with much lowered temperatures – and yes, I had noticed that “Dere was a bit of a nip in de air!”

And that, is the way it was – in Ireland! Slainte!

Et, demain, nous departons pour la France! Santé!

The next morning, Saturday, we decided that both couples would go separate ways.. Sandy and I headed out to Brandon Point, down an extremely narrow lane road where the posted speed limit was still 80 kmh. The Point was a spectacular cliff with a brisk wind blowing and the skies clear. Great views over the islands. Next, we tackled the mountainous climb over the Dingle Peninsula (Connor Pass) to the town of Dingle. There were spectacular views over the climb, and more of the tight squeezes on the road, but the traffic moved slower, and buses weren’t allowed.

We stretched our legs and then did the circle tour around the Coastal road, where we stopped for lunch and paid to visit an ancient fort – in existence for over 2000 years. Back at Dingle a few hours later, we wandered through town before we settled on a B&B – Murphy’s Bar. We walked off our supper, and then went back to Murphy’s in time to get bar seats for the evening’s musical group: Tincean. The sound was like the Irish Rovers, but the themes were more political and historical. It was a marvelous 2 hours of wild music.

Early in the 2 hour set, an elderly (well, he was older than me, I think) sat beside me and started to chat with me. For a while, I thought he was speaking Gaelic, but then I realized that I was hearing some English words, so I really concentrated on trying to follow. Apparently his daughter was getting married and she and her friends were coming to the bar for a “hen party”. And, soon they did! The bride-to-be had had way too much, but that didn’t slow her down until gravity lowered her eye-level to the floor after an impromptu dance on a table. Thankfully, daddy had left earlier, and equally lucky was that the belle of the bar was not injured on flying furniture nor broken glass. And the band played on!!!

I bought the band’s CD!

Dear friends and family,
I had hoped to upload pics of our travels, but unfortunately, the WordPress app on my iPad is temperamental, and will not upload my pics. If anyone has experienced success with this, please let me know. Meanwhile…

After stepping off the city bus, we carefully crossed the road to our car rental in Dublin. (Look to the right before stepping off the curb!)

The Czech-born clerk up-sold us on more auto insurance (“You are covered already, but if you have an accident, you would have to pay up to EU$1375!”), and as I considered my next few minutes when I would soon pull into traffic on the left side of the street, I quickly accepted. I figured I might be saving my EU$1375 a lot sooner than they expected.

“The Skoda is around the back. Just turn right onto Drumcondra, and follow the signs to the M50 freeway, and then take the exit 7 to N6 highway for Galloway. Oh, and pay the motorway toll next door before you leave.” (Are you KIDDING ME??? I have never driven on the left side of the road!!! Can you provide a driving lesson? What were those directions again??)

Helpfully, he gave us a map, and marked all the exits. However, only about a half-hour later we realized that he gave us the wrong exit to N6! In order to sort of be on the same route as Bob and Alice, who would be leaving later than us, we pulled over at a rest stop and fuel outlet, had a quick lunch, re-routed our iPad maps and headed through rural Ireland on some 2 lane back roads to get us back on N6. After negotiating several round-abouts almost successfully (clockwise, of course) we were back on track.

All went well until we cut off the N6 just east of Galloway – headed for the Dingle Peninsula, and the little village of Doolin. Now, we found ourselves HURTLING along very narrow roads with the left wheels on the dotted yellow line that marked the edge of the pavement, the driver-side mirror constantly in danger of a collision with the oncoming vehicles, and Sandy’s left (passenger) side occasionally scraped by dense brush which also occasionally covered up the dotted yellow line! The really close calls were reserved for passing buses, whose tires were frequently over the often non-existent centre line.

Now, I say “hurtling” only because, in trying to avoid creating a line of cars, we were driving at what I would refer to as a reckless speed of 70 km/h, or so. The signs suggested a speed limit of 100, while another mentioned “Drive with Caution”. Nobody, in their right, or wrong minds could drive at that posted speed limit!

Passing opportunities were rare and there were few pull-outs! Consequently, many overtaking vehicles just pulled into the right hand lane whenever it suited them – drawing gasps from my white-knuckled passenger, whose shoe soles were already worn out from pushing them though the floor boards.

Oh, and our vehicle was a standard shift, with the gear shift being to my left. And, just to increase my frequent moments of apprehension, in shifting down to prepare for a particularly bad corner, all too often I found 1st gear instead of 3rd resulting in a lurching slow down and eliciting groans from my terrified co-pilot. (The warning signs read “Unstable road edge”, and there was also a snaky arrow, but my two favourites on one small stretch of road were “Dangerous Curves” followed a few turns later by “Severe Bends”. I glanced at Sandy, and I suspected that she was experiencing the latter!!)

Shortly after this last stretch, we gradually caught up to a small black car that was doing the speed that we could enjoy. Unfortunately, the driver pulled over to let us pass. Fortunately, it was Bob and Alice, and shortly after we rejoined them, we found our way into Doolin where we located the Information Centre and booked a B&B at Fisherman’s Rest, managed by a garrulous, retired fisherman, Danny Guerin, and his wife, Maeread. It had been a long, strenuous day for all of us.