The arrival of a beautiful morning caused a slow start as we lounged around the sunny cockpit sipping coffee, gorging plump strawberries, nibbling on various cheeses and crunching on rough chunks torn from a three-foot baguette.
By noon we had passed a few locks and soon thereafter came upon Saint-Mammès where we left the Seine and entered the Loing, the first canal on our route South.
"Take the Adventure, heed the call, now ere the irrevocable moment passes! ‘Tis but a banging of the door behind you, a blithesome step forward, and you are out of the old life and into the new! Then some day, some day long hence, jog home here if you will, when the cup has been drained and the play has been played, and sit down by your quiet river with a store of goodly memories for company." Kenneth Graham - Wind in the Willows
The Loing is rather narrow and the locks are even narrower, no more than 1.5m wider than the Wanderlust ll. The peniche captains skilfully manoeuvre their long steel barges in and out of the locks with only centimetres to spare. Often, they are crewed by elderly couples who have been plying the waterways of Europe for most of their lives as did their families before them. The women usually stand at the bow operating a front rudder, obeying the silent hand signals of the captain who works the rear rudder and engine.
These peniches are floating homes to their owners and are mostly gaily painted as such. The cluttered afterdeck is equipped accordingly: flower pots on the window ledges, clothes drying on a line, a bicycle or two, a motorcycle or even a small Renault neatly perched on the rear deck. Their cargoes seem mostly sand and gravel which, I trust, generates enough income for their frugal lifestyle. However, that practice is diminishing and like so many fundamental things these days will soon disappear.
At late afternoon we tied up to a couple of trees beside the bank in the middle of nowhere, or so we thought. The day had been particularly hot and sweaty with the mercury topping 95 degrees. We had been travelling across farmland where trees and undergrowth act as a break stopping any breeze that might happen by.
I needed to cool down desperately and set forth onto the bank with the portable shower tank. No sooner had I soaped all over, shampoo in hair and eyes when I heard the sounds of a motocyclette sputtering toward me. As the rider jammed on the brakes he was no doubt dismayed to find a soap lathered, naked body, perched in the middle of his familiar track. I got quite a surprise also.
Cooking this night became a drawn out affair as we were somewhat pooped after a long and very hot day. Nevertheless, our labours did result in boneless rib steaks with a green peppercorn sauce, herbed potato cubes, sauteed zucchini and a green salad under a confit of raspberry and onion dressing.
During dinner, a huge, old tree beneath which we had parked chose to demonstrate its rite of seed proliferation. I don't know what type of tree it was but in the quiet of night, just before midnight, it gave a muffled “pop” which showered the decks with countless butterfly-shaped seedlings. The evening being so tranquil dragged us to 1.AM. before we opted for the bunks. Eight locks were passed this long day. It took hours the next day to scrape those seeds from the dew-soaked decks.
JUNE 22.
A passing shower that misty, Sunday morning kept us below decks listening to John read Hugh McKnight's book, "Cruising French Canals & Rivers". His book dealt interestingly with the Auberge au Fil de L'eau at Chaintreauville, a tiny town which we would encounter later that day. McKnight's account detailed the Inn as being somewhat unorthodox as it was home to a menagerie of feathered friends including a cockatoo, or two, a myna bird and a “flock of acrobatic white doves which swooped through the open dining room windows.” All this, no doubt suitably enthralled the local gentry.
However, the book was a couple of years old and time must have changed things because all we saw was a couple of scrawny doves and lots of pigeons lethargically pecking at something in the grass.
The dining room could indeed be described as, well, homely. A baby was having its diaper changed on one of the eating tables and the floor was strewn with a clutter of baby stuff. The play-pen which seemed well ensconced in the centre of the room gave rise to the thought that the dining room may have lost its popularity amongst the paying public. And, as for the jungle birds plain and exotic and the reported acrobatic doves, we saw nothing but an abundant spread of bird shit over everything including the picnic tables and chairs.
Not to be thwarted by such matters and being rather hungry we each enjoyed a spartan pork sandwich in the fresh air of the garden well away from the smelly diapers. Perhaps the place was under new management, in which case, I fear for their prosperity.
I suppose a leisurely cruise through the canals and waterways of France epitomises the best of European living. Sipping fine wines, sampling gastronomic treasures and enjoying the country-side ambiance sounds so wonderful. But, in reality, there are long periods of monotony that may dampen the hurried adventurer who expects the freedom of wide open spaces. Many of canals are man made, some of them many centuries old. They are narrow with thick lush foliage and trees growing along the banks, therefore, views of the surrounding lands are not always to be enjoyed.
By far the most interesting scenery begins at the River Soane which is several hundred metres wide in places and passes through the great wine areas and towns of historical note.
But for now, it was time to leave the Loing Canal and dream of those lazy days when life was just the joy of sitting idly by as the Wunderlust II chugged quietly on the Loing and I felt the simple joy of messing about in a boat and being with good friends, good wine and good food.
What more can we ask for?
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