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.