Open sesame Richardmenil to Nancy

One could be forgiven for having thoughts that summer was over a day early as dawn arrived with a temperature in single digits. 

It's not that we were particularly aware of the dawn temperature, but Ron looked triumphant, having discovered in what for us would have been the wee small hours that the air-conditioner was actually a reverse cycle one.  Once again the saloon of Tiara, this time magically heated to a balmy twenty four degrees was the setting for our elevenses, which, because we were anxious to get underway, took place at nine.  

We hadn't considered for a moment that we took to be his triumphal look may of course have been merely one of relief, knowing that we would soon once again part company and they would once again find solitude and relief from our periodic raids on their larder and coffee supplies.

The ten kilometres between Richardmenil and Nancy is known as the Nancy Junction Canal had been closed for four years or five due to land-slips and other malfunctions which left parts of it devoid of water and other parts simply devoid, but was reopened mid year with little spectacle and it is a rather relaxing diversion through one of the city's green spaces,  with the tow path shared by what seems to be every cyclist in France, and possibly half of the remaining population who don't for one reason or another have bikes for that matter.    Bicycles, hikers, mobility scooters and even the odd walking frame whizz past as though there is no tomorrow.

If we were to have a complaint at all, it would not be that there are nineteen locks along the way, but that the hydraulic devices that operate the doors tend to be quite slow.  This is a good thing. It makes transiting through them entirely worry-free, but after staring at the nineteenth pair of gates for the day, willing them to open, the process can be as much of a drain on the mind as it is on the locks themselves.

So we were a bit weary by the time we arrived in Nancy, the breeze which had been building all day, had become wind, with gusts sufficient to stop most of our forward progress from time to time, so we prudently elected to stay against the stone quay opposite the port where hundreds of metres of empty quay allowed us to nonchalantly stop and tie off wherever the wind took us.

Slowing down again Maron to Richardmenil

We didn' t mean to travel as far as we did yesterday.

We had decided we'd just pop round the corner and stay at the first place that looked as though it had room for two boats, but we didn't like the first and the second was too shallow and by the time we'd been through another commercial lock there was only one to go, and the lock keeper told us about a place a bit further along, and so it went until we'd travelled all afternoon and pretty well into the evening to boot.

From the river, the only visible part of the "port" about which the lock keeper had waxed so lyrical was a new aluminium structure with a big sign in red lettering which proclaimed it to be "reserved for boats carrying passengers".   Further investigation revealed that the reason that it was the only part visible was that it was indeed the only part, but there was room for the two of us to tie behind the pontoon.

Beyond the trees ashore lay Maron, a little village a mere ten kilometres from Nancy as the crow flies, which anywhere else would make it a suburb, but here it is in the middle of nowhere, in a clearing in the middle of a forest.

Since we aren't travelling by crow we still have a day or two in the country until we reach the Big Smoke again, and turn one last time for home.

Sometimes the pace at which we move challenges even our own perspective on time.  I have started to wonder about Einstein's theory of relativity, and if time slows down as we approach the speed of light, whether it actually speeds up as we slow down.

Perhaps that could explain how our time in France has simply evaporated.

On our way home Toul to Maron

One of the nice things about cruising in company is that there's always an air-conditioned space to retreat from the heat of a summer's morning.  That is of course providing the company one is travelling with has an air conditioner aboard, which in this case they certainly did.

It is fair to say that by the time we rustled ourselves into action some time after lunch quite a crowd had gathered, mostly to marvel at the wonders of the new acclimatisation machine, but also to scrounge coffee and whatever else was on the go in air conditioned comfort.  Eventually they were coerced into at least moving off the boat where they gathered in a little cluster of mostly blokes at the sterns of our boats.

Ron seized the opportunity and started Tiara's engine.

"You can hardly hear the motor Ron" was all I could hear above the murmurings of approval on the dock.

"Clear Prop!"  I called, in case any of them had taken to the water when I wasn't watching, and contemporaneously  the good Captain scurried to the stern to ensure that none were in the firing line of Mr Perkins impending spluttering.     The crowd roared in a jocular sort of laugh as though the punchline of the world's funniest joke had just been offered.  So loudly did they laugh that we could hear them over Mr P's guttural roar.  Thankfully we couldn't watch them falling about through the clouds we were creating, so Mr P and we ignored their unkindness and glided smoothly if not silently and invisibly down to the river, where the very first tones of Autumn were beginning to show.

Our homeward journey had truly begun.

Doing it tough Toul

If we had gone to Toul hoping to take refuge from our countrymen, we may have been quite disappointed to discover that the party had moved from Nancy to exactly there.  In a sense we had arrived to something of a reunion.

We were of course not disappointed and with what is technically just a few Summer days remaining this year, the weather was as the forecast had suggested; perfect if a little on the warm side.  This of course played into Ron's hands nicely with that new air-conditioner humming so quietly that it was if even its lack of noise was a device to inflame fits of jealousy among those who were without.

But some of us braved the heat and walked around and had lunch and walked some more until Paul and Bertha arrived unexpectedly and dinner became a mere entree for a long night quietly chatting under the stars .  One of those long lazy hazy days of summer had been gloriously mis-spent.

How any of us had avoided the temptation in the mid afternoon heat, of jumping from the pontoon into the clear cool water of the harbour is a mystery.

Perhaps our Antipodean youth had  instilled a respect for the dangers that lurk within anything so tempting, or perhaps it was a respect born of age for the signs which read "swimming prohibited".

Or perhaps it was that from the comfort of Tiara's newly air-conditioned saloon, it didn't look quite so inviting.

Once more to Metz Nancy to Toul

With Ron and Robin's shopping done, a new air conditioning unit in it's box tucked safely aboard Tiara (despite our feigned disapproval), all we had to do was to descend the lock onto the Moselle, turn right, and we would be in Metz by the time the sun had set tomorrow.  A simple, grand plan we thought.

As is the case each time we reach a cross roads, or in this case a tee junction in the waterways, we informed the lock keeper where we were headed.  "There is a big lock broken on the river" he informed us, and with a and we cannot tell when it will be fixed, it could be quite some time.

"Quite some time" in France is a variable measurement, and in reality could become rather a long time when measured against standards utilised in other parts of the world, so we needed to reassess our plans.

On the one hand this was was good news for us, because it meant that there would be no commercial craft on the river disturbing our tranquility.  On the other, it meant that the journey to Metz may be rather more tranquil than we would prefer as we couldn't actually move either, and when we did arrive at the errant lock, there would be a rather large queue of gigantic commercial craft, each of which would have priority over us when the necessary repairs had been completed.

That wait in itself could be "quite some time" even after the repairs had been made.

Under the circumstances, we thought the only logical thing to do was to head in the other direction, so we turned left instead of right and pointed our respective craft to Toul.

Metz can wait.

More fenders please! Nancy to Champigneulles

We didn't plan to get away first thing, neither did we intend to travel very far, which was just as well as by the time we had done the farewell rounds it was just about time for the lifting bridge operators to return from lunch and we were able to gently drift off with delightful memories of all that is Nancy pulsing through our veins.

We were bound for Metz, but Ron and Robin had a shopping errand to take care of at the waterside hardware store in the morning, and six kilometres of relaxed drifting down the waterway was what we had in mind for the afternoon.  There's no point in over doing it after all.

If every journey of that distance was as eventful, perhaps we would adopt a more sedentary lifestyle, something entirely risk-free like base jumping comes to mind.  

We had no reason to suspect for instance, that the operator of the lifting bridge would commence unlifting it while were below.  Just how someone whose sole job is to stop traffic and allow boats through was able to avoid noticing us is something of a mystery.     Not long after that the ferry that we were following stopped without notice, and with even less notice suddenly began to turn in the waterway apparently oblivious to the quite immutable fact that not one of the three pleasure boats heading towards it was equipped with a braking device of any kind.

Somehow we all avoided an untimely demise with nothing more than a cheery wave from the captain apparently unaware of his misdemeanour.

With hearts now beating at least a little above normal resting rate, we secured ourselves quietly on our mooring and were just settling down to a quiet little drink, each with the beverage of choice in hand, when an errant barge skipper, as oblivious to our presence as the ferryman had been failed in his effort to slice us in two by less than a metre.

Suddenly, in one sunny afternoon we had experienced more excitement than most would see in a lifetime on the canals.   I suspect that we have used our quota and all we have to look forward to now is clear skies, calm water and incredible scenery.

Life may tend to become a little tedious!

Invasion Nancy

The Aussie influx in the port in Nancy has not gone unnoticed.

Today the newspaper headlines and a lead article on the front page are devoted to the summer phenomenon of the invasion from down under.   There is hope that it will continue, this new-found interest in France, bringing with us our shiny dollars.

From our perspective we hope that our dollars stay shiny, but things are not as they seem.

We are convinced that the "influx" is simply the result of a misalignment of the stars.   No one here is new to cruising in France.  Two or three of our number have been in their second year, but most of us are relics from a time when our dollar was very tarnished indeed.  It seems to be just one of those strange co-incidences that we have all simply arrived at the one spot at this time.

None the less, we smile and talk to the crowds that come to see us, and assure them all that more are on their way, which is exactly the case.  The round of social engagements has become relentless, we are starting to wonder why our countryfolk are so gregarious.  Why can't we all just sit quietly by ourselves like so many boats we observe wearing other flags/

Ron and Robin arrived a couple of days ago and have been moored beside us.  In a moment of weakness we collectively decided to visit Metz next week, turning our backs on our celebrity here, so tomorrow, when they least expect it, we will slip quietly away.

Or maybe we'll just find somewhere quiet to simply sit and read.