Day: 18 May 2018

The day started early, just after midnight as a matter of fact.  We were awakened by a really loud, really strange noise.  Half awake, we eventually determined that it was actually coming from our boat.  I popped open the bilge access – something we are not really supposed to do – and the noise appeared to be coming from the  bilge pump.  I jiggled it a bit and the noise stopped, but the pump operated a bit every half hour for the rest of the night.  It had never run before.  There always had been a bit of water in the bilge, and there didn’t seem to be more now.  At any rate there wasn’t much sleep after that, what with the pump operating, and the worry that we were going to sink at the dock.
We were sharp in the office at 9, paid our fuel bill (12 hours on the engine), and got a taxi to the Carcassonne train station by 10:30.  Because of the escalating rail strike we wanted to make sure we got to Toulouse for our flight to Rome.  Vic asked the information lady when the next train to Toulouse would be, and she said “Now, platform 2.” We got in the ticket wicket line and the lady there said “Go. Platform 2. Get your ticket on the train”.   So, down the stairs, across, up the stairs with the suitcases. The train arrived in about a minute, and we got on, not really knowing if it was the right one until we arrived at Toulouse.  No one arrived to sell or take our ticket, so I guess it comes out to being a free ride.  I wonder if it is part of the railway workers action against the railway.
So we are back in the Toulouse Ibis, that hotel with the leaky shower record.  The same faulty design of showers exists in the whole hotel, it appears.
We are to be here four days so we will get to see something of Toulouse.

Mostly clear and sunny.  I walked into town to the baker and got warm croissants for breakfast, so the holiday continues. A huge charter barge passed this morning – I  have no idea how he fits into a lock, or gets through (or under) the narrow bridges that I  have difficulty with.
Once again there was nothing for it but to get on the water again.  The sides of the canal are lined with huge plane trees a few meters apart, and with trunks a meter across.  Unfortunately, many of them have been affected by canker stain, a disease that kills them and spreads easily.  There are long stretches where they have all been removed, and only the stumps remain.  There are other long stretches where the replanting has begun, and 10 foot saplings are growing, heavily protected.  The spread of the virus is aided by mooring ropes, so although mooring alongside the canal anywhere is allowed (even encouraged) tying to the trees is illegal.  To that end we are provided with two huge iron spikes and a sledge hammer to make our own mooring pins on the canal banks.  We also have a long 2×10 plank to act as a boarding ramp on these occasions.  None of this we have used.

We hit the first lock at 3 km, and Vic took a fall pulling on the rope in one of our better crosswise – in – the – lock maneuvers.  By the time we got to Homps, the contact spot on her butt was hurting enough that we had to re-evaluate continuing the trip.
We are not really enjoying this anyway.  Vic is terrified of something going wrong with the ropes when we are docking.  That 7 flight lock at Beziers looms.  I can’t do much to help her, as I am trying to keep the boat sane. Now that she is hurt and can’t jump on and off with alacrity, mooring is even harder, maybe impossible.  I can’t see much of the scenery as we drive, as I can’t  leave the wheel alone long enough to take a picture.  It is far too much trouble to stop and moor to have a look around at every oppotunity.  It might be fun with more dockhands and a boat that steered less like a cow.
Since Homps is one of the  boat agencies offices, I wandered over to see what we could do, while Vic rested.  The office was closed with a phone number.  I found a worker who found a cleaning lady who spoke english. She showed me where the real office was – a camper van around back, also vacant.  She said the ‘chef’ would contact us.  Eventually a lad showed up and moved the boat nearer to the office for us.  He backed this tub into a narrow parking spot. Can be done, apparently.
There is a monster crane here lifting some of the larger boats out for servicing, revealing their underpinnings.  The thrusters appear to be small 8 inch fans mounted in a small keel.  Not a lot of thrusting, but at least they have a keel, of sorts.  The boat is having a substantial fibreglass  repair done, just below the waterline.  Apparently somebody missed a corner.
The ‘chef’ showed up at about one, a large ebullient  Belgian man who spoke the world’s collection of languages perfectly, English included. He also carried the world’s most expensive looking motorcycle helmet.
He understood the problem, agreed we could leave the boat in Homps, spend the night here, and he could arrange a taxi for us to Carcassonne.  Tomorrow we have to sign out and pay what we owe so we will see how that goes.
I walked into town and visited the town church (closed).  It was apparently built in the 1800s by a widow, all on her own funds.  The husband’s remains were moved there in 2003 (!). There has to be a story there.

We drank our souvenier bottle of Blanquette de Limoux to mark the end of our trip.

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Ah, no rain overnight, and although it is still cloudy and windy, there is hope for the end of winter.
We unmoored and motored the half km to the next lock set, a triple, and became third in line for the first opening of the day.  The first in line was a large steel canal boat run by a troupe of jolly Scots.  The second, a rental, took the front slot on the other side of the lock, and we tucked in behind, and were helped by, the Scots. The final area in the lock was taken up by a private yacht flying a Swiss flag.  I think he touched  up his paint significantly  on the lock entry.  They are very nice, and we have waved to them several times since. 

The locks on the Canal du Midi are elliptical rather than rectangular as you might expect, but it means that there is a narrow entry/exit – smaller gates were cheaper in the 16th century, I guess.  It was a tight fit in the lock and we followed that grouping through the three locks of the flight.  As soon as we were released, they were all off in the distance.  The speed limit on the canal is supposed to be 5 km/hr, basically a walking pace, but most boats seem to do more than that.  Our tub does that at pretty much full throttle. Actually, I think it is governed off, as the last half of the throttle doesn’t add any speed.

The next 8 km was across a flat area of grapes and olive trees, unbroken by locks.  The sun came out, although  the wind was still strong and cold.  That gave the opportunity to use the upper steering station, unusable in the rain, but offers a much better view.  Vic stayed below and  worried. We arrived at Marseillette just before noon and stopped for lunch, missing the last lock transit.  The listed resturant was invisible, so it was bread and cheese.  I happened to feed a duck our old bread, and we were mobbed.

From then on it was a double lock set every km or so.  At the last lock the lock keeper tried to get cute and mix the directions. We were two going down, and one coming up.  When the water was half way, the gates opened, and we changed places, not in the order I would have chosen, but aside from some paint and fibreglass removed, it all worked.  And apparently saves water.

At last we arrived in La Redorte, and Vic’s vacation started.  We were tied up, the sun was shining, she had a drink in her hand, and there was a resturant at our front door.  At last.

I walked into town to the worst supermarket I have ever seen.  It appeared to be well on to going out of business.  The one thing they did have in supply was booze.  The supermarkets in France sell hard liquor in name brands in full size bottles (of course),  but they also have pony sized (20 ml) bottles of generic liquor in sealed blister pack  packages.  For the discriminating rubbie, I suppose.
So Vic is physically exhausted after handling the ropes for 13 locks today.  Full credit to her for doing that.  We are more than half done.  It is certainly a blessing that we are going down, not up.  Up is certainly a lot more work than going down,  and even more difficult for two people.  We may not have been able to do it going up. In discussion with a German couple at dinner, we found out that the bigger boats not only have bow thrusters, they have stern thrusters.  No wonder it looks easy.  This boat we have is like trying to steer a coracle.  I would do the ropes, but Vic is confident that she could not steer, so that leaves it to me to look embarrassed while she does the work.
The book says this town’s sole industry is based on the grape.  We are moored in front of two gigantic silos that presumably hold some of the produce.  There are four more further back.



So at nightfall, the sky is clear, and although not warm, it is at least not cold.
Oh, a random word about the toilet facilities.  Each of the boats has a toilet, the bigger ones probably several.  The results go straight into the canal, but they do have the decency to grind it first.  Visibility in the canal water is limited to a few inches.  Vic’s greatest fear is falling in, as she would have to burn all her clothes, and boil herself.