Day 213 : barging revisited

I've been back home for a couple of days but my heart is still in Burgundy, somewhere on those tranquil, tree lined waterways with the sunlight sparkling on the surface, and possibly the odd duck.

I've been on chilled holidays previously, where you just lie on a beach or by the pool but they've never really seemed to feel quite as laid back as this one. Most of the time if you've gone to the effort of going away on holiday, especially to a new place, you feel you have to make the best of the opportunity, explore unfamiliar places, dashing off for new experiences and generally not just do nothing or it would must be a terrible waste.

But to be fair, given half a chance when I relax I can sleep for England. I think it’s because most of the time I'm living in a state of mild to extreme sleep deprivation. I just seem to believe that there isn't enough time for sleeping. First there’s work, so much work, too much work and then there’s catching up with friends, cramming in creative photography projects, maintaining a daily blog (eek), trying to keep up with my reading, my favourite TV shows on Sky+ and then all the domestic stuff. How on earth is there time to sleep?

My ideal situation would be to abandon all alarm clocks when on holiday but generally there's a timetable to adhere to. If breakfast is included you have to get a shimmy on by a certain time or that little avenue is closed. If an excursion is planned, they generally seem to cater for early birds so there's no lingering. When we did the Northern Baltic Cities cruise six years ago we got to enjoy some fabulous excursions Talin, Moscow, Stockholm, St. Petersburg, Berlin, Copenhagen et al but I also enjoyed the days at sea with no rushing around, perhaps a watercolour workshop and just time to really chill. As lovely as the little trips to vineyards, churches, cathedrals, museum, chateaux etc are they are not really on par with the Armoury containing all the fabulousness of Faberge eggs and the rest in Moscow and also I find myself cherishing the quiet time. The most energetic thing to do is watch the world drift by and occasionally brandishing my camera in the direction of a field dotted with those cylindrical bales of hay, a bird on a telegraph pole, pleasing stripes of the serene canal in front of us or the gushing water at the next lock.

Each lock was a fascination, the whole mechanism of raising or lowering our king of the canal seemed almost miraculous. Often our barge was so snug in the lock, we had to ensure our elbows were well tucked in for fear of grazing on the sides. The water starts as a sprung leak before it turns into a torrent. Our captain, in collaboration with the lock keeper, would regulate the flow before opening the gates with a big winching handle. The lock keeper would invariably be responsible for several locks in close proximity, so would buzz to the next one on a moped and be waiting for us as we drifted into view.

Sometimes the incline change needed would so great the lock would need to be so deep that our large barge would be dwarfed by the water-loving plants covered walls. You'd be so closely surrounded by the walls you'd look up to see just a small patch of blue and the walls dripping . One of the other guests told of a previous barging holiday where another passenger was very claustrophobic. She had found these sort of locks so impossible to cope with she'd had to abandon her barging holiday and seek another form of transport.

Today I tried to book another trip on the same barge. They talked of a Christmas in Paris which seemed an excellent idea and I immediately started researching the possibility of joining them. I've looked high and low how to book this. I checked with the travel agency I booked with, they certainly had nothing on their books for the rest of this year for the good ship Jeanine. I tried with the owners of the barge Croisi Europe but they also couldn't help. They think this is a private charter and I wouldn't be able to book. I also took the opportunity to complain about their shocking website concerning booking future excursions on this barge, the French I can more or less navigate with the help of google translate (and Michel Thomas) but there just seemed to be no way to view any trips, for the remainder of 2013 or even 2014.

I've been thwarted in my cunning Christmas plan. I haven't ruled out going to Paris though, but it's not going to be by barge it seems.

 

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Day 212 : Captain Penguin

When we visited the barge museum last week I spotted a little souvenir fridge magnet of a boat (let’s say barge!) to add to the extensive and eclectic collection adorning my fridge. Definitely fodder for a photo project one day, but I digress.

On returning to the barge I figured that if I could find a suitably magnetic surface I could give my diminutive penguins their own barging experience. I struggled to find anything that would sustain a fridge magnet but after testing pretty much everything metal on the barge, I realise the flag pole on the roof would suffice. It was extremely hot, sizzling hot up there, the reason we generally didn’t hit the sun beds the crew diligently laid out for us every day. To get an extreme close-up, I figured I'd attach said magnet to the flagpole and then ever so carefully situate the penguins. Oh so fiddly! And then lie face down on the upper deck, with the close-up filters screwed on to my camera, three, no two, actually one of them will be enough. It was a pretty tough task, those penguins are rickety and hampered by the full-on blast of the late afternoon sun, but finally the little waders stood up long enough for me to photograph them.

As a final flourish I decided to customise them, a J for our captain carefully navigating the difficult locks and C for the captain-in-training. The other passengers suggested I share the image with the features stars but I figured it would take a lot of explanation as to why I carry miniature penguins around and secondly why I thought they should be represented as thus. However I did and J took a photograph of my photograph, which I guess is a good sign. C wished I'd send it to him and I was able to mention yet again our abject wifi deprivation! Though I'm pretty sure they could use the wifi (weefee), but the passengers couldn't because the mechanism that charged us per hour was not functioning! Hmmm! Our chef seemed concerned as to where he was, obviously in the galley whipping us up something fabulous.

Random but I had time for such craziness!

 

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Day 208 : The treat of total tranquility

It’s the wee small hours on an incredibly quiet barge. We are moored in the most secluded spot we’ve been all week and now everyone has gone to bed, though there were only two of us up, finishing our wine from dinner and putting the world to rights.

The sunset was dramatic, as the vibrant smears of pink, yellow and orange streak across the sky I climb up on the roof to get a better vantage point. My favourite shot has the sky throwing a multicolour layer on the jacuzzi, where we’ve spent all day gently drifting.

I sit up on the roof listening to the gentle buzz of other guests below. I want to imprint this image on my memory so when the craziness of work kicks in again, I can summon this vision as succour, balm, a little piece of total tranquility.

 

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Day 207 : Les beaux tournesols

I've transferred my obsession about poppies to sunflowers. I've only see one slightly bedraggled looking poppy but fields of sunflowers lie enticingly out if camera’s sight through the coach windows or just too far from the canal side. But that's part of the hunt. Even if they are close I'm thwarted by them pointing in the wrong direction. There is a misconception that sunflowers follow the sun during the day, hence the French name tournesols, but even if they do rotate as they grow when they are young the mature flowers face east. Which is really infuriating when you're due west of them on a gently drifting barge.

But after taking every opportunity to seek my prey we hit pay dirt in our night’s mooring location.

We’ve been aboard all day, several of us decamped to the jacuzzi, well it has the best view after all. Wearing a big hat, a camera in one hand, a glass of chilled rosé in the other, this really is the life. Today is the day of the many locks so we get to see Julien, our capitaine in action. Many of the locks need some vigorous winching to open the gates and let the water rush through and the whole exercise is fascinating to watch.

Our only excursion today was to visit Alain in his lock-keeper’s cottage. He has a museum chock-full of curios, odd souvenirs, found objects and frankly weird things. Apparently most have been donated by visiting ’bargees’ but it’s hard to understand why anyone would have some of those items casually about their person. I donated a penguin, he seemed to be lacking one in his acquired hoard. Though he did seem to have a mountain lion on a much greater scale. I'm not sure where the penguin would fit in though!

After our browse through Alain’s bizarre collection, we went for a meander around the secluded area. We’re not near a town tonight, there's little apart from a few cottages, an empty towpath as far as the eye can see and many fields. And one of these fields contains sunflowers Hooray I can walk round to the other side of the shy flowers I might be able to get the shots I crave.

It also seems appropriate after abandoning one of my diminutive penguins to a new life being the toy thing of an angry looking mountain lion I should create a cavorting penguin vs. sunflower image. They don't make my heart sing quite as much as poppies do (but that is a long held, deeply rooted fixation), but they are bright, bold and beautiful and I'm delighted to be able immerse myself in some lone sunflower time!

 

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Look who woke be up this morning...

The early morning quiet is broken by a brief tap on my porthole window and some quacking. And when I pulled back the curtains the beady eye of a duck is staring me in the face. It seems they recall where they had a fine supper last night!

If I look to the right, at the bridge we crossed into Saint-Jean-de-Losne yesterday, the ducks are rather dramatically silhouetted against the early morning tendrils of sunlight. I'm rather fond of the bubbles rising in the water too!

 

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Day 206 : swanning around

We’ve had a very barge-y day. This morning after our buffet breakfast we congregate in the vibrant seating area, lower the screen and have a presentation. Audrey tells us about our barge Jeanine (formerly the Lorraine), explains the history, how it was built for passengers unlike most of the cargo carrying barges which are a different shape. Our hull is 5cm thick which, as Audrey ponders, could probably withstand Panzer tank attack (or those U-boats we heard about yesterday in Chalon) though there's nothing to indicate we may need our extra fortification. When the Lorraine was up for sale Croisi Europe were persuaded to buy it by some of our crew. Initially they were planning to just hire the crew for their other vessels but fell for the charms of the barge as we did. During the enormous total refurbishment project Audrey did her stuff on other boats in their fleet whilst as we can see from the photographs, Julien our capitaine and his second Camille rolled their sleeves up (more likely whipped their tops off, as we've discovered is their wont when they’re out of our sight!) and assisted with the paint job. They had input in the design also, designing a bespoke wheelhouse that can lower for the low bridges makes our barge rather the Rolls Royce of barges and the envy of the waterways.

We learnt the new new name is in honour of the company’s owner’s wife who broke a bottle of Crémant de Bourgogne (the local equivalent to Champagne) of the bow, part of this bottle hangs in the wheelhouse as a good luck charm. Jeanine was also instrumental in designing the new, vibrant, modern interior, special kudus for the twigs set in resin coffee table we all covert!

As well as everything you've ever needed to know about our barge we learnt of intriguing methods of getting from higher to lower ground rather than locks. There are curious barge lifts and alarming looking swing bridges. Later today we will be visiting the bargees’ museum as will see a lot more about the history of barge transport.

First we have another delicious lunch. The food onboard has been pleasingly to a higher standard than I'd hoped and we are being finely dined. Georges, our taciturn chef is producing delicious and elegant food but most of our praise sends him scuttling back into the galley, I think he's very shy. For lunch we normally have a roast with various vegetables and salads. And we enjoy Audrey’s “cheese corner” each day, she is taking us on a cheesy gastronomic tour of France. Eschewing both goats’ cheese and blue cheese as I do I thought I'd miss out but we've tucked into stunning Morbier and a double cream that sadly I cannot discover the name of, Compte and Brie de Meaux, with these cheeses they are definitely spoiling us!

After lunch grabbing hats and sunscreen again we meet our guide for a tour around Saint-Jean-de-Losne. Coincidentally our guide is seemingly named after the church - The church being John the Baptist and him being Jean Baptiste. He surprises us by constantly scanning a piece of paper during his talk and pausing to check where he has gotten to. We’ve had such excellent guides, clearly knowledgeable and passionate about their subject it’s curious to have one so lacking. After mumbling through his written notes he excelled himself by suggesting we sat in the cool pews of his namesake church whilst he walks to the front, to the aspe perhaps? He then proceeds to deliver his entire diatribe at the front with his back to us. Slowly we all turn to each other and shrug, no one has a clue what he's talking about. He was waving his arms enthusiastically towards various features, windows, paintings but I've no idea what was said. Not sure if he honoured his namesake church at all.

After a visit to some elegant rooms where all the local couple notarise their marriages we sample some cubes of pain d’epices and other local specialities. We then cross the road to the barge museum, now we are all confirmed bargees we are intrigued by the history and lore of the other bargees before us.

After our dinner the ducks circling our barge encouraged us to see if there was any French bread remaining and it transpires there is plenty. The ducks are very happy. As the sun is setting word has got around the wild fowl community and a trio of swans glide into view for their share making an attractive tableau.

Scenes like this, the quiet (save for the occasional quack), the gentle lapping of the water against the sides of the barge, the inky black skies with the lights twinkling from the town imbibes such a deep tranquility that I just want to stay here forever and can’t imagine going back to all the madness at home. But isn't that what holidays should do for you?

 

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Day 205 : moon moon river!

Today we’ve been visiting Chalon, it’s another scorcher and we’ve been diving from shady patch to shady patch. Chalon is gearing up for a big street art performance festival. Everywhere you turn there are fire eaters, dancers, fly posters and er...a pig with an overcoat with rubber gloves for hands. Our guide was a lovely German woman who had fallen for her adopted country, was very interesting regarding the early history of Chalon-sur-Saône and the more recent in WW II when Chalon was split between the occupied zone and Vichy. Some of our party were easily old enough to have fought in this war and her slightly German focused commentary didn't seem to go unnoticed but luckily there was nothing to take offence at. This area of France near history is intrinsically woven with the fortunes of the vineyards and which side of the line your vineyard was situated during the occupation.

There's a photography museum that I'm hoping to visit but it closed shortly after our guided tour finished. I hoped it may extend its hours in honour of the increased footfall for the festival but, sadly, this wasn't the case. The museum is here because one of Chalon’s acclaimed inhabitants, (Joseph) Nicéphore Niépce, is said to be the father of photography and some fine examples of his early work are housed within.

Our guide suggested that after our dinner we should return to the town to check out the festival in all its glory.

The last couple of nights our barge has been moored in a secluded spot, you see the odd cyclist or dog walker but really not much else. Suddenly we’re tethered by some steps right in the centre of all the action. The steps seem a popular spot for people to congregate, have a small picnic and as it gets later, all the local boys to hang out with their beers enjoying a bit of lively banter. Most of us decide to stay on the barge after dinner, we can drink our wine, hear the music from across the river where they seem to have a bit of a music festival with a centrepiece of a giant golden mosquito, and not bother with the crowds. One by one we realised that in the clear, darkening sky of twilight we could clearly see two full moons shining for all they were worth. There was some discussion that we’d perhaps had too many post-dinner drinks and a couple of wags claimed to only see one moon to confuse the others more. I climbed on the roof with my camera to get a better view and it really did look like the moon had acquired a twin, enhanced by the stillness of the night.

The tranquility of the buzz of the drinking boys, the strains of music floating over the river and another bottle of rosé was suddenly shattered by a proper, big, fat thunderstorm. The boys scattered sheltering under anything they could find. The moons betrayed their fakery by dancing wildly and erratically (though any more rosé and we may have been doing that also) and as a dramatic finale the sudden squally storm caused, what we could only believe was, gas and a flame to get too close and a small fireball appeared when a moon once was.

 

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Day 203 : all aboard the good ship Jeanine

Many people I know prepare for going on holiday by doing extensive research on their intended destination, possibly calling ahead to make choice reservations, pre-ordering some travellers cheques from their bank, stocking up on the necessary toiletries and general accoutrements, leaving the open suitcase close to hand inciting the gradual addition of neat piles of folded holiday attire. I tend to do things a little differently...note I don't say “better” but “differently”!

I will have done some research when booking the holiday, generally intending to do more nearer the time, and then I run out of time. I have been known to be organised and book the odd restaurant but this time I'd gathered a list of possibly eateries in Lyon, as I cannot visit the gastronomic capital of France with indulging in some culinary delights, but I've not made a definite decision yet. I had tried to buy some Euros at M&S when I spotted a favourable rate for cardholders but fairly unsurprisingly I don't carry my passport around, so was thwarted. I definitely should have bought sun tan lotion with a super high factor, but totally forgot but I did actually organise a new bathing costume for the jacuzzi (well, it would be rude not to!)

Despite best intentions, I always seem to end up packing at the last moment. I will have made an eleventh hour list in the packing app on my iPad and then be hurtling around grabbing: a sun hat, carbon fibre tripod, hiking boots (no, maybe not required on this occasion), sandals, a stack of random floaty dresses, skirts, tops and shrugs that I will be slightly perplexed by my own choice of on arrival, jewellery (vitally important), oh and some extra bling for ’gala night’, extra memory card, camera batteries and charger (I’ll concede they're more vital), underwear (also rather crucial) a pashmina or two, or seven, did I remember to pack the hat? As long as my passport, ticket and credit card are stashed safely in my bag I guess I'm sorted.

The cab arrives, I'm wracking my brains to think if I've forgotten anything but so far, it seems good. As I'm flying British Airways for the first time for many years I'm hoping to explore terminal 5 but my flight annoyingly leaves from terminal 1 instead. I organise a delicious salmon platter for the flight, much to the jealous stares of the other passengers and even the air hostess who was handing out the inflight ’meal’ of either a couple of cookies or a bag of nuts.

The plane is met at Lyon by a perky representative and I'm trying to guess who my fellow travellers are. I figure it totally wrong but we congregate and we wend our way to our minibus for our final drive to the barge.

M.S. Jeanine (motor ship) is an imposing sight, she is lording it over the other barges and will be our beautiful home for the next week. The interior has just been completely refurbished and what could have been dull, clinical and practical is elegant, luxurious and vivid. The corner seating is all richly upholstered in white Charolais cow hide, though apparently (and luckily) it's forgiving of red wine stains!

I realised on the bus trip that I'd forgotten to pack heavy duty SPF sun tan lotion and I suspect we’re in for a lot of hardcore sun so I disembark again in search of protection. By the time I return, more passengers have joined us, it’s time to spruce up for pre-dinner drinks.

We meet our crew (dishy captain!) and break out the Kir, before tucking into our first very fine meal. I think I'm going to enjoy it on here.

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