Hermionedoes beyond Paris

Paris is for lovers.

very slow ones!

Before leaving Paris fuel fever sets in. Have we enough Diesel? Can you get diesel after Paris? Will we run out in the middle of nowhere? So, get diesel where you can and Paris Arsenal, with all these diesel boats, is bound to have a pump. A quick tour of the marina gave up nothing. A visit to the Capitainerie  confirmed that actually they don't have any diesel. And why should they?

Where can I get some then? It's okay there is a pump about a mile away along Rue St Antoine. Great I know where that is. So with Jerry cans strapped to my trusty trolley out I set. Having walked past it twice I notice two petrol pumps just perched on the pavement next to an underground car park. Inside there is a sign saying 'Garage' Diesel must be inside. I wander down and am met by a guy who looks suspiciously like Monsiour Hollande, perhaps moonlighting to help the economy. I say, with a sense of achievement, Gasoil S'il vous plait. The reply is non. Ferme. Damn it's just gone four and its Friday. A quick,, what time do you open tomorrow? Tells me that they don't but will be open Monday. Brilliant.

I tow my empty cans back to the boat telling myself I have enough fuel anyway and if Francoise can't be arsed to take my Euros I can't be arsed to come back.

We are leaving on Monday and when Monday comes fuel fever sets in and I load up my cans and set off to fill them up, in the searing heat. On arrival I am met by my good friend Francoise and I smile sweetly and say Gasoil S'il vous plait. Well his reply was stunning. Non, only Essence, no Gasoil.

At this point I realised what an asset to diplomacy not knowing the language was but also what a disadvantage it was to getting information. I stumbled back to the boat with my empty cans trying to work out how to say - you complete and utter, four squared, copper bottomed, twat in French.

So, deftly helmed out of Paris Arsenal lock by Caro, we head off up river to our first lock beyond Paris oh and we have to share it.

Notice the, 'I'm not bovered' look.

 We met up with Nigel and Mellie at Draveil.in his identical but one metre shorter  Southerly 115. A pleasant little marina within a country park but bloody hot. We parked Granddad under a tree and headed off to the shops to buy stuff for a Barbeque.

We made two mistakes, one we didn't see all the signs around the park saying no barbeques and two we bought duck sausages. We cooked on board.

The sausages were disgusting. In order to make them you take one well run over duck and mix it with the contents of the nearest bin. You then bind it together by folding in some old engine oil. Then you take a bike inner tube that has been marinated in the Seine near Paris for a few months, knot one end and stuff the former into the latter. Tie it off and package it up with the label 'Saucisson Canard' and sell it to unsuspecting boaters.

The Seine slowly returned to the picturesque river of the lower reaches outside Paris

Granddad settled in to his usual crew mode by honing in on the most tense sailing situation and then embarking on an extended commentary on the surrounding bird life. We developed coping strategies. -----We didn't really tie him up in that large blue bag!

As you can see a tireless crew alert, hardworking, constantly on the go, keeping a conscientious watch,hanging on the skippers every word!

We stopped at a lovely little town called Melun apparently where all the widowed queens of France ended  up. A couple of free nights as the services didn't work. We made new friends with the crew of Puddleduck. 

Granddad and I visited the museum which was small but quaint. The lady on reception had a wicked streak to her and asked if we were over 65 to which Granddad, seeing a concession, quickly acceded to. I protested that I wasn't 65 to which the lady asked if I was older or younger?

 It obviously comes with the isolation of working in Melun museum.

Pretty place. Spot Hermy behind the barges.

We lost Granddad at Melun railway station and continued our voyage and battle with French Wifi.

Next stop Samois Sur Seine near Fontainebleu.

Hermione does Paris! Finally there

Well Captain Milsnide and his crew left L'illon and made for Conflans a place full of barges. Some more inviting than others.

We stopped here for a couple of days to pick up Chloe. The son's girlfriend who happens to be French. Fantastic.

Tres Belle. Although not too sure how good it is to have someone onboard who knows what is actually being said? Much better to apply your own version of conversations.

Here are Caro and Joey overdoing it again!

Conflans is a really nice quayside mini marina with water and electric that was completely free. We nearly missed it after attempting to enter "Boat Paradise" on the opposite shore which was everything but, and didn't want us because we were too big after a really difficult berthing. Luckily I didn't have the language to articulate that it might have been sensible to explain on or near the huge "Boat Paradise" sign that actually it was little bloody boat paradise. Still it was much better to be on the Conflans side.

Equipped with Chloe we set off up to Bougival for our next stop and after a little tuition I asked to enter Bougival lock via the VHF. The answer was long and abrupt. Chloe said that the man had said we were not at Bougival lock and should stop calling him. I was convinced he didn't mean it and politely asked to enter the lock leaving off the name Bougival. No idea what the reply was but Chloe said it was rude. A quick look at the Fluvial Carte showed that we could carry on up river and return to Bougival via another lock. This sounded like a better option than trying to wind up the guy who didn't believe where we were. We did work out that the lock was closed for some reason.

We never made Bougival but stopped at Rueil which was a very pleasant little stop and free too.

Some French boys entertained us by jumping and cycling in to the river. All boys are the same!

From Rueil to Clichy our last stop before Paris where we had to find a bar to watch France play Portugal in the final. We had learnt at Conflans, where they won their semi-final, that the French like to express themselves through their car horns. In fact the car audible warning instrument seems to be directly linked to their emotions because their loss was equally expressed in this manner throughout the night.

An early start to enter Paris where we expected it to get slightly more hairy due to the number of pleasure cruisers there.

Entering Paris.

Hang on a minute what the hell is this? New York?

Or possibly Blackpool? I do wish the French would stop copying everyone!

Finally safe and sound in Paris Arsenal Harbour for a week's rest.

Well something like that. I was last here when I was about five and the one thing I remember clearly was that Paris is hard on the feet and I can safely say that it is today some fifty years later.

Of Course we are here for the Bastille day celebrations which were lovely and we did the Louvre, Montmartre, Notre Dame cathedral, a lovely zoo near the Arsenal together with many more sights which cannot be given justice too over six days. Again all is lovely here and the French, despite an affliction for horns and sirens have been great. Fully recommend a stay in Paris. In fact our new acquaintances Diane and Jean Francoise on Seatern have it right, they are going to stay for several months and do it properly. Perhaps on the way back.

Granddad on board now! That should bring some interesting stories.

Richard the Lion Heart was here!

Leaving Poses and returning to the Seine was uneventful. Dodged quite a few big boys as we headed up to Andelys or more precisely Val St Martin as the port at Andelys was closed due to silting. 

Andelys is famous for the Castle on the hill which Richard the Lion Heart built in a year.

I bet there was quite a bit of overtime involved or maybe he worked a salary on them! Anyway he didn't hang on to it for too long.

The port at Val St Martin just before you get to Andelys is so tiny that as you enter you start to expect to see the cast of 'Deliverance' but as it turns out its quite civilised all but the showers.

Next stop Vernon. A place I had never heard of but quite a lovely place with lots of old stuff and a nice harbour master. We had difficulty locating it at first as our friend, who was trail blazing ahead, got his lefts and rights mixed up in his text to us and we nearly went aground on the opposite shore trying to berth next to a semi submerged shopping trolley. Still when we got in, it was lovely and the only difficulty we had was that our mate was also in the habit of shaving a metre off the length of his boat to assist with berthing budgets. Of course he had exactly the same boat as us, a Southerly 115, the clue being 115, i.e. eleven point five metres long, emblazoned on the side of the boat. 

So the nice Vincent greeted us and was gushing about our mate and that we had the same lovely boat but then he started to fill out his form and asked "How long is your boat?" An awkward silence followed and I said well how long did Nigel say it was? He was puzzled for a moment then said aah yes 10 metres.

I need to speak to Nigel! This was worth the extra 2 Euros it would have cost, still less than 15 quid for the night.

You can see Hermy at the back of the small sailing boats berthed at the pretty little sailing club.

And here she is through the square window.

Near Vernon is a village called Giverny where old Claude Monet set up his easel. What a lovely house and gardens, well worth fighting your way through the American and Japanese tourists to see. We cycled there and found it despite the French sign posts. They are great at getting you on to a route and all excited about arriving but at the last minute they abandon you to ambiguity and uncertainty. Oh and another thing, the French have embraced the automatic light particularly in their loos. You go in and notice the floor is slightly wet but put it down to an over exuberant flushing system only to find out, during mid, flow that everything goes black and you didn't see the light switch when you walked in. What was an easy aim now becomes a shot in the dark. 

Vernon met all our needs and even the museum was quite pleasant. In fact it would have been right up there with Honfleur and Fecamp had a pigeon not ruined it all as we sat in a cafe having an evening beer. It seemed to single Caro out and clearly had been saving stuff up. The staff were horrified and wouldn't except any payment for our drinks. Still lovely people.

Off on 6th July making our way towards Paris with our next stop L'ilon an old quarry lake off the main drag where we can have a quiet night. Sadly no civilisation nearby despite a searching cycle by Joey and myself. Still the most modern looking set up and very cheap. We saw what we thought might be an otter here but it could just have been a large rat. We'll stick with Otter.

In tribute to my excellent writing and pronunciation the harbourmaster printed my bill with the name Monsieur Milsnide. 

All goes bent in Britain

We only popped back for a couple of weeks. When we arrived all was calm with a bit of gentle joshing between, and within, the parties over EU club membership then all hell broke loose. Felt a bit of a Boris for leaving just after the vote but our return to Rouen was not without a bit of trepidation. Would Jean Claude Juncker spot that Hermy was under a British flag and impound her? Could he redirect her mast to Brussels and make me come and negotiate its return? Would the previously perfectly friendly French suddenly turn hostile to a passing, Parlez vous Anglais? All was a bit uncertain.

No need to worry, there wasn't even a strike on. However despite a good trip to Dover and a good ferry trip to Calais we started to come up against it. Firstly we needed to go to Calais Frethurn Railway station. Problem. It seemed to be a bit of a surprise to the French bus service that someone might want to go there from Calais. Still it was possible but not before our connection left.

So a Taxi it was. Luckily a nice young Swiss chap was also caught in this dilemma and agreed to share our taxi which shouldn't be much as it was only a few kilometres outside Calais. 40 Euros Holy Moly!

Still we got our train and all was well. First change Boulogne. There was a very still looking train on platform five with no one on it. An uninterpretable tannoy message infused doubt. I caught the eye of a French railway person who politely informed me that the train was broken but it was okay another left in an hour and a half.

The 17:50 was on time and all looked good until Abbeville where we stopped. There was some kind of problem on the line. The very nice lady guard enquired about our final destination and went away. We waited for 45 minutes before the train slowly moved on. Lady Guard turned up again  and politely said you can get a taxi from Amiens to Rouen. I turned a sort of greeny purple realising that it was about 70 miles and the guard looked a little puzzled. I blurted out something about combien de Euros and she looked even more puzzled. it slowly became apparent that the French Railway system would foot the bill. Fantastic.

We got the taxi and averaging 150 KM per hour, no idea what that is in shillings and pence, with an equally fast meter we arrived in Rouen at around 10:30 pm with the meter showing 330 Euros. We paid him 20 Euros to drop us at the marina. What a day but lovely to be back at the boat. No leaks, no problems.

We aimed to leave at 1:30 pm Friday after showing Joey a bit of Rouen and at 1 pm we docked at the fuel berth. Caro helmed us in and as usual it was all slightly more precise than the regular helm.

Bloody fuel machine wouldn't work so we wandered over to the office where some kind of Pizza party was taking place, but no marina staff. It was at this moment after several weeks at Rouen that we discovered that from 1st May lunch time extended from 11:30 to 16:00. Bugger. So we stayed another night, got soaked walking back from town and left at 10 am Saturday.

 Leaving Rouen with the Boss at the helm. I can't get anywhere near it now.

Very nice city with nice people and lovely views although we have noticed a tendency to build tower blocks on the top of hills which is a little strange.

You know when the helm has discovered the auto-helm!

A lovely four hour trip up to the first lock at Amfreville. I announced our arrival in my best English VHF voice only to be met by a blunt Parlez Francais! which put me on the spot. I mumbled something about permitez vous entree a l'ecluse s'il vous plait and he came back with a lot of French.

I replied repetez s'il vous plait and he said  "come in". You see they can do it if they try.

Just past the lock is the village of Poses. Very pretty if a little shallow but we parked in this tree right next to the restaurant we had dinner in.

Note number one son on deck! We walked around this pretty little village hoping to come across a patisserie but we only came by the artist Michele Ratal who had converted the old bakery into an art gallery. Great and some lovely oils of the seine but no bread!

The next morning I spotted a local with bread in her bag but I reckon they were plastic and she only does this to wind up the tourists.

Andelys next.