Selling our souls to the Wifi Devil

[Kyle]We deliberately delayed our start to the day in order to await the opening of the port office to complete our clamouring Internet needs, expecting not to be delayed much more than half an hour. Of course the office didn’t open on time, then there were more pressing priorities for the captain that didn’t include turning on the internet for us, eventually it was concluded the internet didn’t work and it sometimes was just like that in the mornings… Doh! We’d wasted 2 hours. The port captain knew of no other place locally we could expect to find Internet, so Maryanne suggested McDonalds (certainly all British McDonald's have internet, but I wasn’t sure of the French ones).. “Oui, Oui, definitely”, was the response.

So with our hand held GPS we set off to find the local McDonald's which was only 1.5 km away, however being on the opposite side of the canal with no conveniently placed bridges we’d need to walk 4.5km each way. Our day was disappearing in admin. I of course detested the idea of using McDonald's for anything (this year will be the 30th of my personal boycott and I’m convinced that the loss of my valuable business will be bringing them to their knees shortly). We’d attempted several short-cuts, but all dead-ended and resulted in us just needing to walk further, so we eventually resigned ourselves to the full distance. Along the way we checked for wifi signals, and passing one of the chain of Lidotel(s), finally found one for 3€ after about 2km of walking. Expect your local McDonald's to be closing soon! I was able to book my train ticket and put in my June bid for work, Maryanne caught up a little on banking, but we didn’t want to spend too much time, so after all the critical internet work was complete, we headed off back to the boat.

This time we avoided any ‘short-cuts’ and walked via the direct route along the canal/cycle path, inspecting the barges tied up alongside. From the shore the barges seemed even more curious. While not officially sanctioned by the authorities, barges are allowed to remain moored provided they can be moved if there is any need for maintenance along the bank. Many of them appeared to have a permanent plot with flowers planted, fencing, tool sheds, BBQs etc. installed on the bank. There was a jury rigged electrical system running through the trees that fed power to more or less all the boats, some even had water hookups, and at the end of each section there was even mail boxes. This all seemed beyond the ‘we won’t bother you if you don’t cause any trouble’ attitude by the authorities and well into acceptance of being a neighbourhood in its own right. At the end of the walk I had so many questions for the peniche owners (was their power metered? Did they have an address?).

We eventually arrived at the marina and discovered instantly that the wifi was back on! We could have stayed and waited, but we were too unsure to take the chance. We finally cast off about 12:30, and would have ideally left around 8:30. Such is life.



Our first lock of the day was a double one at Castanet. From our direction Castanet represents the first of the original 17th century oval shaped canal du midi locks (the others to this point were more modern upgrades).

This was also the first we expected (perhaps) our instructions would be good for. I would need to drop off Maryanne somewhere conveniently on the canal before the lock and she would have to make her way to the lock and press the buttons to adjust the water level and open the doors to let me in. She disappeared for a while, a bit too long, and eventually returned having decided that the automatic lock was closed for lunch (motors need a break too!). This confused us since the automated locks on the canal de Garonne hadn’t closed for lunch, but this was the only obvious explanation. At 1:30 a lock keeper arrived to press his own buttons and the gates opened.


Coming from rectangular locks the oval ones were quite daunting to us, the curved sides meant the corners of the boat would take the impact of any mistakes and sharp turns are required into the lock to make it in and out of the narrow entrances, Because the locks also had greater volume for their length, they took longer to fill, and the swirling pattern of the water was very different. The one upside was the diffusion caused by the widening lock seemed to reduce turbulence significantly at the back while filling with water. It was quite stressful and for the first few of these locks there was a little yelling between us as we each ‘assumed’ the other was doing something they knew nothing about.

That same trip, we finally found a lock that seemed to (on some level) represent our instruction pamphlet, but the doors would not close. Maryanne called on the intercom system for help (in French, so very basic) and thought that they guy was coming to fix it, but wasn’t 100% sure of his side of the conversation. 10 minutes later he arrived and went through of a process of pressing buttons in various locations all to no avail, about an hour later we finally exited that lock, glad of the help to hand.



Eventually we felt that we were getting used to the locks, remind ourselves that we love each other, and that we were a team, and even had time to enjoy the view of the Canal Chapel at one. When we finally made it to the end of the line for the day, we were glad to crack open a couple of quality German beers that our friend from Preston, Klaus, had given us before we left – cheers to the end of a stressful day!

Exit the Canal de Garonne, enter the Canal Du Midi

[Kyle]We started our day knowing we’d have to find a way to leave that rickety dock, but before that Maryanne wondered off into town to find a boulangerie and buy bread for the day (oh, and a Chocolate croissant thing for me!). We’d hoped the marina office would open before we left (no hours were published) and we’d be able to use the Internet, but no luck. The shutters were still fully down and lights out when we left around 8:30am.

At our first lock, some way from the town, we encountered our first boats heading in the opposite direction, one British, the next French.

The canal then took us towards Toulouse, and as we approached its NW outskirts. We were not impressed; the pretty French countryside gradually became more and more industrial and more and more run down. There were warehouses, factories, train stations and urban decay everywhere. The route the canal takes was not intended to highlight the city. We must remember that the canals were primarily built for commerce, not tourism, and it is only relatively recently that the ‘waterfronts’ of the world are being turned into tourist attractions, and family friendly destinations.


Entrance to Toulouse; we couldn't work out if this was a fancy fishing shack or a Homeless camp
Finally we made it to the center of Toulouse, the canal de Garonne ends, and an abrupt left turn took us into the canal de Midi. The canal de Midi is a much older canal (built in the 1600’s), and we had been warned in our guidebook that the locks had not been automated and we’d have to operate them manually, winding up the sluice gates to stop/start the water flow and winding open and closed the gates as required. It’s considered so special a canal it is actually a UNESCO world heritage site for its full length.

We weren’t quite sure what to expect, but the gates were open and a green light at the entrance to the first lock was showing and we proceeded in. There was no sign of a lock keeper, so as a default we did what had become our habit and one of us climbed up the ladder with a line while the other stayed on the boat and tossed the other line up. We stood their for a second wondering what we needed to do next, when a guy in a VNF shirt came out of a hut and asked if we were planning to enter the canal; seemed moot at that point! We politely said we were, and could we please purchase a pass (we’d been trying since Castets), but were again told no, not here, and were handed an cartoon information pamphlet on how to operate the newly automated locks in the coming stretch. The VNF employee then escaped back into his ‘hut’ and ignored us for the rest of the locking process.


Some big locks
The first part of the Canal du Midi passes right through the center of Toulouse, and all of the locks have been ‘upgraded’ from their 17th century originals, to more modern, larger locks. I’m sure Toulouse has many beautiful and historic districts but by this point we’d not seen any. The canal went through a slightly run down part of town, lots of traffic, smog and litter. At one point we picked up a garbage bag that had completely wrapped around the propeller, it was not nice cruising. The next lock was enormous, having been converted from 3 of the original smaller locks into a modern one. With our new instructions to hand, indicating we’d have to land someone to press a button to open the doors, we were surprised to find the doors opening as we approached. This time because of the position of the ladder it was Maryanne’s turn to go up with the first line while I stayed on the boat and attached my line to a bar recessed into the lock wall for the purpose. The climb was quite high, and the ladder had spent most of its time submerged in pretty miserable water so the climb was not pleasant, easy, or safe, but Maryanne made it. She then went in search of the control panel (per the instructions) to start off the locking process, she could find nothing, and found it very confusing. After some time, the locking process began without her intervention, we can only assume that the cameras looking down on us were being monitored by a control center, and we soon wondered why we’d been given the instruction sheet at all.

Each lock as we passed through the center was entirely different in setup. The ladders, rails, and bollards were all in different locations from the previous lock, so we were never able to feel comfortable that we knew what to expect. As we found ourselves in the more pleasant true city center, one lock had floating bollards on one end, and I happily used it for both fore and aft lines to the boat. Unfortunately it was too far back, and nothing else was placed at a convenient point forwards. Maryanne luckily noticed this problem as the water rose, and just in time to stop our mast being caught on the lock door gangway I managed to maneuver the boat forward out of harms way. Close call! We were not enjoying these locks at all.

Apart from the locks, the rest of the canal through the city center was an obstacle course of obstructions. We lost a fender passing through a narrow tunnel (we were too close to the side, and it was ripped off). There were bridges, logs and litter everywhere, we were concerned for our rudders, prop and engine intake. It just wasn’t fun at all.


Footprint floats up in front of Toulouse Railway Station
As I’ve already said, I’m sure Toulouse has some wonderful parts of the city, but we weren’t there and we found no appeal to what we saw from the canal, so we just kept going. As we started to exit Toulouse however we saw a much nicer side to the city: park lands, manicured gardens, University buildings, etc. - so much nicer than the SW corner of the city. Lots of converted working barges (Peniches) now line the canal as homes. Some are beautiful, some practically derelict. Often the presence of the barges narrows the canal significantly and we have to get quite close to pass. One scared us, having two very frightening, fierce looking, barking, growling rottweilers, clearly not liking us so close. They looked very much like they were looking for a way to jump on our boat and dig their teeth into us. We were very glad to be passed that barge, but most just added to the charm of this stretch of canal.

We moored for the night at Port-Sud (only 12km/8miles from Toulouse center) where we expected to refuel the boat and hoped to get Internet at last. The fuel pump turned out to be broken, as well as the water and power connection at that dock. The Port captain said if we didn’t need any water or power we were fine to spend the night at the fuel dock (fine with us as it was an easy dock and close to the facilities).


At last, some of the nicer parts of the Canal du Midi
Maryanne asked about wifi (pronounced weefee) and was told they had Internet (yay!) but we had to plug in our computers at the office and could only use it while the office was open (it would close in 1 hour). This caused a mad dash to do my June schedule bid, book flights, trains and other Internet essentials, but still not enough time to post blogs and catch up with emails. After 10 minute of use however, the captain decided he’d go home early and rather than say anything just turned off the internet while we were frantically trying to catch up – I was right in the middle of booking my train ticket! We decided we’d have to leave late next day, to wait until the office opened at 9am when we could plug into the Internet again to finish off these critical tasks. This hurt our progress but we felt much better after abusing their shower faculties to remove several days of sweat and dirt.

Medieval France - More canal de Garonne

Moissac

[Kyle]Another 9am sharp turn of the lock control bar started our next day on the canal. We made excellent time until arriving at the town of Moissac when a low swing bridge blocked our passage. We sounded the horn as instructed to request the opening, but to no avail, it was lunchtime, and we’d have to wait. We tied to a ring in the wall of the canal and set about having our own lunch. Moissac seemed a very picturesque town, and the walls of the canal were at such a height that it was just possible that a mad jump from the boat could get me over the wall and onto its streets. Maryanne asked me to buy a baguette if I was going to leave the boat, and that was all the incentive I needed to jump that wall.

I had thirty minutes before the bridge tender came back, so I had to make it fast. Oh what a lovely little town it was, with stone bridges crossing the canal every block or so. I walked towards the prominent church steeple and just across the street found a perfect looking boulangarie where I purchased a grand baguette to eat with our lunch. I squeezed in a whirlwind tour of the small town and fell in love with it. Passing an outdoor bazaar, alongside the moored barges, I walked down to the bank of the Garonne and revealed in the pleasure of walking through a pretty French village with a fresh baguette tucked under my arm.

I got back to the boat jumped the gap (helped by Maryanne) and begged her to go out and see the town. It was just too far of a jump for her comfort though and she decided to give it a miss despite my protests. A few short minutes later the bridge tender showed up with apologies for taking her lunch, and let us through. We’d had some boats back up behind us during the wait and were expecting we’d need to share the next lock with them just outside of town, but they pulled off before we made it to the lock so we felt guiltily relieved to have it to ourselves.

These locks surprised us by not having the usual traffic lights and pole, but were controlled by a young lockkeeper who would operate the lock and then jump on his moped to ready the next lock for our arrival. He didn’t say much but was very nice, and at the last lock of the series Maryanne offered him chocolate in way of small thanks – he acted like she’d given him keys to a new moped.

As we stood in the locks waiting for the water level to rise, several passers by stopped to enjoy the spectacle. These ranged from little kids running towards us, pulling their parents behind and yelling ‘le bateau! le bateau!’ to many others watching silently using us as an excuse for a rest on a long walk. One family had an adorable little girl on a pink bicycle whom kept boldly running up to us out of curiosity and then, standing before us silent with shyness. They followed us for a couple of locks and eventually it was the father who raised the courage to talk with us; he spoke with Maryanne at the bow while I had a conversation at the stern with my 5-year old level French (Maryanne: he thinks he’s that good), with a woman passed retirement age. She asked the usual questions, where are you going? Where did you come from? Did you cross the Atlantic? Is it just the two of you? Where do you sleep? And as I gave every other answer or so she would respond with ‘très formidable’; I liked that. She asked where we lived, and when I told her we lived on the boat, she responded with another ‘très formidable’. She and her friends were completing an equally ambitious adventure – they were cycling the route between the two seas and staying at hotels along the way, living out of the tiny panniers they carried on their bicycles; and yet she called us très formidable, I liked that very much.

We made it to the top of the flight and passed over another long aqueduct, crossing the Tarn river (a Garonne tributary). At the next lock we arrived as the lock keeper was having a heated and animated argument with a drunk on a bicycle who wanted to use the lock door cat-walk to cross the canal (rather than walk the extra 20m to the bridge). There was lots of yelling back and forth and arm waving that from a distance could have let them be mistake them for Italians.

At some point in the afternoon as we were in a lock about the start the locking down process when we turned back to notice another boat trying to make it, and called to the lock keeper to wait for the 2nd boat. The second boat turned out to be more Brits (they seem to make up at least 80% of the canal users); but when Maryanne tried to chat with them she bristled at all their ‘friendly advice’ as they treated her like an idiot and answered every question with a quite irrelevant statement made to make them look fantastic. At the second lock we shared with them, the ‘gentleman’ requested us to speed up. Maryanne was confused at this. The speed limit is 8km and we were (kind-a) pushing it ourselves.. ‘The speed limit is 8, she told him, but he insisted we were only going 3 or 4 at most. We suspect our great superior sailors had confused km/h with knots (normal boat speed measurement), so rather than argue, we asked them to pass us once we exited the lock and enter the next lock without us. We were glad to be rid of them, and have the locks to ourselves again as it’s much less intimidating when you don’t have to worry about other boats in the lock with you.

Alone we then had a series of locks operated by another friendly kid (who also loved chocolate) who shuttled himself between locks on a bicycle. Finally we arrived at the last lock before Montech, just 5 minutes before closing and were ‘greeted’ by a dour faced woman with arms folded across her chest and sending a clear message that she had no intention of moving or helping in anyway. Apart from the motion to push the button on her remote, she didn’t move nor change expression for the full process of locking up. I guess we are seeing the full gamut of human nature – all part of the great flavour of travel!


More canal stuff! Includes Kyle hidden in the trees and the derelict chic of French buildings
Arriving at the little town of Montech we attempted to do something that should be fairly straight forward for us – to pull into a slip. It turned out to be way harder than we expected. There was a cross current and it was such that if I tried to land Maryanne on the tiny little finger pier, I’d be pushed sideways and she couldn’t reach. She attempted to reach for the rings at the end of the float with the boat hook, but they seemed to be sized and weighted in such away that the boat hook would not grab them. Eventually, after about 5 attempts, entering at an alarming angle, Maryanne was able to climb off the boat with a line, and we hoped to soon gain full control of the docking situation. However the float I landed her on was very narrow and as soon as her foot touched it, entered some sort of fairground ride harmonic of increasing oscillation that would surely result in pitching her over into the drink. Instinctively she dropped down on all fours to lower her center of gravity which didn’t reduce the oscillations but did make it much more entertaining for the crowd that by then had gathered. The main spectator was an older man who sat at the bench directly beside the dock, staring at us with the same blank look of the teenage lockkeeper the day before. Eventually Maryanne managed to make her way gingerly to the point where the pontoon attached to the concrete wall, here the motion calmed down slightly, and for the benefit of the dispassionate observers we proceeded to go through a Laurel and Hardy routine of tying lines the wrong way, tripping over them etc. We somehow managed to make even first time canal boat rental captains look like old salts by comparison. Once everything was finally safely in order, and not a moment before, the Port Captain arrived and demanded payment - now, and dragged Maryanne off to the office to complete the paperwork before they closed. Then she immediately shut the whole place down and once closed there would be no access to the shower, toilets, laundry or Internet. All we got for our fee was to entertain the locals! Luckily it was a very small fee.

We had been hoping to find wifi, but of course the port didn’t have any once we’d arrived, so we spent the next few hours wondering around town looking for a signal or any internet cafes, we asked at hotels, restaurants and coffee shops – nothing. Nobody was even able to send us anywhere else they knew had it.

The town of Montech was somewhat interesting, dominated by an enormous Cathedral, and surrounded by buildings with a distinctly French look (shuttered windows, patches of plaster fallen off, etc). On one pretty little side street we were surrounded by swifts nesting for the night using every available crevice between the bricks of a worn out building. It was getting dark, we were tired, so we called it a night on our wifi search and retired to our rickety dock and Footprint.

Still not canal experts!

Canal de Garonne - bridges to go under and aqueducts to go over
[Kyle]At precisely 9am the power was restored to the locks, and the traffic lights lit. We turned our start rod and so began day 2 in the canal.

The weather had turned grey and windy and it even had the audacity to rain intermittently. The canal also had a change of character as we passed into a different ‘department’. Previously the canal had been lined on either side by evenly spaced plane trees along well manicured verges and footpaths, now we start to see busy overgrowth, a much wilder canal, often encroaching some way into the canal itself. The water was a carpet of leaves, twigs and debris and there were several sections where we saw nobody for hours. Every now and then hidden among the shrubs we’d find an abandoned and derelict boat of varying types (from commercial barges to small sailing boats). If it hadn’t been France I would not have been surprised to have heard banjo music.

At one point on a particularly remote part of the canal we spotted the tips of fishing rods sticking out of the brush and managed to just slow Footprint down and plunge her into the trees on the other side as some very surprised looking fisher folk popped up their heads and gratefully and apologetically thanked us for not wiping out their gear.

The wind caused us all sorts of new problems. It was very gusty and seemed to be especially exposed at the entrance or exit from a lock – just when you need to be most careful at avoiding hitting hard things in a narrow space. The conditions required Maryanne to do a lot of running back and forth to fend one side or the other as we entered the locks (where we have 3’ to spare on each side of the boat).

At one lock we were surprised to find a real-life canal (VNF) employee; a teenager who seemed mostly disinterested in our presence leaning against the railing of the control house, so after locking up uneventfully we just got on with managing the process ourselves. He did manage a half-hearted wave back at us and pushed the start button once I was already most of the way there, he didn’t even have to take a step to do so, but clearly didn’t want me to encroach in his zone, teenagers are hilarious!

Naturally though, when you have an audience, things can go spectacularly wrong, just as we exited the lock we were caught not only by the expected pull of the weir, but also a strong gust caught us and blew us into the wall as we were half way out. This caused the boat to pivot on the side and push the bow well off towards the weeds as we were blown out and sideways of the lock. I tried reversing away from the bank but that just brought the stern closer to the lock gates and walls, and gave the wind a chance to blow us more sideways into the concrete. I could turn the boat away from the lock only by nudging the bows into the bank and pivoting on them – but there were rocks in the shallows of the shore so Maryanne was desperately plunging the boat-hook into the soft bank trying to keep her off, fighting the engine. We did this for ten desperate minutes to no avail. Every time I got the stern a little further from the lock, Maryanne would plead with me to go easy on the bows. I would back off only to be blown back toward the lock again.

The whole time, our teenager stood leaning on the control house railing, watching with no expression whatsoever, as if he were staring at an empty road waiting for a bus that wasn’t expected for another hour. I would have expected concern or amusement, but there was nothing. I was finally able to pivot the stern around, away from the lock. By the time we were clearly back in control, our VNF helper sauntered over, still expressionless, and half-heartedly went to push one bow back into the canal, but it was already on its way and out of his reach. We then made an ignominious departure backwards down the canal for ¼ mile or so until we could find a safe spot to tie up and check for damage. Poor Footprint seemed to take it better than our pride and came out relatively unscathed. I just wanted to turn around and go forward around the next bend where he couldn’t see us any more.

From day one in the canal the water was littered with tree debris, and Maryanne had prudently suggested we should check the raw water strainer each night; something we normally only bother with as a monthly ‘just in case’ check. Each night the strainer has been full of debris, and each night is a lottery of what it might contain. The first was compacted flower petals, the second a mini-forest (including branches with the leaves still attached), and the third was mostly seeds and dead leaves. It was always different, but always full, and now has become a necessary part of our daily routine.

Towards the end of the day the canal seemed to tidy up a bit and we approached the town of Agen (famous for its plums!) Agen has a dramatic entry over a long viaduct crossing the Garonne River, but the entrance to the town itself was very industrial, ugly in fact. We’d planned to stay but just couldn’t face it so we ended up just filling up the fuel tanks and moving. Eventually the locks were turned off and we found ourselves spending the night at the waiting dock at Lamagistére, another remote French hamlet. It was a very peaceful spot dominated by bird song. Later in the night, the sky cleared to display a beautiful blanket of stars.

Canal work, and a full strainer!

Enter the Canal de Garonne

Stuck at the dock, and no way to shore

[Kyle]We were preparing for a possible departure the next morning when Maryanne, who was outside, was hailed from the bank by a couple of gentlemen in cycling gear. They were Bertrand and Derk, two friends out for their daily ride. Having seen our flag they’d decided to see if we were in. Of course we were in, the dock had no gangway to shore. They spoke good English and after half an hour of chit-chat, they asked “what can we do to help you?”. We told them the rumors of the lock keeper strike and asked if they could find out anything on our behalf (we were still waiting for the tide to be in a decent state to move the boat to a shore side dock). They rode up to the office at Castets and came back with the news that there was no strike. The strike was over last week. They just weren’t working when we showed up yesterday. They opined that the lock keepers would use virtually any excuse not to work. Yesterday, the Sun and Moon must have been in the wrong positions.

The Canal de Garonne is the first of the two canals making up the Canaux de Deux Mers, linking the Atlantic with the Mediterranean.

From Bertrand’s kind call, we determined that the first canal lock could not be opened until the tide was at a suitable state – and would be open at 11 exactly for us to enter. Whew! A few forced hours to relax in the good news and we’d be on our way.

It seems we aren’t the only ones who have access to the correct information since as soon as 11 approached so did 2 other boats, one racing to wake us and pass us into the lock, the other gently approaching behind making for a cozy fit. We were handed paperwork to complete, but when we tried to pay for our water ways pass “not me” was all we could get. With no choice we decided to just keep trying to pay until someone accepted our money, and hope we don’t get tossed into some French jail in the meantime.

The boat that rushed to be ahead of us, actually pulled off after the 2nd lock, and the slower sailboat, left after the first (the 2nd lock was too small for all 3 boats). This left us with the canal and each subsequent lock to ourselves. We’d been unable to find any information at the first lock (we’d expected some kind of welcome pack, with instructions and tips) so we were grateful to bumble around and discover how best to do everything without an audience. Apart from a few locks, this canal is entirely automatic. As you approach each lock there is a pole suspended mid water that you are required to grab and twist, and this sets off the process of preparing the lock for us and opening the gates. Once in the lock, and once secure, another button sets off the process of closing the doors, opening the sluices to adjust the water level and eventually opening the doors at the other end to let us be on our way. Electronic eyes sense when we have left and close the doors ready for the next process to begin. Despite being automatic, the power is turned off after hours, so travelling through the locks is restricted to between 9am & 7pm.

We soon felt comfortable managing the locks, and started to feel really on our way at last. We soaked up the agreeable and very French scenery and villages; shuttered houses, potted flowers in the windows and along the fences, and huddled together villages with steepled churches. The very style of the houses and buildings is so very not British, many have plaster falling off revealing inner brickwork, but it all seems to add to the charm. Chateaux sit atop hills and it is all so very charming. Gardens may be rambling or beautifully manicured, but still seem so French, we are loving it.



Kyle finds a hill to climb!
We were quite surprised at the number of British that seem to obviously live in the area. At one point we stopped at Meilham to climb a hill and admire the view of the river valley below – only to have our lines collected by Brits running the small harbor and boat rental for the town, other Brits rushed out of their dockside homes to wave and call to us, and plenty of canal boats (definitely non-ocean going vessels) sported British Flags, presumably owned by the ex-pat community.

Before we arrived in France, we’d obviously done our usual level of research and reading; almost every guide we read had warned us that the French don’t smile unless a joke as been cracked, and they perceive someone smiling for any other reason as a little slow, imbecilic perhaps. This is strange to us, as although we know ‘city folk’ don’t expect to be smiled at or even to make eye contact, between boaters it is a normal. At least we’d been warned.

However every French person we encounter walking or cycling along the canal towpath, smiles broadly, waves and says “bonjour”; a nice surprise after all our research. Teenagers are, of course, exempt from smiling or being impressed by anything, practising the disdainful look quite successfully. Often after a jovial group has passed us in the opposite direction they only then notice our flag. A double take and then some very overtly congratulatory cheer often follow this; arms pumped, an extra holler, or something. Kyle loves it! We presume it’s not so much that they are fans of America, but we are sailors who have travelled across the Atlantic, and the French do love their sailors, the best of whom are treated as full scale celebrities, as revered as any Hollywood star!

Eventually we found ourselves after hours unable to proceed through the next lock and tied up at St. Christophe for the night. A tiny village in the middle of nowhere really, but we managed to find a restaurant in an adjacent hamlet (Villeton), and sample yet more wine. There were only two other parties in the restaurant as we arrived, and despite the remoteness of our location, one group of 8 turned out to be Russian, the other a solitary ex-pat Brit with a 24-hour pass from his wife (according to him) to go and play on his boat. As the Brit left, after paying his bill and appearing to speak excellent French, he impressed us by then having a conversation with the Russians (in Russian), and eventually coming over to chat with us (having overheard our English), it was amusing to have him guess Kyle was from Shropshire based on Kyle’s accent. Here was us in the heart of rural France, and finding ourselves surrounded by other tourists and ex-pats. After plenty of wine, and a hearty meal, we retired back to the boat for the evening and slept soundly full of new memories.


Canal Scenes

To the Canal

[Kyle]The alarm clock chirped at 2:30am. We ran through all our pre-departure checks and left the marina just shy of 4am. It was completely dark, but we managed to survive the currents and channels, and daylight soon arrived. It was a rather nice trip. The Gironde split into two tributaries; the one we took was the Garonne, and apart from a couple of ships also making use of the flood tide, we had the river to ourselves.

As the sun came up we were passing through the industrial loading docks on the outskirts of Bordeaux. Shortly after sunrise we passed the majestic buildings of Bordeaux’s city center. Away from the center it was very ugly, industrial - the usual city stuff - and unfortunately there was nowhere ‘nice’ to tie up to – so we felt less bad for missing it and sailing by.


An early start, tranquillity and commerce on route
The biggest memory of Bordeaux for us was passing through the spans of the bridge ‘Pont de Pierre’. This is a beautiful, multi-arched, stone bridge and the first that required the mast down for safe passage to get under. We arrived at maximum flood current and found the water pushing at the span supports and creating its own wave systems. Our anxiety increased as we approached. First of all we’ve had many years of conditioning as sailors of looking at low bridges and being unsure that we could really get under (despite the charts indicating we could, it often just doesn’t look like we can until you are already committed). Secondly, the current was carrying us towards the bridge much faster than we were capable of reversing against it. Our only choice might be a 180 degree turn started way before the bridge to give room for a safe exit (but then where would we go?). By the time we were close enough to the bridge to see the enormous current, it was too late to back out – all we could do was steer a straight line and trust the charts. As we rushed towards our chosen (recommended) archway, we could clearly see the water the other side was lower than the water we were in. As we approached the near side, Footprint pitched forward and was accelerated through the log flume ride of the archway; splashing down on the other side. That will surely wake you up!


Bordeaux, picturesque and what a ride!
Eventually Bordeaux center gave way to industrial Bordeaux, and then to countryside as the river narrowed to become an intimate, cozy, rural idyll. Alongside the river we noted campgrounds and holiday homes. Houses with private docks, etc, but the most intriguing feature was the fishing hut - a platform of varying sturdiness, atop posts way out into the river, and with various pulleys and systems suspending a large cone of fishing net. Occasionally we’d see one in use where the fisherman would wind the system up and down using his hands on a bicycle pedal like system. We’ve no idea what fish they sought (and presumably caught) but these shacks and men-caves were common, fighting for space among each other on the shore line and we found them fascinating (at one point we discovered a fleet of rickety looking small fishing boats with the same net system – presumably for those folks that could not secure the water front land required to build their own shack).


Villages and fishing nets on route
We were enjoying the tranquil pass through French countryside when we rounded a bend in the river hit a fog bank. At first I hoped it was just an isolated patch of low visibility, but it turned into an hour of wheel gripping terror. Visibility decreased to a point we could not see the sides of the narrow river, and so low that it was difficult to see debris passing in the water in sufficient time to avoid it, despite our enforced low speed - all adding to the stress. Every now and then one bank or the other would appear out of the fog and we’d use the compass to ensure we didn’t over-steer back into the other bank (the Chartplotter and GPS were also, obviously, a great help); It was perfect conditions for the radar, but this was connected to the unstepped mast, and no longer wired to the boat, as was our automatic horn (we had to resort to a manual compressed air horn). I was very relieved when the fog finally started to ease, both banks again visible, and a few minutes later we were back in glorious sunshine again.

We were feeling very pleased with ourselves having made the best of the tide, looking forward to entering the canal by noon, when the engine sped up and the boat lost power; yikes! We opened up the transmission cover and could clearly see the drivetrain slowing down, indicating that the transmission as disengaging. By reducing the load on the engine we were able to nervously get it back under control, but as the day wore on the slipping occurred at lower and lower power. After much diagnosis, it seems our most likely candidate for a cause was the transmission compartment is improperly ventilated and after several hours of use at normal power begins to overheat, and struggle. I suspect that the installation was never intended for continuous sustained motoring, but without a mast we have little choice.

Since then we have adopted a scheme of gradually reducing the maximum power we expect from the transmission as the day progresses, and so far this seems to be working (no repeats of the problem when we have applied this policy, repeats when we don’t). Of course, all of the stopping the boat in the middle of the river to open compartments and diagnose problems caused us to lose out on our good current on the way to the canal entrance. We approached Castets into an increasingly strong current, which increased our stress levels wondering ‘what if the engine fails now? What is our plan?’ It was with much relief hat we finally arrived in Castets-en-Dorthe, and the entrance to the Canal around 12:30.

Being 12:30 we were not too concerned to find the entrance control traffic lights off (the lock keepers need to take their lunch break), but by 2pm they were still off, and we received no response from our radio calls nor our telephone calls. Eventually I dropped Maryanne off at the landing dock (no mooring allowed) for her to investigate. The office appeared abandoned, and was full of signs of the strike; could it be the strike was still on? Eventually we decided to flaunt the rules and tie up to the landing stage so we could both explore. In our broken French we managed to establish that they were not on strike, but we needed to call someone. There was no response from the intercom system by the door, and none from our phone calls either – eventually our phone credit ran out. Maryanne had purchased extra credit when she bought the SIM card, but had been unable to understand the menu options and actually add the credit. We sought help from a friendly local (again in French), but they too could not establish how to add the credit, but did tell us that we needed to call a freephone support number from a land-line (nearest one in town a couple of miles away at the post office). We had to leave our temporary location as the tide changed, so we moved to a different dock, but then had no access to shore… Hmmm. We conceded defeat and settled in for the night, hoping to start the process again the following morning.


Castets, and the châteaux that stands at the entrance
No-worries, time to open the wine we’d bought in Pauillac and use Maryanne’s new glasses, a leaving gift from her work in Manchester.

Pauillac

A few shots of Pauillac
[Kyle]By 7:30 in the morning, the Marina was abuzz with activity, and we were only hoping to add to that. We need the mast unstepped for the next leg. We located the port captain (Alain), who could not have been more helpful. He spoke a little English, but in broken French, and we were able to explain our needs to him between our English and French. We needed Immigration clearance (for me, the American), we needed diesel and, most importantly, we needed the mast unstepped – today if at all possible. The marina no longer dispensed fuel at the dock due to lack of business, but the Captain offered to drive us to the petrol station with our jerry cans to fill them there. He called immigration and left messages on two different phones (land line and mobile) but we never did get a call back.

As for the mast un-stepping, we were initially told it could not happen that day due to the tide states, but it was soon agreed we could have it done that evening ‘after hours’, and would have to move the boat in a strong current once the area by the crane was accessible – to be prepared we were advised to move to a dock upstream of the crane, so we’d not have to fight the current later. This dock however was in shallow water, and would dry out completely at high tide. It was difficult with the language barrier to get a good understanding of what was happening, but eventually he reassured us it was fine; the bottom was like ‘dentifrice’ (toothpaste). He was great about telling us where to put our fenders and lines to take the pressure as Footprint leaned in against the dock on the falling tide, and left us to it.

Suddenly we were frantic with work, preparing the mast for unstepping, filling water and fuel tanks, adding the finishing touches to our mast support system, and Maryanne ran into town to get French SIM cards for our mobile phones, and a few other odds. Very busy!

As the water drained out from under Footprint and (it turned out) the spot we’d occupied the night before (we hadn’t felt a thing, but you could clearly see where our hulls had previously settled in the mud). On the return from our foray for fuel, we stopped the car to chat with 4 people who Alain clearly knew. He explained to them that I was the ‘American from the Catamaran’ and they each made a point to shake my hand (through the window and past Alain) warmly with smiling faces. Alain dismissed all gratitude for his kindness ‘This is normal for Pauillac’.

As the tide eventually rose, Footprint floated off the mud with a giant burp and it was time to remove the mast. After all the preparation, the actual event was over quickly; the mast lifted, the supports raised, and the mast lowered upon them. Alain, in his helpfulness, kept ‘correcting’ my knots and almost anything else I did. Maryanne was amused and I was trying not to be annoyed at such a nice guy. He asked where we were going next and when we planned to leave. When we told him he began another round of cheek puffing and insisting “c’est une probleme”. I had wanted to leave with the favorable current to get as far up the river as I could, and this required leaving at 3am (dark). Alain seemed to be convinced that nobody could safely navigate the river in the dark and was concerned about our plan. He also told us that the lock keepers were on strike (so French) and that the canals would be closed, so what was the hurry? This was followed by a flurry of phone calls to conclude the strike was now over (big relief).

While I finished the last of the lashing down of our now horizontal mast, Maryanne spent an hour being advised when to leave, where to go next, and how to get there. I truly appreciated all the help at Pauillac marina (even if I ignored much of the advice).

Once the mast-unstepping was complete, and we moved to yet another berth (freshly dredged, no chance of grounding at low tide) to wait for the next low tide and be off. Until then we had expected it would be necessary to leave at high tide slack and wait on a mooring until low tide slack water. Being at a dock meant we had some spare time to explore the town.


Footprint waits on the mud for mast Unstepping, and once complete, for the morning tide to leave - note the giant bottle of wine that marks the entrance to the Marina - wine country!
Despite us both being exhausted, we were determined to use this extra time to explore and find a place to eat. We eventually found ourselves at a Pizzeria/restaurant where we enjoyed a meal made by folks who clearly cared about food. For the local wine, we shared a white wine called ‘Entre des deux Mers’ (between two seas) – it seemed perfectly fitting. The meal was lovely and we were surrounded by the sounds of he French language all around us, which gradually faded until we found ourselves the only remaining clients! We paid our enormous bill, and staggered home, happy to be in France, and slept like babies until the early morning alarm.

Leaving the UK

[Kyle]The time had finally come for us to leave Preston. We were mostly finished with all but minor jobs, so the last day didn’t end up being too hectic. We checked the time of high tide and confirmed it with marina staff and the lock/bridge controller. We all agreed to within 20 minutes of each other, we were set to leave at 7pm, just half an hour before high tide, exiting with the flood-waters along the river to the sea.

We exited the first bridge and into the first lock, and were surprised to find ourselves floating in the lock high above the outer basin which showed itself to be full of mud with just a trickle of water for the channel. The tide comes up very fast in Preston, the wind was pushing away the water, and the neap tides are (apparently) notoriously late. The bridge operator verified how much depth we needed to get through and suggested we would need to wait another half an hour within the lock. We tied up near the boat yard crane to wait-out the half-hour, and spent the time chatting with guys hanging out in the yard. Then, without notice, the water dropped rapidly as the lock emptied. We had expected them to let the water come up to meet us, since there wasn’t any, and had cleated our lines for the wait. We had to rush to un-cleat them or leave the boat hanging in mid air as the water dropped away beneath us. A minor jolt of adrenaline! After a few more minutes the lock gates opened and we wound away along the sliver of water between the mud banks in the outer harbor and found ourselves in the river proper. Once there the water level gradually continued to rise and with the help of a good tail wind and increasingly strong ebb current we made good time into the Irish Sea (the dreaded Irish Sea).


Quite night watches and hitch hikers
The Irish Sea turned out to show its milder side. It took us two tidal cycles to get to Anglesey. The periods of wind against tide were a little sloppy, but not terrifying nor even uncomfortable. Just before rounding Anglesey the wind increased until strong enough that Maryanne had to reduce sail several times (stops her getting lazy). Once around the corner and in the lee of the land things died off and calmed down and pretty much stayed that way two more days for the remaining run down the Welsh and English coasts to Land’s End.


Land's End in the grey distance
We rounded Land’s End just as my watch began at noon. The weather had turned grey and hazy and we were safely far enough from the rocks that it didn’t appear as much else than a grey silhouette against a grey sky. There was just a little contrast with the white tourist shops atop the cliffs. Visually, it was not so dramatic, but it was still a big moment as we slipped past the last few miles of Britain. It brought back memories of our last visit to the area before we went cruising; a windy day several years ago, I was so pleased to find the much calmer conditions for our passage today as Britain slowly faded into the haze behind us.

As we entered the English Channel (at its widest part), the East winds were unobstructed and picked up quite a bit. For the first time in the voyage we had decent winds. It was a bit choppy, but the winds weren’t forward of the beam, so it was just mildly uncomfortable, certainly not unbearable.

Our main concern with the English Channel had been the traffic. The English Channel is the busiest waterway in Europe (being the access route from the Atlantic for most N. European ports and those of much of England). Almost everyone had some alarming story about the continuous stream of ships to weave between on the crossing. In the end we spotted perhaps 4 ships in the Channel, and all well spread apart; During the 2 hours it took us to cross all the marked shipping lanes, we saw no ships all the way from one horizon to the other.

Once on the other side, and coming around the French island of Ouessant (?) our course turned South East into the wind where our ride instantly became more uncomfortable. I was worried this would be our lives for the remainder of the journey, but after a few hours the Bay of Biscay was down to mirror flat seas with barely enough breeze to hold the sails up, much less propel the boat anywhere.

Sitting watches in the early mornings went from being just above freezing (the first across the Irish Sea) to tolerable enough to omit the hat and gloves, and then any physical work at all made the six layer moon suit a little clammy. The daytime temperatures went from cold to sunny shorts weather (eventually).

Our passage across the north side of the Bay of Biscay alternated between slow sailing under all of the sail we could hang and long stretches of motoring. We were visited two or three times by pods of dolphins at dinnertime that seemed to get more playful the further south we sailed. The wind picked up a bit for the last night, before we entered the Gironde, and to avoid arriving on the wrong state of tide we had to reduce sail and force ourselves to go slower. Our goal was to arrive at the narrowest part of the channel/entrance where any current would have the most influence, at slack water.




Calm Bay of Biscay, and muddy Gironde
The Gironde is a very large estuary and drains an enormous amount of murky, silt-filled water into the Atlantic. Its effects can be felt many miles out to sea. For almost 100 miles up the river it has the look and consistency of chocolate milk! Several miles before the actual entrance, and hours before the slack water goal, Maryanne (mostly) got to fight the vicious ebb throughout her watch, sailing hard, but making little real progress. I came back on watch after 5 hours rest to find out we had only progressed 3 miles towards shore, all in very short, steep, waves sailing to windward, the exact conditions where the autopilot was useless and hand steering is exhausting but necessary. Eventually the ebb shifted to flood. At times our speed over ground was twice that of our speed through the water, and we managed to cover the 30 miles between the entrance at Royan and the marina at Pauillac in just 2.5 hours. We were going so fast, in fact, that we arrived in Pauillac before slack water and had to wait on a mooring ball (provided for this exact purpose) until it was safe to enter the marina. As slack water approached we entered the marina (built like a fortress against the raging current outside) and were directed by two friendly gentlemen to an empty slip on the fishing boat dock, and kindly provided with the shower code (it was well after closing time); we made the most of the showers as you would expect anyone who had just spent over a week at sea might!

We arrived!

We arrived in Pauillac and are now safely tied to the dock! One of our first human sights was a woman walking her poodle.

so French!

No Internet connection right now, but hopefully soon. So this is just a quick message via the sat phone.

UK - France - Passage Day 7

Weather: Clouds seem to burn off early in the morning and the days and nights are warmer, so we are expecting another a fine day
today; yesterday we actually wore shorts.

Sailing conditions: More downwind and light sailing, again a bit more motoring yesterday, and seas relatively flat. A little
wing-on-wing with the screacher (our light wind sail) until the wind picks up too much. Not a great fast passage, but mostly easy.

General Comments: Although we are truly appreciating the warmer weather, and the bright sunshine of the day, we are already finding
mosquitoes in the boat by early evening. for the last two nights now! A killing patrol is in order, but I fear we are already
losing the battle; who knows what they will be like once we are actually within sight of land!

The past few nights the bioluminescence trailing off the back of each hull make the boat seem like a pair of rocket ships blasting
through the night waters, it's magical to watch and I hope the millions of creatures we have disturbed forgive us for ploughing
through their waters; they put on a great show. [Kyle] It's not just the boat wake that lights up the seas. What in the day time
are white caps, at night become self laminating flashes for the same reasons, watching the sea is as romantic as watching the night
stars.

Kyle amazed me yesterday by telling me that we have now moved South enough to be at the same latitude as Portland, Oregon (where the
boat hails from). Portland for me always seems such a cold place (compared to France), and it is hard for me to remember that
Britain is on the same latitude as Siberia, given our relatively mild climate (thanks to the ocean currents).

We are nearly there of course, and now we are stalling at the entrance to the Gironde, waiting for slack water to sail up the river
on the flood (with the current); entering on the ebb is reported to be quite treacherous. So far even though we are only 8 or 10
miles from shore, it is too hazy to see land, so no comments yet on the beauties of France.

We are almost there but we'll still not be able to rest and celebrate since our first task will be to prepare the mast for removal
(remove the sails, disconnect all the rigging, no mean feat). We will also have to find officials for the legal procedures of
entering the country.

Food: Salad for Lunch, Pasta for dinner

Progress: Yesterday we made 88.16nm, So far on this trip we have travelled (through the water) 571nm, and have 45nm (routed line -
to Pauillac now, which includes 29 newly added nautical miles for the adjusted destination) to go.

UK - France - Passage Day 6

Weather: A beautiful day yesterday, sunny, warm, wonderful. This morning overcast, more rain expected.

Sailing conditions: Yesterday was so calm most of the day we made very little progress except for a while under motor. The sea was
so flat it's hard to be sure you are on an ocean, great for sleeping, not for progress and most unexpected for the notorious Bay of
Biscay. Frustrating as it seems the short distance to go is still a LONG way off.

General Comments: All the motoring yesterday gave us a chance to top up all our electronics. This was nice since along with my
French lessons, I'm also enjoying a number of my favorite PodCasts of which I had a huge backlog before leaving the UK (The Dave
Gorman Show, Car Talk, Naked Scientist, The complete guide to Everything, Friday night Comedy, and This American Life; a nice range
of fun, ridiculous, academic, and interesting).

Kyle too has been studying his French; we still can't understand 90%+ of what is said on the VHF radio so it's clear we need to be
studying. He also had a good spring clean of the boat, what a hero.

Food: Chinese Vegetable Noodles for Lunch, Pizza for dinner.

Progress: Yesterday we made 73.56nm, So far on this trip we have travelled (through the water) 511.29, and have 110nm (routed line)
to go.

UK - France - Passage Day 5

Weather: Yuk. Overcast, Dark storm clouds about and throughout the night; still not shorts
weather. No longer reliably sunny, now alternating between cracks of sunshine and bad thunderstorms.

Sailing conditions: Shifted to upwind, uncomfortable sailing, so with that and the surrounding storms we are holding off and hanging
out. Good wind crossing the channel and the first half day along the coast; Maryanne fought with sails up, down and reefed, storm
gusts over night, etc until the midnight hand over where things really turned nasty. We spent a lot of time with sails down, so our
good early progress yesterday didn't last.
General Comments: With strong off shore winds, we had two birds come and take refuge aboard Footprint, unfortunately one didn't
survive the night and the first left a our point closest to land so we hope he did just fine. All the VHF radio chatter is in
French, and it is obvious we have a LONG way to go despite our months of effort (with the radio static and rapid conversation, we
only understand the odd words).
During Kyle's watch yesterday he decided to change the clocks; well some of them, not all, so we would be on French time. Not only
had he changed the clocks, he'd changed the watch pattern (in his head). He didn't share any of this with me, and seemed upset when
I woke him an hour early since I was using my watch. We could not agree on the right time to use (I thought we'd already agreed to
stick to BST for the passage) so eventually we changed all the clocks and watches on the boat, switched to a different watch sheet
(so we are effectively do exactly the same thing at the same times), and then he decided it was crazy to have changed but 'we've
done it now' [Kyle] Now hang on a minute. I DID tell her I had changed the clocks when I woke her for her watch. It seemed a simple
enough thing to do but the way she reacted, you'd think I told her we were sailing the rest of the way backwards. [Maryanne]And I
swear he somehow stole an hour from my rest/sleep period.

Food: Leftovers for lunch and pasta for dinner, simple, easy, quick.
Progress: Yesterday we made 111nm, So far on this trip we have travelled (through the water) 406.16, and have 198nm (routed line) to
go.