All washed up.

Well that's it, it's time for bed. Hermy is out of the water and all went without too much of a hitch.

 It was blowing a bit of a hooley as we approached Navy Services yard and I spun the old girl around to dock her, forgetting the keel was up. So she didn't quite make the turn as quickly as I would have liked but bow thrusters are wonderful things.

 I became aware of some French yelling but couldn't really locate it until I looked up and saw a guy hanging from a mast telling me to come towards him. Now Mrs K doesn't like surprises but I had to abort her jumping ashore at the last minute and spun around again to head towards another dock with no way out and an adverse wind. I adopted the 'into wind' approach when more shouting erupted from this suspended Frenchman gesticulating that we must turn around and face the other way at the last minute. Well I could see that Mrs K was not happy but I didn't quite know how to articulate this to the man up the mast.

I spun her round again and we went alongside by which time the small Frenchman had come down to take our lines. At this point the Frenchman told Mrs K that he wanted to be handed the stern line just as Mrs K picked up a fender. He then made the mistake of saying "no the stern line." Her eyes narrowed, just slightly, as she continued with the fender. I could see he was clearly married as I was sure he felt the sudden chill. I think he realised he may become subject to a few well chosen, good husband, pointers should he carry on in the same tone. He was handed the stern line and his close up with Mrs K did the trick. He became very polite. I think he had done the 'Wife annoyed, damage limitation' for beginners course.

All became clear when he gesticulated towards a tractor set up with a large hydraulic trailer type thing and we were facing a slip way. All made sense now. 

Claude and Pascal were our guides while they pushed this sort of forklift set up under Hermy, lifted her and dragged her, teetering up this slope. So scary that we forgot to take a photo. One thing we have learnt in France is that an approaching lunchtime can become an issue if things don't look like they will conclude just before it.

It was 11:45 and we could tell that Pascal was hoping to get away on time. The chocking up had taken a while and all came to a head as they tried to extract the tractor thing. Claude wasn't listening to Pascal and caught the uprights with the lifter. An explosion of 'mind my French' broke out and we witnessed an 'I'm late for lunch and its all your bloody fault Claude,' domestic.

At 1205 all was well and we were slotted in amongst a forest of resting yachts. Despite my plea that our mast should be brought alongside it was clear that Monday was the next opening.

 An up close bottom inspection revealed a few scratches and scrapes that always come with too many rough, shallow encounters. A good clean and scrub, together with a bit of TLC returned her to her former silky smoothness.

Now since we had arrived in Port St Louis we had become aware of the quantity and size of the resident mosquitoes. Mrs K had suffered a bite or two and was not happy. I had spent a night beating myself about the face as the little devils approached my ears with that high pitched dentist's drill noise but somehow always managed to avoid death no matter how hard I slapped myself. 

Luckily Nige had given us a sheet of netting designed for just this eventuality and Mrs K built a mosquito proof stern cabin with which she was very pleased. She said it kept out all but one pest. I'm not quite sure what she meant.

Next step is to step the mast which is always a frightening thing. I have watched Bill and the old boys at the club do it a thousand times and it always appears to go without much of a hitch. When it is my mast it is usually a monumental pigs ear. Tangled ropes, tangled wires, bent split pins, lost pins, no pliers where you just left them, screw drivers that go missing, and wires that don't reach. All these add up to you being a nincompoop in the eyes of weary yards men and adding to your stress levels.

 We had a day to unwrap the mast and put all its bits together, of course bits that refused to cooperate, bits that did not behave as they should but by evening time I was there. What could go wrong?

We woke up on mast on day to a howling wind. Visions of elevated masts spinning around decapitating other masts filled my mind. They won't be able to do it, they will say next week, we will miss our train Mrs K will quickly work out whose fault it is. What will I do? 

The allotted time arrived and Claude and one other arrived. I went to meet the other. "You ready" he said with that, of course not, look about him. "I think so, but isn't it too windy?" "No" came the nonchalant reply it will get much worse than this. It's cold and windy just like being in England I joked. "No" came the reply " it's not raining."

I could see him casting his critical eye over my 'Bill trained' preparations. No criticism came although he removed my line to the bottom of the mast and put his own on. Picky, I thought.

Anyway it all went swimmingly. This other guy was clearly the boss, No way Claude was going to have a domestic here, the boss, present together with the British leading authority on husband correction, he didn't have a chance. Within 15 minutes I was running around trying not to unscrew bottle screws by accident, making sure everything was tight and all pins were in and bent over. Very pleasing and no piss taking from the yard men.

Finally got the bloody electrics to work, well most of them, and it doesn't leak. Yet.

Wife now complaining of ropes thrapping against the mast. I'd forgotten about that, 2 am on deck in the freezing cold in PJs trying to stop ropes bouncing about.

That's it. All washed up and heading home. With a bit of luck we might get Hermy to Corsica next year. See you all next year for another bit of a giggle.

Hermione has crossed France

Staying at Avignon for a week was a good decision but planning our next stop became a problem. There really wasn't one in the next 80 km despite the presence of great towns such as Arles and Beaucaire. We had heard that Arles was well worth a visit so we jumped on a TGV and went and had a look.

Oh yes and I have to report that the Osprey has eaten. After a great deal of circling and three visits to the same spot there was a sudden swoop and headlong dive, a titanic struggle and Mrs K bought a summer dress. Here she is modelling it beside Arles Roman Arena.

We decided we liked Arles, it's Roman remains, it's windy old streets and it's shops. A shame boaty people couldn't stop.

Note plenty of docking for commercial boats but no room for poor old Hermy.

This was also a prime example of a bridge destroyed by the Germans during the war with an appropriate plaque explaining just that.

I think, if you read between the lines, it says, so don't expect those responsible to get through our locks too quickly.

 If you want a sandwich you go to a sandwicherie, in France and we did just that beside the arena at Arles. It is also interesting to see that if you want a crepe you go to a creperie and if you want a tart you visit a tarterie. I wasn't allowed to visit the tarterie.

Having spent over a week at Avignon it was time to go and we decided we had to go early to make the 80 km trip to Port St Louis. This will be our final destination, and our rendezvous with the Mediterranean. So aiming to set off at 0730 I got up at 0630 to prepare the boat and the crew, neither seem to like early starts. At 7:25 all was ready, checks done and crew breakfasted. It was then that I opened the hatch and saw something I wasn't expecting. Fog.

We gave it a few minutes and I found out how to turn the Nav lights on. A quick thump and forward and stern lights were on. Now on my old boat the steaming light had its own switch so back down below but a search of the switches was unsuccessful. Back on deck I found myself staring at the sky. 

Where should the steaming light be? half way up the mast. Where is the mast? Port St Louis.

We got away by 7:45 which was unique for us two.

It did however take some time before it warmed up sufficiently to carry on with the winter bed sock programme.

But all began to brighten up and we passed some more castles .

This is the one at Tarascon but again nowhere to stop. I think I shall be writing to Monsieur Hollande about this.  Beaucaire marked our last lock on the Rhone and second to last overall. Surprisingly we were straight in.

The Camargue is quite flat and our journey to Port St Louis was uneventful only seeing two other ships on our way. Lots of fishermen and loads of Herons.

We arrived at Port St Louis with an hour and a half to spare before they open the lock. They have to coordinate it with the lifting of a busy road bridge so it operates at specific times.

After all the previous Rhone locks it was quite a surprise to find that the water level only dropped by two or three inches. This lock still however took the prize for being the slowest.

On entering Port St Louis we were greeted by Baloo and after a couple of attempts and many reassuring comments about undercurrents we berthed. We had finally made it to the Med.

All we have to do now is lift her out and put the mast back on. Where are the bottle screws my dear?

Sur Le Pont D'Avignon

I can fully recommend leftover Pizza for lunch as we cracked on towards Avignon. The Canadians, like the Germans, were early risers, despite a significant quantity of rum and coke, and were gone for 9am. Whereas Mrs K and I dawdled about and had a stroll round St Etienne village which did have a little life and a winery.

We got away by 10 ish which was good for us and yes Baloo was waiting at the next lock due to a dangerous cargo.

The lower Rhone is dotted with hills and castles to an increasing level as you approach Avignon.

And Avignon is a collection of hills and castles. The Name Avignon originated from a word that meant lord of rivers or place of violent winds. Lovely and peaceful on our arrival.

On our first day I treated Mrs K to a walking guided tour using the tourist info book and my uncanny navigational skills. At one point I thought one area may ignite a previously unhealthy interest but I think I got away with it.

I have noticed a slight change in Mrs K's focus recently as she now seeks LED lights for the on board illuminations. I think my talks about saving power may have been a little over the top. I may be condemning myself to dim energy saving bulbs like we have at home. 

These were responsible for many clothing faux pas's during my working career such as odd socks , blue suit trousers with grey suit jackets, blue ties with black suits, shirts buttoned incorrectly, shirts inside out as well as many foot injuries and twisted ankles due to trip hazards.

This brings me on to the fact that France, in general, is a trip hazard. Whereas in England you don't trip over the hazard you trip over the yellow warning cone, in France where ever you walk there is an unmarked lump, tree root, cobble or dip that tends to send bipeds tumbling forward in a most ungracious manner.

When I was a young policeman in Macclesfield I use to walk along the cobbled streets as coolly as I could balancing that bizarre armoured, top hat on my head. That was until I lost concentration and tripped on a bloody cobble sending the hat tumbling along the road, much to the amusement of passersby and the obliteration of my credibility amongst the villainy of Macclesfield.

Avignon seems to be the capital of trip hazards in Europe with Mrs K, normally as sure footed as an Alpine goat, doing a hop skip and a jump on Rue Victor Hugo. It wasn't a laughing matter.

The Pont de Avignon doesn't make it across the river but apparently did before around 1700. The guide says you couldn't walk across it without passing two clergymen and two ladies of the night. A sort of temptation and guilt trip.

The place did well for clergymen as they had their own collection of Popes in thirteen something which did wonders for the abundance of palaces and churches. The Palais de Papes and it's 700 years of scars is well worth a visit.

In keeping with tradition the church is called Notra Dame.

In order to supplement the 'on foot' tour we took a mini bus train tour around the city which was quite informative but did confirm the multitude of lumps and bumps in the place as we hung on for our dear lives. A bit like the history of Avignon by fairground ride.

Like most important French settlements they are based on, or next to, a river island and Avignon is no different with apparently the largest river island in France. 

Our mooring was opposite the island's very active rowing club and a restaurant. So to satisfy an urge to explore, out came the Bromptons and taking the free ferry, off we went on an Iphone app verses human navigational odyssey.

I had to concede to the iphone after several warnings from Mrs K that we were going wrong when we ended up in an orchard with no way through. We had also overtaken a couple out walking three times although I tried to deny they were the same couple until they said  "hello nice to see you again."

Still we made it to the restaurant where we had an absolutely lovely lunch. French cuisine redeemed itself. Mrs K had fish and chips and I had chicken and chips. Not a snout insight. lovely.

The view from the island near the restaurant across to our mooring for the week at Avignon.

Avignon was the host to the good news that our daughter had a job after four years of hard partying, I mean studying, at Newcastle. The tension had built to a crescendo over the past two days as we waited to hear the result of a number of tests and interviews. Winter sock production had ground to a complete halt. Yes she had done it and Mrs K's organisational mind mobilised, making the D day landings look like a trip to the pub. Clothing, housing, money, transport. It was a pleasure to watch.

Last part of the voyage approaching.

Scurvy amongst the crew

One thing we didn't really bargain for on this trip was either of us falling ill. Caro is fit and healthy in every respect and of course I do everything in moderation as everyone knows and have all the appropriate pills. But five months in and my nose becomes a tap, I had difficulty breathing and I'm coughing like a forty year old Yanmar diesel engine. I first started to feel unwell early in the morning before we left Valence and turned to Mrs K for soothing comfort. Now, she says I misheard her but I am sure she said what about Euthanasia? It was only when I questioned this rather harsh response that she asserted that she had said "what about Echinacea?"

Leaving Valence a little unwell but full of Echinacea we headed for the small port of Le Pouzin. I saw nice scenery but couldn't summon the energy to find out what it was.

We arrived in Le Pouzin via one lock  with no problems. Luckily the place was deserted and had a good dock to moor too. I was now done for and nurse Caroline stepped in. Sadly no uniform.  To bed doused up with various pain killers and cough mixtures, banished to the forepeak in the interests of protecting the rest of the crew from disease, all seemed well. I only began to worry again when Caro asked what the emergency numbers were in France.

Having seen nothing of Le Pouzin but strangely feeling a great deal better the next day, we made for Cruas. A small marina 11 km down the Rhone with only one lock on the way. We had to wait 40 minutes but curiously I spent much of the time watching some kind of bird of prey doing a bit of shopping.

On arrival at the small port of Cruas I was still feeling a little frail and although we much appreciate the French going to all this trouble to canalise and make the Rhone navigable unfortunately the town was now 2km from the port. So bone shakers it was. I wasn't sure I would survive.

Cruas. What a spot.

An entire medieval village virtually still intact, in fact in parts still being lived in. What an unexpected cure for a cold. I mean Flu.

The town council was slowly renovating it and making parts of it habitable as Gites. What a good way to preserve the architecture. Of course it was closed but you could crawl all over it as a school visit was doing. It was closed because it was out of season. We have worked out there are three seasons in France, too early in the season, the season when everyone is on holiday and out of season when everyone has gone home. The 11th Century Church was lovely but closed.

Yes, neatly framed between a cement works and a nuclear power station, Cruas is a gem. To celebrate our find, and my recovery, we had a beer at the local  ' La Taverne' where we struggled to understand the waiter until we learnt that this was because he was Glaswegian and was speaking English.

Have you noticed when you have the perfect backdrop and a beautiful model there is always some  bloody car in the way of every picture.

After a pleasant evening in Cruas surrounded by Canadians we left for Viviers which looked equally as interesting as Cruas.

 But the port was closed due to silting up. We watched a barge go in, mess about churning up the mud and leave before we poked our nose in and decided against it. So our next best was 30 km down river at a little village called St Etienne des Sorts.

In order to reach St Etienne we had to go through the deepest lock on the Rhone at Bollene which coincided with our 1000 nautical mile mark.

Deep dark and scary. Yes both of them.

As it happened on arrival at St Etiene there was another boat 'Baloo' parked up on the little jetty which could only accommodate two boats.

 Baloo was one of the Canadian boats that had been at Cruas. As we finished tying up the crew of Baloo turned up to point out that there were no supplies available.

A quick look at Caro's whizzy phone map showed a supermarket just across the river 2 km away but the nearest bridge was 20 km away. I suggested using the dinghy to drop Caro and a bike off across the river but she didn't reply, although it suddenly felt chilly.

So we sat there contemplating various tins when, would you believe it, a yellow pizza van appeared and parked right next to the dock. All Canadian and British needs met. How do they do it?

We have found that in certain conditions the shape of your bottom can lead to slapping. This evening a little boisterousness in the air had lead to some slapping and Mrs K was having none of it. She retired to the fore peak to avoid it while I stayed in the stern and put up with it. Well I was just pleased that after all this time there was not a single barnacle to be seen. Fresh water leaves your bottom very clean.

The Rhone Ranger

Okay I couldn't resist the title. 

I have noticed that we have been struggling to make a start on our daily legs much before lunch time and was becoming a little envious of our new friends in Beligou. A German couple who are up, fed and washed and away by 9 am. We however seem to find plenty to do in the mornings. Getting out of bed is one major task. Impossible without a cup of tea. Then it's breakfast, then a shower and then another coffee.

Wednesday was no exception. Beligou, knowing there were two locks and 42 km to go before our destination, the small town of Condrieu, were up and gone before our cup of tea was sat on the bedside.

I had been getting a little worried about Mrs Kilbride as she seemed to have lost some purpose in that she was not hunting for any particular object. The sun umbrella had been her last and I was worried that having nothing to focus on could become difficult if her attentions turned to husband development. A course I have been enrolled on for 23 years.

Well I suddenly realised I needn't  have worried  as we sat in Starbucks using their Wifi this Wednesday morning before our long voyage to watch a Youtube video on how to knit the heels on  bed socks. An all too complex process that is testing my little cream cake.

At last we set off at 11:30 taking a last look at the lovely Lyon before we press on down the Rhone.

The locks are getting deeper and scarier, note the guillotine similarity here. You don't upset lock keepers on the Rhone you know.

Which brings me back to our good friends on Beligou with whom we caught up at the second lock. They had been kept waiting at the first lock for an hour and had been at the second for over an hour partly due to a dangerous cargo ship.

We arrived and ten minutes later we followed this hotel ship in with Beligou.

Condrieu was an old barge man's town with not too much available.  After a joint Anglo German search of both sides of the river we managed a few supplies but decided it was definitely a one night stand.

Well the next morning's embarkation processes went according to established national practices with Beligou gone before the tea maid had got himself moving. Knowing we had even further to go we got away by 10 ish.

Sablons was the first lock 18 km down the Rhone and to our surprise Beligou was sat there. We pulled alongside and the poor things had waited over an hour again. I was beginning to think this may be a French German thing. We had seen a number of references to Bridges destroyed by the Germans during the war. Again, shortly after our arrival, and some of my eloquent  French radio work, the lights turned green and in we went.

We followed Beligou to the next lock at Gervans a further 27 Km down river and watched them tie up at the waiting pontoon. We drew alongside and the Skipper told us the lock keeper said there would be a 20 minute wait. As he spoke the lights changed to green. Again our arrival seemed to have changed everything.

After this we went in to the next lock first and of course it opened straight away. I told Beligou that I hadn't mentioned them to the lock keeper.

After a very long hard day  dismissing stops that were too shallow or virtually uninhabited we made for Valence as we knew the weather was turning and we may get stuck for a few days. The scenery is now much more dramatic, stormy and rugged. Just as I am often described.

Valence is a very old town of Roman origin. Old Boney began his career here at Emperors and Conquerors college excelling at bombing the crap out of people. There is the, compulsory, medieval cathedral, Strangely not called Notre Dame but St Appolinaire, a lovely market, shops including a wool shop for Mrs K, parks and an unusual bandstand with a backdrop of the Rhone and the surrounding mountains.

This bandstand was made famous by the artist Peynet who, in 1942, was sat around in the park wondering what to paint when he saw a single violinist on the bandstand playing to a solitary onlooker, apparently the violinist's lover.

Just like Peynet, I think I was able to capture the romance of it all.

Valence is a proper town, a real shopping town. We like shopping!

I was stood in a woman's clothing shop just outside the changing rooms trying not to look too suspicious, careful not to look towards the lingerie section, while Mrs K was trying stuff on. When my mind recalled our sighting of an Osprey on the Rhone. This majestic bird flew gracefully up and down the river scouring and searching, swooping low for a closer look and then circling away just at the last minute. Dedicated to the hunt it soared near and far, taking its time, examining, probing, moving closer, testing, then backing away. After a considerable time she circled eyes fixed, like only a bird of prey can, then dove headlong into the Rhone. But no, she still didn't come out with a bloody summer dress.

We like Valence but four nights just about covered it and it was time to explore the Rhone further.

Sewn up the Soane

Tournus was lovely and we had a pleasant chat with a chap who recognised the lines of a Southerly 115. He was in Tournus collecting wines to take back to Blighty but I think I lost him when I asked which ones he would recommend for under 2 Euros.

Next stop Macon. 30 km down the Soane. Just before we left Tournus the guy in the boat in front said that there was a formula one event so Macon might be busy. So I was thinking Louis Hamilton, or is it Neil?

We ambled down the Soane and decided to stop at the nice marina just before the town rather than look to tie up right in town. Which was a lucky decision as a 2km boneshaker ride revealed when we got there.

This is what he meant by formula one in Macon. Hermy getting mixed up in that lot might have caused a stir around right of way!

Macon is a nice, busy town with some interesting buildings and possibly the best solution to difficult children I have seen.

You select your unwanted child, bring him or her here, turn the barrel, place said child inside, turn it back and make a run for it. Not sure it's still operable today but it has a very convenient and tidy ring to it. I will put it to the Kent Safeguarding Children Board

We decided not to stay at Macon the marina was a bit pricey and I didn't fancy cycling in again so we set off bright and early, about 11:30 to make for Villafranche. 

For some reason I had in my mind that this might be quaint and lovely. I made the same mistake with Sittingbourne before I saw it. 

We met a nice English couple on Dunvegan, a barge they had been cruising around in for the last ten years or so and they gave us some good info on the River Rhone. 

Welted my head on their companionway but no blood. I think its stopped going there.

A quick visit to the supermarket and the post office and we left for Lyon.

Entering Lyon was like entering Paris but with much less trauma. We only had to dodge one big boat.

Lyon is a place worth a visit. Lovely harbour not unlike Paris Arsenal but much less busy. The city is built on the confluence (where they join, someone had to tell me ) of the river Rhone and the river Soane.

We did a flying bus tour around all the major touristy sites then went for a French lunch. Yes we thought we had better give the cuisine another chance so we had a plat de jour. Pig snout salad and other undecipherable things but it wasn't too bad. especially if you wash it down with a nice rose.

Note the dodgy bottle measure. Apparently the silk workers were given a pink stuff allowance and the bosses short changed them with these bottles. 

Outrageous, now I understand the revolution.

Immediately after this meal we decided to walk up to the Notre Dame Cathedral at the top of the hill.

We groaned and moaned all the way. We knew we should have done this before lunch but food got the better of us.

Notra Dame sits at the top of the hill and is called the upside down elephant by the locals. 

You can't quite see it here but next to it is an Eiffel tower not quite as grand as the Paris one and it is now just a phone mast. The Cathedral was worth the walk which is through a nice park.

My very supportive children will tell you that I have become a bit of a plaque reading bore over the years but I was pleased to come across this one in the old town section of Lyon.

The first police forensic science lab created by Dr Edmond Locard. I think he is famous for saying every contact leaves a mess. He must have had children.

They go in for strange buildings in Lyon. Artists paint all over them. Some are really odd colours and this one took the biscuit. Is it a space ship?

Would you believe it it's a museum although a bit modern. 

It had a shoe section, a society section, a dance section, an afterlife section and an African pot section. I didn't grumble once. Great for families I know my two would love it.

Well that's it, done the Soane now heading into the mighty Rhone for our last leg.

Here is the join. Soane coming in from the right. Taken from the bridge of the Enterprise.

Welcome back autohelm

Again our journey across France went without a hitch. The only slight delay was at security on the British side at Ebbsfleet when a nice young man nodded towards me from the X-ray side and I was pulled to one side and given a pat down by another nice young man. I was then lead over to a table to discuss the contents of my bag. An inflated step fender, various pipes, an oil extractor pump, a toilet servicing kit, six weeks supply of tablets and some other plumbing gear necessary for my survival. 

Seemed perfectly usual to me. Anyway I explained and, because I have one of those believable faces, he let me through.

Another professional self portrait!

Visits home are to try and sort things out so that you can carry on from far away. We just arrived back at the boat when we are told of a serious crisis at home.

After much debate it was left to its own devices and the last remaining child vacated the family home in search of safer accommodation.

Arriving back at Chalon, Hermy was as we left her. We were challenged quite robustly by the French lady on the neighbouring boat making sure we were the owners before we were allowed back on board. Nice to know Hermy was being watched. I wouldn't have taken this lady on if I were a thief.

Getting anxious about the distances to go we leave the lovely marina at  Chalon the next day and head for Tournus.

 It had been quite stressful steering all day along narrow canals and in and out of locks. A return to the auto helm has been very welcome. I think Caro has managed to settle back in to the routine.

The only disadvantage is that we are now back in the world of commercial barges.

Up until now you could see them coming with the flow from in front as they ploughed downhill, now they creep up quickly from behind. Almost as scary as spiders!

Tournus is a quaint little town, originally a supply camp for the Romans then, with the emergence of  an Abbey, the town prospered. Saint Philibert (Parents couldn't agree between Philip and Albert) built the abbey on the spot where some poor old Christian was beheaded. That's boring sermons for you. A great deal of it is still there after a thousand years. I wonder if the launch of the iphone seven will be remembered in a thousand years. 

After a pleasant day wandering around Tournus it was lovely to sit on the back of the boat with a  cool Blonde and listen to the chattering starlings gathering among the Plane trees lining the river front. At least I think they are Plane trees I may be corrected by the family tree expert.

When suddenly, out of nowhere, at about 9 pm, we hear this terrible squawking then a loud bang. It sounded like the assassination of the last Dodo. In the dark we see that a man has appeared in a van equipped with loud speakers and a long stick. The speakers are playing these horrific squawking sounds, probably of birds of prey and he is attaching a firework to the end of a stick, lighting it, inserting it up the tree where there is a loud explosion. 

The interesting thing was that very few starlings flew off. They seemed to accept that they may have been disturbing the neighbours and just kept it down a bit. So we returned to the tranquility of humans on motorbikes, sirens, car horns and people putting bottles in bottle banks. Now that's much better. (Okay that might have been me with the bottles but the point is made.)

We decided to stay another evening in Tournus as it was so nice and do one of our guided tours of the town. We particularly wanted to see the cycle museum which is just out of town but despite a number of reassuring adverts stating the opening times on the way ----

it was shut. Well, of course, it was Friday at 11 am, what did we expect. 

So off we trundled to the 16th century Hospital museum not expecting much but being pleasantly surprised. I would have been happy to spend a few nights here. Although some of the instruments looked alarming.

We Settled back on the boat with a beer and eye ointment due to me rubbing sun lotion into them, one of the many hazards of sailing in hot climes, I was attended to by nurse Caroline.

Again we watched the hundreds of Starlings circling and gathering in the trees clearly not put off by last night's events. Shortly afterwards a great big cruiser parked behind us.

their generators drowned out the starlings. Where's that man with a stick and a firework when you need him? Caroline won't be able to hear my snoring!

The canals are over, long live the rivers.

The Lock fest meant that we only had 16 more locks before Chagny. Very pleased with the old girl as she is coping well with the slow runs, all the locks and the mucky water. I have to check her strainer every day and gave her a 500 mile oil and filter change at Auxerre. 

Quite low maintenance for a girl!

Jumping on and off at locks mean her hull and topsides get mucky and need a brush down regularly. Caro has perfected the running around closing hatches when she sees me reaching for my hose. We don't want any wet beds again.

We finally reached Chagny at 17:20 on Saturday, we came round a corner and saw all brand new docks laid out.

But no other boats at all. It seemed a bit deserted. Poor old Hermy, all alone. Note the high security fence,or rather gate. Several young lads jumped across to the docks to go fishing during the evening.

We think we found out why it wasn't popular as we became aware of a phone type ringing in the back ground which seemed to be coming from the tile factory behind but it went on all night. Probably the roof tile help line.

Still Chagny was alive and kicking. It had a Sunday market so we went expecting the usual four or five stalls but it was fantastic, nearly all the town centre was taken up by stalls of all kinds and it was really busy.

A real French market with live chickens for sale.

My idea of a coup on the foredeck fell on stoney ground but we did however buy 2 huge tuna steaks for tea which were lovely.

Sunday afternoon and we decided to hit some locks to make our trip to Chalon Sur Soane easy. Nine automatic locks to Fragnes a small village 12 kilometres along the canal. 

We have to say that we started to take to the auto locks after our initial rant about them and we got to the stage where we didn't like lock keepers interfering with our process towards the end telling us which bollards to use, not letting us pull the string and releasing our lines before we were ready.

We arrived at Fragness early in the evening and it was throbbing. We felt we must have turned a corner and that France came alive the further South you went. In fact Fragnes was just closing down a Sunday fete and the lovely canal side restaurant was closed Sunday and Monday. Did they know we were coming?

The old girl with the er old girl!

Fragnes had a strange old thing in the centre of the village. A twix to any old engineer who can say what it is used for?

An early start (9:30 ish) on Monday takes us down the last part of the Canal Central and into the deepest lock so far.

A ten metre drop takes us to the link with the river Soane and a couple of miles down takes us into the pretty and thriving town of Chalon Sur Soane where we will leave Hermy for a week while we go home and do some home jobs. It's like going on holiday from your holiday!

 A return to wide rivers and the autohelm. Lovely. 

Chalon marks the end of the canal system after 800 nautical miles, so far, from Gillingham and 239 locks.