| France from the slow lane |
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| Written by Linda Hart, 2005 | |
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The candles were lit, the table was laid, the wine uncorked, the stew bubbling gently. Someone had put a CD on. I was passing the nibbles around when I suddenly realised that we could have been in the dining room of a cosy cottage anywhere between Kent and Cumbria. But we weren't. The six of us were in a saloon of a hired boat on the River Saône, in the Franche-Comté region of France, not too far from the German border. We had hammered in our mooring stakes on a grassy bank, making this bit of the river our address for the night. Beyond a long avenue of poplars on the opposite bank, we watched the setting sun streaking the sky with pink. We had spent the day passing by ancient villages of grey stone, Charollais cattle grazing in meadows and fishermen who gave us a barely perceptible nod. We congratulated ourselves on another successful day of steering a 9-ton boat upstream, covering approximately 15 miles/24km and going through six locks. The idea of a one-week cruise was rather daunting for my crew of 60-somethings. Was I sure that in this age of stringent health and safety regulations that you can be put in charge of a 42-foot/13m long cruiser without any exams, certification or experience? I was sure; you can; and we did. We met at Crown Blue Line's base at St-Jean-de-Losne (in Burgundy), once a bustling old commercial harbour that is now France's most popular port de plaisance (pleasure port). We had all read the helpful notes in Crown Blue Line's Captain's Handbook, so we knew that a boat may appear to be like a car - but it isn't. "To start with, a boat is poised on a liquid element, pushed by the current and the wind." And it is much heavier than a car "so it can do as much damage at a much slower speed." And it has no brakes, so in order to slow down or stop you go into reverse.  We were all keen to have our turn at the helm. The Handbook made us aware that social skills might be as important as nautical skills: "a car requires one driver who normally needs no help from his passengers. A boat requires a skipper and a crew." New circumstances called for new notions of who does what chores; the boat quickly became a gender-free environment. The men often made tea and mopped the deck while the females filled the water tank and steered us through locks. Speaking of locks, there were 33 of them between St-Jean-de-Losne and our destination at Fontenoy-le-Château (aren't French place names wonderful). The River Saône has been 'canalised', i.e. in previous centuries many locks were built to make it more easily navigable for commercial traffic. I've always been fascinated by locks - ingenious devices that enable a boat to travel through hilly country and go smoothly from higher to lower ground, or vice versa. Even though the locks on this trip were operated automatically - something unheard of in the UK - going through them definitely requires a team effort. Someone on the boat has to catch the pole hanging above the river and give it a quick twist to 'tell' the lock that your boat wants to enter. When you are given the green light (literally), then several someones have to make sure you don't hit the side of the lock, shout navigation advice to the helmsman, tie the boat to several bollards on the side of the lock, operate a lever to signal that the lock needs to be filled or emptied, and be ready with poles to make sure the swirling water doesn't push the boat against a lock wall. Once we got the hang of working the locks, we all relaxed a great deal. You travel at about 8 miles/12km an hour on most hire boats, so you quickly adjust your mood to seeing France from the slow lane. And there is a lot to see when you get off the roads and get onto a river. Life in the slow lane means you notice things; there is plenty of "time to stand and stare" as the poet WH Davies said. So we stared at the herons as they flapped lazily from one side of the river to the other on hearing the chug-chug-chug of our engine. We stared at some swans as they flew toward us at great speed just a few feet above the river, then went around either side of the boat and continued on their way - obviously in more of a hurry than we were. We stared at some microlights that buzzed overhead one evening, looking like giant mechanised dragonflies. At dusk one day we stared at a field full of brown lumps that eventually got up and slid into the water. Were they otters? Beavers? Voles? Moles? Minks? Next day a lock-keeper told us they were muskrats, which the farmers wanted to "éliminer" because of all the damage they did. As we lunched alfresco on the upper deck one hot afternoon, there was barely a breeze blowing. Suddenly a gust of wind lifted up the big yellow umbrella that was keeping the sun off a table full of French cheese. We stared, speechless, as the umbrella floated parachute-like across the river before landing and then promptly sinking. Life in the slow lane also means stopping at places we wouldn't normally have thought to visit. At Auxonne, a young Lieutenant Napolean spent three years, the start of the French Revolution, learning his military skills at the local artillery school. The Napolean Museum, located in the 15th-century tower of Auxonne's castle, contains much personal memorabilia, including the folding chair, table and campstool that he used in his field tent on later campaigns. The château at Ray-sur-Saône, perched on an outcrop above the river, provides a superb photo-opportunity. But we turned it into an opportunity to stretch our legs by walking up through the woods that surround the château. The village also has an 11th-century church and a rare 18th-century communal lavoir (for washing clothes). We then settled down to a superb four-course lunch at a restaurant called Chez Yvette ("Yvette's home"). Yvette herself served us, chatted with us and introduced us to the local Coteaux de Champlitte Chardonnay. Near the end of our trip we left the Saône - no longer navigable - and joined the Canal de l'Est. At the canalside village of Selles we visited the Roussey Fromagerie, a cheese factory with museum and shop attached. They have been making award-winning Emmental and Gruyère cheese here since 1943, and now make fromages biologiques (organic cheeses) as well. We watched the cheese being made, viewed some exhibitions and videos, and then, with appetite whetted, headed for the combined tasting room. The next morning we bid a sad farewell to our floating home, which had been wonderfully comfortable. The galley, with electric fridge, was well-equipped. There were three showers, three toilets and four cabins that each slept two people. The big saloon, with upholstered settee, had a steering wheel for rainy days, but we always used the one upstairs, on the spacious outside deck that provided another dining room. A large mini-cab took us back to our starting point at St-Jean-de-Losne, a mere two hours away by road. Seeing France rush by from the fast lane just didn't seem right. And suddenly days had names again (was today Friday or Saturday?) instead of being "tomorrow" or "yesterday". It took us all a while to adjust to the real world. |
