Rouen in Seine

Taming the seine on our continuing journey of 67 miles from Honfleur to Rouen was my main concern and once the flood had met the incoming tide all settled down. Our speed increased across the ground to 10 knots at one point. The stress went out of the journey and seemed to transfer to concerned, shore side, dwellers. We saw a number of people peering across the river wondering how high it would get and one lady was measuring the river height to the top of her wall, about 18 inches as far as I could see. Many houses appeared to be below river level.

Not too much traffic around but we did have to dodge a number of trees.

Our arrival in Rouen was uneventful making me think I might be getting the hang of this sailing lark.

Of course Rouen was where Hermy had to have her mast removed. A very scary experience.

 These old boys were tip top. Christophe, operating the crane thing, was a younger version of Bill at Segas sailing club, totally in control while finding time to mildly take the piss. It must be part of the training. He mentioned that he would be relying on me to go up the mast to attach the sling. I just smiled thinking this was just him having fun, but he meant it. Although Hermy has steps I always considered them to be for the use of others. Wife belayed me so that if I fell my descent would have been slowed by her ascent. Not sure where it would have all finished but all went well. Old chimp instincts kicked in.

Hermy Sans Mast... It's just not right.

Of course that was only the beginning. We had to wrap the mast for transportation. What does that mean? I have some Christmas experience but that has received criticism in the past.

Miles of tape, bubble wrap, cling film and cardboard. I'll never complain about presents again.

So now we had time to explore Rouen and taking our lives in our hands we took on the French traffic system. Driving on the wrong side of the road is difficult enough in a car but on a bike they seem to come at you from everywhere. I decided it was important to blend in  so that they didn't go for me because I looked different.

This fashionable look has attracted the odd approving comments from youthful, trendy French people  promenading along the Seine. I must look up " Regardez le Tosseur."

Actually this bike is an instrument of torture, no amount of cream and Chaffe free underwear spare you from the pains associated with such an unforgiving saddle. I am sure it was an earlier version of this that got Joan of Arc to confess she was a heretic. 'Submitez vous  or vous allez to the supermarche sur le bicyclette madamoiselle.' On the subject of Joan, interestingly, they refer to her as being "Brulee'd which conjures up images of your creme brulee being tied to a stake and torched. Or the young maiden being crisped up on the outside with a blow torch.

Just when you are beginning to think all disasters are past, no current open head wounds, I usually find a new one and today was no exception. Due to the rain I noticed that our bimini was beginning to sag having collected a gallon or two of water. 

No problem, a quick push from underneath would take the strain off and deposit the water into the marina. I promptly did this but then heard muffled screaming which, at first, I couldn't quite place but it did have that 'Caro' ring to it and was often heard when disaster strikes with a slight tone of, 'and this is your bloody fault,' I felt reassured, couldn't be my fault as I was outside and the screaming was from inside! 'Now what could be the matter with that wife?' Small side windows were open. Bed took about a gallon.

Opting back in to Britain ... Home tomorrow 14th June.