Don't call me Scarface!

Don't call me Scarface.

Introducing Tigra. A stray cat which has managed to worm its way into our boat for food and shelter.

Truffle temptations

We visited Beaune market on Saturday and planned to do a little Christmas shopping. The boys were bemused by a particular stall which seemed to be selling gnarly brown lumps of dirt for lots of money. Their entrepreneurial spirit took hold and they were keen to set up a stall of their own with some clods of earth taken from a flower pot. Easy money.

I had to explain to them that these ugly lumps were highly sought after gourmet items called "truffles".

They were selling at 490 Euros per kilo. Bargain considering I have heard that Black Truffle currently sells at 1250 Euros per kilo and the White Truffle at 5800 Euros per kilo.

We didn't buy any.

What's in a name? Baaaaaa!

In the parents' language class there is a wonderful and varied selection of names : Lavinia, Palma, Afize, Nazli, Abdullah, Madgboule, Bathir, Zahira and Siobhan. Unfortunately it is the last name, and my name, which is proving to be the most difficult for the class to pronounce. So I have given them my nickname - Shiv.
Shiv has slowly morphed into "chev" which, with a French accent, is rather close to "chevre" and happens to be French for "goat". I don't mind. I'm just not looking forward to the lesson when they actually learn that word and the looks that they will give me once the penny drops!

Paris

The boys took their first trip to Paris at the weekend and had the added joy of seeing Andy. The boys and I had an easy trip from Dijon while Andy battled with unbelievably crap transport services in the UK.
We had taken advice and pre-booked our Eiffel Tower tickets and I hate to think how long the experience would have taken without them. We bypassed the queue on the ground but spent plenty of time in the vertical queue for lifts and staircases. Thankfully the skies were clear and the boys loved seeing Paris from  above. However the need for hot chocolate soon got the better of us and we tore down the staircases rather than wait for the lift.

We soon realised that Paris was packed and that anywhere and everywhere was a queue. We walked the boys up to the Arc de Triomphe and reeled when we saw the crowds. We joined the throng on the Champs Elysees and smiled at the massive queue outside the newly reopened Marks & Spencers where people were happy to wait two hours just to go into the store!

Luckily the river came to the rescue and we were able to get tickets on a Paris boat trip without too much trouble. We loved the Eiffel Tower light show which happens every night on the hour and lasts for ten minutes. 20,000 flashbulbs transform the dark steel girders into a glittering diamond encrusted sculpture. Simple but beautifully effective.

On the Sunday we had hoped to see the Modern Art galleries at the Pompidou Centre but the queues were unbelievable so we settled for Paris on foot and enjoyed as many of the sights as we could whilst fuelled by the thickest, richest and most expensive hot chocolates available.

The peaceful bit at the Pompidou Centre

Christmas has landed at Notre Dame

What Egyptians?

The latest craze on Lovers' Bridge.

Fun with languages

Since October I have been attending a French language class at the local college. It is free to non-French speaking parents of school age children in the St Jean area. I am not sure that my language skills are improving but I am certainly getting plenty to giggle about!
The group is predominantly Turkish. Thrown into the mix are an Italian and a Romanian and myself. Our teacher is Syrian. And although I do not speak Italian or Romanian I am now their official interpreter in class. Sometimes I am Rolf Harris and can only convey meaning by a "do you know what it is yet?" cartoon. And at other times I am the "lady of the dictionary" with access to the French dictionaries for all the classroom languages.
Despite our language barriers we have forged great friendships and have discovered words which are virtually the same in all our languages. This list is work in progress and by no means exhaustive and consists of the unquestionably essential combination of  : piano, elephant, parachute & aeroplane.
I just need a scenario where I can get all those things in one phrase...

"My Mate" Ken Clarkson

Hugs and kisses to Ken Clarkson (Film Caterer Extraordinaire & demon go-kart driver) who is one of our greatest blog followers and has generously ensured that the unique gourmet fare of England will be with us for years to come! Thank you from the crew of Lobelia. xxx

Bad Parenting

Just found this amongst our summer clips. An illustration of bad parenting. We actually paid someone to do this to our beloved son. It was well worth it!

Parades are like buses...

The boys are members of the local Judo club which has an excellent membership and an inspirational teacher. We spend several hours per week at the club and have been made to feel very welcome indeed. And last weekend the boys were invited to join the parade to celebrate 100 years of sporting associations in Saint Jean de Losne.

The French love a parade. They love a marching band. They love flags and banners and noise and uniforms. The emergency services usually join in and love to sound their sirens. And the parade nearly always visits the retirement home. I think it might be the french version of taking great-grandma to feed the ducks in the park (for those in the know - long live Beryl Reid in the Beiderbecke series!)

Saint Jean de Losne is not a big town, but when there is a parade it seems like a city the size of London. These parades can take up to two hours. I reckon a parade is the secret weapon in the Dukan diet arsenal because there is no time to stop and eat. Or perhaps this swarming syndrome is the most effective way to keep heating bills down and the town warm in the winter. Or maybe the decibel level is so high that it helps to drown out the annoying mobylettes (noisy scooters) that buzz about incessantly. After all - there can't be too many people who watch the parade as most of the town is already taking part in it.

apparently this appliance is still in service!

And only six days later we found ourselves in another parade. Same town. Different band. This time the boys paraded with school friends to the War Memorial for the Remembrance Service. They wore their poppies and fielded questions from bemused locals who do not know the poppies' significance. And they sang the Marseillaise and marched behind the band and the firemen and the local dignitaries. 

Our next scheduled parade is on December 11th : a re-run of the St Nicolas celebration which we took part in last year. I wonder which band it will be?

Here the sousaphone player nearly causes a pile-up!

X marks the spot

By Toutatis Dan is 10! X!!!! (in homage to Asterix)

... and X marks the spot where the cake sank thanks to some interesting power supply fluctuations at the lock that day...

Rugby World Cup chez nous

Last Friday, on the eve of the quarter-final clash between England and France, Callum wore his Number 10 England rugby shirt to school. The Headmaster is a big rugby fan (and a closet anglophile) and promised that he would wear his England rugby shirt to school the following Monday. He would wear it as a sign of mockery to whichever side had lost.
Saturday was a disaster for England. Both boys showed concern about what they should wear to school on Monday (remember - there is no uniform).
Monday morning arrived and the boys walked into school and were greeted by their Headmaster wearing his England shirt and a very very big smile. Callum's choice of uniform soon wiped that away!

The Headmaster is also Dan's class teacher. The morning's lessons were peppered with rugby remarks and the Head and Dan even performed the Haka infront of the rest of the class who remained bemused by the whole thing.

Luckily Dan put his Headmaster in his place by saying, "Souviens-toi de Six Pays, Monsieur Martin!" (translates as "Don't forget the Six Nations!)

Good luck on Saturday to Wales. We'll be cheering from here.

Back in St Jean de Losne

Started the day with an atmospheric sunrise on the Saone (roughly translated as "too foggy to move the boat yet").

Arrived back in St Jean de Losne to a fabulous welcome. Friends and neighbours waved to us from the riverbank and from other boats. The sun was shining and Lobelia slipped back into her old mooring as if she had never been away.
Nipped into town so that we could forewarn the school that the boys would be back in class. It was lovely to see Dan and Callum receive a big welcome from their school friends and teachers.
Paul and Mal arrived for coffee and a chat in the early evening. Coffee soon became wine and the early evening became early morning.
The boys went into school on Friday and we spent the day recovering!

Callum pays homage to Vincent Van Gogh

This is Callum's version of "Starry Night". A fabulous swirl of tissue and PVA glue which proved to be very effective.

Chalons sur Saone

Like Macon, Chalons used to be a barge town but has now lost the bulk of its moorings to the cruise ships and smaller holiday boats. We ended up on the disused and derelict high-sided industrial quays to the north of town. Apparently this is where they used to build submarines for the French Navy (so far from the coast!)
There was one other barge there, which seemed to be French registered, but was actually owned and lived on by an Englishman. We were soon joined by "Floan", who had been turned away from the Canal du Centre which was closed due to a lack of water.

We transformed our derelict quayside into little England and there was a roaring trade done in sections of the previous Saturday's copy of The Guardian.
Took the kids for a swim in the local pool and then, as the sun set, we contemplated our return to "moored up for winter" status.

Mistral chases us into Tournus

Still sunny and still on the River Saone and heading for Tournus. All was quiet until we reached the outer limits of the town and then the Mistral was upon us...

She caught up with us just as we were going under a bridge. That was fine. But I really did not envy the little hired holiday boat which was coming downstream and had to look up at a cruise ship and Lobelia and then search for a suitable gap.

We liked Tournus. Brilliant free mooring. Interesting shops. And fresh milk... (much rarer in France than in UK). The boys thought it was very exciting!

Saw our new friends on the commercial "Floan"- who were now heading north but unladen. Had a quick chat on the radio and they told us how they had been watching ospreys nearby. I think we had seen them too but had been unsure what they were.

We had taken a photo of another large bird of prey a week or two previously but had been unable to agree on its identification. The photo is below and all suggestions as to its identity would be gratefully received...

Cake shop found open on a Sunday

We had a friendly send-off from Saint Laurent in our "15metre" barge. Locals, whom we had met briefly, came down to wave us off and wish us well. And a man returning from his Sunday morning trip to the boulangerie complimented Lobelia by shouting - "joli bateau!" She is such a flirt.
After a couple of hours we reached Fleurville and moored up in a beautiful spot. Cycled to nearby Pont de Vaux which was a delightful little town - even on a Sunday. After helping an elderly gentleman who had fallen out of bed, we were rewarded with finding a patisserie that was open. Indulged en famille. Happiness.

Macon

After Lyon we motored north in glorious sunshine and revisited moorings which we had used on our way south. Unfortunately, due to the size and draught of Lobelia, these moorings are rare and quite often at the locks where there is very little sign of life.
We were very keen to stop off in Macon - which has a long history as a barge town. However, nowadays the long stone quays are either reserved for hotel boats only, have pontoons for boats less than 20metres long or have so little water or so much rubbish around them that it is impossible to moor. But we did spy a long, lonely pontoon on the opposite bank from Macon. Andy manoeuvred Lobelia carefully alongside and we received nods of welcome and approval from the locals of St Laurent. We moored up.

A few hours later we noticed the small sign that said the pontoon was for boats less than 15metres. But nobody was complaining, so we stayed put.
Enjoyed a walk around Macon, saw some unusual sights...

and partied onboard with splendid views of the floodlit bridge.

Flying the flag in Lyon

Motored through Lyon in sunshine with flags flying and video camera recording. There are tight bends and plenty of bridges and you must announce yourself (name, rank, length and direction) on the VHF radio as you approach each one. It can get quite exciting if you hear other boats announcing themselves and a little bit daunting when you hear them call “110 metres”.

We made it through and managed to enjoy the sights and sounds at the same time.

It's the end of the Rhone as we know it

Our final day on the Rhone. And our final Rhone lock with the rather marvellous floating bollards. The bollards sensed our sadness and gave ever greater mournful moans and groans as they lifted us up within sight of Lyon.

This time we decided to moor in Lyon on one of the old commercial quays. These quays are being transformed into trendy venues for bars, clubs, galleries and apartment blocks. But we still managed to moor for free in the midst of it all.

Took the bikes off and cycled back to the confluence where the Rhone meets the Saone – just for one last longing look. The Rhone has truly been Lobelia’s summer romance.

Treated ourselves to a meal out in one of the upmarket and rather overpriced restaurants on the waterfront and must have amused (or alarmed) fellow diners when we paid our bill, walked out and disappeared over the edge of the quayside and out of sight.

Vienne and more Romans!

Comfortably slipped back onto our previous mooring at St Romaine en Gal near the Roman Museum. However, this time we decided to take a walk across the bridge into Vienne. Climbed the steep, winding lanes to the top of the hill and enjoyed far-reaching, sun-soaked views of the Rhone and looked down on toytown Vienne with its model boat “Lobelia”.

Gazed at an abundance of Roman sights : the amphitheatre, arena, temple and forum and then revived Andy (who really has had enough of the Romans now) with a beer.

Chavanay

Underway in choppy conditions we spotted a laden commercial vessel (“Floan”) heading south and were surprised when they called us on the radio. They could see our Ensign flying merrily and wanted to know who we were. They introduced themselves as the last English couple working a commercial vessel on the French waterways and we soon realised that we had barging friends in common. Floan promised to call in on us at our winter mooring for a beer and a chat. In the meantime they were racing south to Viviers with a consignment of cement and were hoping to pick up another job to bring them back north again.

We had just finished waving farewell to them when we received a host of welcoming waves from the commercial vessels moored on the port above Sablons lock. Lobelia is getting known on the Rhone and is greeted by everyone with a wave and a smile. Even the massive cruise ships flash a friendly light as they pass us in the dark.

Moored at Chavanay where we had moored on our way south. Another peaceful mooring with views up into the vineyards which seem to hang for dear life onto the steep slopes. Today there were people clinging to the cliffside vines too, intent on harvesting the grapes.

The boys were eager to see if the Ragondin were still living happily in the stream nearby and raced down to take a look. They were rewarded with the sight of a dozen assorted size creatures who frolicked in the water amongst the ducks.

Enjoyed a cycle ride along the riverbank to nearby Condrieu and returned via a wine tasting where, getting a little ahead of ourselves, we purchased a rather nice white wine to enjoy on Christmas Eve.

St Vallier

We are making steady progress north on the Rhone. Stopped off in St Vallier which had absolutely everything going for it : sunshine, good moorings for boats our size, cycle paths, swimming pools, shops and an interesting looking waterfront. Appearances are not everything. The mooring was good, but the pool was closed for repairs, the shops were lacking, the waterfront overpowered by a busy road crammed with kamikaze heavy goods lorries and poor Callum needed a doctor.

The wind picked up overnight and St Vallier kept us in its grip for another day.

Study break

Boys are back at work in the Floating School and cracking on with their studies. But occasionally we let them out so that they can scrub the decks, coil the ropes and top up their tans.

On the move through the Donzere Gorge

A stunning gorge and a brilliant way to start a day of boating...

Gladiator School - the movie

Just released. The latest Gladiator movie starring Daniel (in blue) and Callum (in red).

Bollene Lock

On our trip down the Rhone earlier this summer we tried to describe the size and scale of the biggest and deepest lock in Europe. Today we had it to ourselves and it took a whopping 50,255,000 litres of water just to lift little old us 23metres up to the next level of the Rhone in no more than 10 minutes! (yes - that is 50 million)
Well, now that we have worked out how to put video clips on the blog we can now show you what it feels like at the bottom of the hole...

On the Rhone again

On our return trip north and the waterways seem noticeably quieter. The Petit Rhone from St Gilles Lock towards Arles is a stretch of river which is only accessible by boat. The riverbanks are thick with gnarled trees and dense shrubbery which spills down into the river and provides excellent fishing platforms for all kinds of birdlife.

Moored at Roquemaure once again and enjoyed spectacular views of the Rhone.

How to draw a flamingo

Everyone can draw a seagull. It is just a loopy "v" shape which can be the right way up or upside down. Well flamingoes are the next level. Just add a dash. They look ridiculous in the sky...

Kiss and Tell

They say Lobelia is quite a girl and that she gets around a bit... well, today she kissed the Mediterranean and then ran away again.

One of Lobelia's chaperones

Aigues Mortes and the salt marshes

Squeezed in a quick visit to the fortified town of Aigues Mortes on the edge of the Camargue National Park. The town is on the flat and completely hidden by massive ramparts. As you enter the town you wonder if you have stepped back in time or perhaps dropped into a different world.

The Camargue’s vast wetland is an invaluable environment for a wide range of plant and animal life and the production of salt on the marshes at Aigues Mortes provides an additional dimension to the ecosystem.

Salt has been produced at Aigues Mortes since the Roman times. The salt farmers fill enormous ponds with sea water and, with the help of the wind and the sun and some clever drainage, the sea water evaporates to leave water saturated with salt and finally this crystallizes to form a salt cake which can be harvested.

The salt lakes spread out in a beautiful spectrum of pinks. Brine shrimps are one of the few species able to live in this highly concentrated sea water and these tiny pink shrimps, beloved of hungry flamingos, give the pink colour to the flamingos’ feathers.

 Today the operation covers an area similar to the size of Paris (or 13,000 football pitches if you prefer) and the marshes are criss-crossed by over 340km of roads and tracks.

Unfortunately the only way to actually visit this area is by tourist train. We chose the stormiest, windiest day and the latest possible train with the grumpiest driver in the world. Added to that, we sat at the rear of the train with our backs to the direction of travel. The tour lasted an interminable 75 minutes of vertebrae-smashing, knee-knocking, eye-smarting agony.

But the views were stunning (for the first ten minutes).

Walls of Aigues Mortes in the distance

Too cold for a flamingo today!

Millau Viaduct

Visited the magnificent Millau Viaduct which elegantly dominates an entire valley. There is also an excellent visitor centre where you can watch a documentary about the building of the bridge.

Arles

This summer we have lived and breathed Roman life thanks to our two onboard gladiators. Arles, so important to Julius Caesar, just had to be visited. Even better, Arles was hosting a Roman festival. Better yet – Arles was Van Gogh’s old stomping ground. There would be something for all of us to enjoy.

Arles is a fabulous city to explore on foot and the Tourist Office have produced an excellent user-friendly guide (only €1) which introduces you to Roman, Medieval, Renaissance and Van Gogh aspects.

We started with the Van Gogh walk. Van Gogh had arrived in Arles in 1888 and the following 15 months turned out to be his most productive period : over 300 paintings and drawings. Panels representing some of his more famous pieces have been placed at the spot where Van Gogh would have placed his easel.

"Cafe Terrace at night" but visited in the day

After a picnic lunch in the Place de la Republique we visited the Roman theatre (circa 20BC) and sweltered in the heat as we explored it.

Then at 3pm we hot-footed it to Gladiator School where the boys enrolled on an unbelievably gruelling session of combat drill conducted in furiously fast French and Latin. It was exhausting to watch. Dan, inspired by a recently devoured set of 15 books entitled “Roman Mysteries”, got into role very quickly and took his training seriously. Cal caught the bug from Dan. The boys were brilliant. Unaware tourists strolling through the training area did not stand a chance as mini gladiators attacked them with swords and shields.

After Gladiator graduation we visited the Amphitheatre (built circa 80AD) which originally could hold some 20,000 spectators and is still used today as a key venue for bullfighting events. 

Thanks to the Roman festival there was no bull-fighting today. But there was Gladiator combat and it was excellent.

Nipped back down to the Place de la Republique to watch chariots, legionaries, Celtic warriors, Senators, Caesars and Gladiators assemble for a parade through the town. Boy heaven!

This Roman has found the perfect solution for  playing deaf to tourists!

Exhausted, we decided to leave Arles. However, on the return journey we decided to make a detour to visit another Roman marvel : the Pont du Gard. This UNESCO World Heritage site is an exceptionally well-preserved three-tiered Roman aqueduct. It was part of a 50km long canal built around 20BC in order to carry water from Uzes to Nimes. The 275m long bridge towers 50m above the Gard River. We walked across the bridge but the best views were from below, where we paddled in the river and cheered a bride and groom as they posed for their wedding photos.

Super Sete

Big sister Katrina has been to stay for a few days and has enjoyed a whistle stop sun-soaked tour of the local area.

We decided to show her the fishing port of Sete which is known as the Venice of Languedoc. It is an unusual town, which thanks to its geographical position, has many faces…

At the heart of Sete are the 17^th century canals alive with fishing boats and tour boats of all sizes and punctuated with road and rail bridges which lift at certain times of the day and allow the waterways’ pulse to beat strong and true as trains stop and cars queue and the town itself is rendered semi-conscious. Salt and fish and hot engine smells fill the air. And then the bridges drop down again and the enfuriating noise of mopeds rips through the senses once more. But the canals are the lifeblood and link the Mediterranean with the Rhone to Sete canal, the Canal de Midi and the enormous inland lagoon of oyster beds – the Etang de Thau.

Sete is a celebration of water and Katrina was lucky enough to see the town in full fete. Quays which are normally traffic blighted had been cleared and cafes had spilled tables and chairs onto the road and piled them high with mouth-watering displays of seafood. Chilled out tourists could wander at will and enjoy the walls of sound provided by bugle bands, oompah bands, strolling jazz, pumping accordions and banks of black speakers which lured the world and his wife to master new dance moves to thumping club music. 

And somehow above all this noise you could hear laughter and splashing. The “Cadre Royal” (part of the canal) had been turned into an arena for the Saint Louis festival and 10,000 spectators were expected to crowd into it to watch the biggest water jousting tournament of the year. But you don’t have to sit in the stands to watch it. You can hurl your inflatable dinghy or lilo or armchair or crocodile into the water and escape the sweltering heat by wallowing in the water for the event. We opted for the shade in the stands and watched as defiant jousters, dressed in white from head to toe, paraded into town with lances and shields held high. Two boats, each powered by ten oarsmen, charge at one another and, as they touch, the oars fold in so that the knights hovering high above on platforms can go to battle. The crowds scream with delight as a man in white plummets slow motioned into the water and one can only hope that he takes a spectator on an inflatable with him. It is fun to watch - but an hour in this heat is all you need.

Steep slopes with clusters of cypresses spiking the sky, rise up from the centre of town to a different Sete. We took Katrina up to the top of Mount St Clair to enjoy the panorama and we gazed out to sea, looked down on the red-tiled roofs and veins of waterway and turned to watch the sails of boats skirting along the edge of the oyster beds in the turquoise lagoon. These oyster beds fan out across the water like dinner tables for giants.

http://www.ot-sete.fr/videos_sete_video_joutes-rubrique-1229-FR-TOURISME_SETE.html

(sorry - having problems embedding a proper link, but this site has several clips showing the area)

Then to the south-west of Sete is a long spit of land which separates the lagoon from the sea. A road and the railway run along the middle and divide beach from vineyard. 

We drove down to the beach and enjoyed a refreshing swim in water with a wonderfully welcoming 24 degrees temperature. As the sun grew old so Sete settled into a shimmer of sparkles wrapped in velvet blue.