Category: Italy & France

The hotel booked our taxi back to the airport.  It was metered and cost 15€. Case closed.

The flight was only slightly late leaving because we were queued behind a bunch of Alitalia flights.  They own the airport, after all.
Arrived in Toronto, and at the B&B by 6, an in time to see Ivy before she went to sleep.

We caught the shuttle bus to the airport, and that worked well, arriving at 10:30 for our 1:30 flight.  Of course the flight left 2 hours late because of the French air traffic controllers strike.  There is a website listing who is currently on strike in France.
In the airport we ran into a Canadian couple that we had met on our flight into Toulouse the week before.  They own a canal boat on the Midi and have for 18 years.  The weather we were out in was so bad (in their opinion) that they had stayed in Carcassonne and didn’t even go to their boat until it improved.
At the Rome airport we decided to take a taxi to the small hotel that Vic had booked as it was only 15 minutes away, rather than try to call and arrange and wait for their shuttle.  The driver quoted 14 €, and that sounded okay.  When we got there he claimed that he had quoted 40, and we misheard.   I am not at my best in a shouting match in a parking lot in a foreign language.  We eventually paid to get out of it.  I suppose an alternative was a fist fight with a rather fit looking skinhead type Italian taxi driver, but that might not have gone my way either.  I have since thought of a couple alternatives, but they did not occur to me at the time. The Rome taxi drivers are a rapacious, heartless bunch.  The other Italian taxi drivers we used were really pleasant and honest.
The hotel proprietor was very nice and his attitude nearly made up for it.
We had our last Roman pizza, and called it a night.

Our last day in France and we are sort of winding down. First, a leisurely breakfast al fresco in the Place du Capitole, and watched the city come to life.

We, quite by accident, entered the Capitole building itself.  I had assumed it was all municipal offices, but it turned out to have a historical art gallery full of huge wall paintings.  Some even to my taste.



 

Then a leisurely  beer at another cafe and watched the people go by.  At last, time for an intimate lunch at another patio resturant.  Intimate, not so much with Vic, as with the people at the extremely adjacent tables.  

Off to the bus station to verify that we can get to the airport tomorrow, and then back to the hotel.  Not a very exciting afternoon.

Incidentally  pictures have been added to some earlier posts.

It’s a bright and sunny Sunday morning, so it is off to look at churches, among other sights.  The first is Eglise Saint Aubin.

It turns out to be the site of a busy Sunday morning market – the stalls are four rows deep all the way around the enormous church, selling all manner of vegetables and other foodstuffs, as well as delicious looking street food, and the normal market junk.

 

The church itself is large and impressive, although it only dates from 1850, and finished in 1929. It was built on the site of a former cemetary.  It has a collection of well done carving, and some very fine stained glass, although not old.  The church will feature in my forthcoming photo essay on The Stations of the Cross in European Churches.  Been years in the production.

Then on to the Cathedrale Saint Etienne (that’s Saint Stephen  for we anglophones). It has a curious architecture – it is two incomplete churches built in quite different styles, overlapping at one corner.  The older, from the early 1200s is sort of early southern gothic, built on top of a Romanesque beginning, with a wonderful collection of gargoyles.  The north portal is curiously off center, but has a large rose window (not quite) above it. The newer structure, started about 1270, and modified into the 1500s, reminds me from the outside of a modern brick office block.  It was intended to demolish the older as the newer was built on a grander scale, but a fire interrupted that plan, and both were left unfinished.  Subsequent achitects each added their own strange contribution. Inside, the older portion forms today’s church, and has a flamboyant altar, and fine wooden choir carvings.  The newer portion suffered water damage last year, and is now undergoing repair.  The vast open space of the two connected structures could easily hold a thousand worshipers.

The masses of both these churches were well attended this morning, with a couple hundred in each.  That is pretty good, especially when France is not considered a major religious country today.  We finally found a single statue of Santiago, although St Roche is quite common.  Vic continued my education on the lives of the other saints.

The next mission was the Jardin des Plantes, down a long shady avenue of plane trees.  We first encountered anther market, this one catering more to the Muslim clientele, to judge by the female clothing worn and sold.  Probably somewhat less open to photography as well – don’t want to start an international incident in France.
We got sidetracked from the garden looking for a square Vic had been told about, but inadequately located, and found ourselves in a residential area with absolutely no resturants.  Where do the locals eat if there are no resturants?  By the time we found a resturant area, we were almost home, so missed the garden, in favour of a long al fresco lunch.

Today we did what apparently most of the French do on a sunny Saturday in spring – walk around the streets, shop, and eat and drink in outdoor cafes.  It sure gives me a better impression of Toulouse than I had rainy and cold last week.

We saw a few of the sights including Basilique Saint Sernin, the spot in Toulouse where camino passports are stamped.

The saint’s original church down the way is now called Notre Dame du Taur.  It is built on the exact site of the saint’s martyrdom – by being dragged by a bull.  (du taur = of the bull, Taurus, get it?).  He was the first bishop of Toulouse in 250 AD.  The requirements for martyrdom seem to have changed over the years.

 

We put on over 8 km walking around the city.

Then we nicked back to the hotel internet for a quick peek at the royal nuptials.

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.

It rained all night, and was still raining this morning, however, there was nothing for it but to set off, so we did.  With the strong following wind the boat steers like a cow – at the first sign of inattention it heads for one of the grassy banks.  There seems to be no neutral setting and requires constant correction.
The rain collects on the windscreen – there is a wiper, but it is high in the middle, whereas the steering station is low on the right.  A basic design flaw that has been uncorrected since the boat was made in 1984.  Vic crawls out the narrow ledge with paper towel every now and then to wipe it off. All the good jobs.
We arrived at the first lock at 9, just when they should start work.  After a while with no action we wandered into the lock keeper’s office to rouse the young female lock keeper (and her lovely cat).  She helped Vic get all of the ropes done and got us through the lock, warning us that there would be no help at the next one, as it was a triple (actually 2 + 1, with a small gap) and the lock keeper was in a high cage where he could see all three.  Vic was able to handle that effectively.  She gets all of the good jobs – standing in the rain handling gooey ropes, whereas I am relegated to the dry interior to shout insructions.
We arrived at the next lock just at noon – the lock keeper’s lunch hour (and a half).  There was already another larger boat waiting, so they went in first (after lunch), and we tucked into the other side of the lock.  Again Vic, in the rain, did a great job.
The other boat got a fair bit ahead of us and had to wait for us to catch up at the next one, to lock through together.  They didn’t make that mistake again.
By this time the weather was beginning to take its toll.  I might as well enjoy it, because I don’t think I will be on the canal again. Not with this wife anyway, or so I am told.
And that kind of day continued, and brought us to Trebes.  This is the home port for ‘le boat’, the biggest rental group in the area.  There must be 50 or more rental boats taking up all of the mooring and more.  All of them behemoths of  50 feet or more.  Some of them are so large it takes three women to handle the ropes, and at least three men to stand on the fly bridge and shout instructions.  I would hate to handle one, although the bow thruster would be appreciated.
We found a spot to moor on the end of the row (actually, probably off the end), in a patch of grass owned by a swan that was very reluctant to vacate.  It only moved when Vic threatened to wrap a rope around it.

We were at a narrowing in the canal that gave is a front seat to the comedy acts to follow.  Two of the bigger boats following us tried to moor in a spot far too small, even with bow thrusters.  One ended up crossways with much forehead slapping by the skipper on account of the actions of the female crew ashore.  The main problem was the three boats wanting to go the other way.  The front one had a French Valkerie figurehead shouting “Back up”, not realizing that ‘back up’ is ambiguous when you are crosswise in a canal.
We wandered up the street looking for lunch and encountered a guy loitering in front of a resturant.  When Vic asked him if he was open he said “No, but, would you like coffee?”  So we went in, and he gave us a free espresso.  Vic asked about a supermarket where we could buy tea, and he indicated one km, and gave us 4 teabags in cling wrap.  He complained that the weather was really bad for his tourist trade, so we went back there for dinner, when he was open.
We found that the tourist info shop next door appears to have free (or at least unsecured) wifi.
And the boat heater doesn’t work.  I have been playing with it all afternoon. It starts up, sputters and dies.  No use calling the rental company. What are they going to do?  Finally got it going at the end of the day to dry out Vic’s shoes.
Better weather tomorrow?

Today again when we awoke the sky was heavily overcast, and it was windy and rainy.  The boat was not to be ready until 3, so we stayed in the warmth of the hotel as long as we could.  The boat man allowed is to park our luggage in his garage, so we trundle it over during a lull between rain storms.  

We bought cheap umbrellas (should have gotten them on day one in Rome) and they promptly turned inside out and broke.  With nothing to do we had lunch and sat in the resturant as long as we could.  There were no museums near – all that stuff is up at the castle.  Finally, at 3 we went to get the boat, but first there is the French paperwork.  And to pay for the supplemental things we had ordered.
“Is there toilet paper on the boat?”
“No, madame, but we can sell you a cleaning kit that includes two rolls of toilet paper.”
“Does the towel kit we ordered include tea towels?”
“No madame but we can rent you some for 2€.”

We finally were introduced to our boat, “Baby Herman”.  It is a cross between a camper and a boat, retaining the favorable characteristics of neither.  It is also nearing it’s best before date.  It has that delightful mouldy smell of a wet boat.
The English speaking lady ran us through the general operation of the appliances, and pretty well nothing worked.  She then called on her non-English speaking handyman to fix things.  We got a new battery and a  new butane bottle, and that made most things work.

Then the handyman took us out to show us how to drive, and how to make a u – turn in a 30 foot canal with a 25 foot boat –  but in French.  The boat is short, wide, flat bottomed, and has high windage.  In short, it steers like a cow.
When back tied up, he abandoned us.  We sat in the boat, two cold, forlorn miserable people.

Oh well….. Off to store to buy supplies for dinner and breakfast at least.  We decided to spend the night tied up here – the weather is still stinky, and might be better tomorrow for our first locking through (or first in 30 years since we did the Rideau).
The little butane heater takes a bit of the chill off, and maybe even dries the air out a bit.  It is 9C out there with rain and a wind, putting the wind chill at 4C.  They say that last year here at this time it was 30C.  We sure picked a rotten year.