From
the journal:
“After breakfast we went over to the
bar/bistro opposite the tie-up point and the helpful own called a taxi for us
to take us up the hill (read semi-mountain) to Sancerre. When we picked up our
boat in Decize we were told that we
simply must visit Sancerre – and as
a wine drinker that’s a given anyway – and we are assured that it is a pleasant
bike ride. Right, yes; it’s probably on the Tour de France itinerary.
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| Near the tourism office |
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| Barracks gates |
It would have been a
tragedy not to make it to Sancerre. The views were just superb out over the Loire Valley, with the canal quite
close and the river off slightly in the distance, with little villages and
towns dotted here and there on that greener than green landscape. Just
beautiful.
The taxi kindly
dropped us right near the tourism office, and so that was our first stop. The
staff in there were just fantastic, and this town could give lessons to so many
other towns in other places on how to provide for tourists: they gave us a
walking map with all sorts of interesting information on it, special sites highlighted
and numbered, and – here is the really good thing – all you have to do is
follow a red line which is painted on the footpath, road, cobbles, and it will
take you in a lovely walk around this gorgeous town, covering all the “must
sees” and offering lots of photo opportunities, up and down little streets so
you don’t miss the quirky, the unusual or the breathtaking.
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| Follow the painted red line |
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| How wow is this? |
There was only one
little let down, which we got a good laugh from but I need to mention. About
halfway around the walking route there is a delightful little park offering
superb views, and so we loitered there for a short while. The man needed the
loo, and we noticed that there was one marked on the map just very close to where
we were. Talk about a convenient convenience. Except, the light in there didn’t
work, and as there was no window it was pitch black in there, and – here’s the
good bit – it was a Turkish style toilet. Yes, a squat toilet. Mental note: go
before you go.
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| No, not the site of the squat toilet - just a great local house (and sometimes I'll swear there is a face at the window) |
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| The ancient gates |
We had a late – but
great – lunch at a café in the central square: one delicious Croque Monsieur and one even more
delicious Croque Madam. Ah, and of
course we washed it down with the obligatory Sancerre wine, light and fresh and
lovely as the town itself. As we sat in the gorgeous sunshine, we were served by
an awesome female. She really was just wonderful. Her hair was dyed almost
yellow, her skin was parchment ochre, her eyelids were generously coloured with
the brightest of bright blue eye-shadows, and she was wearing a goatskin jacket
laced together above a white gypsy skirt and roman sandles that wove around her
feet and ankles. She was magnificent. The brightest thing about her wasn’t all
that colour, it was her personality. She really was fantastic, and just to
watch her interacting with the customers made for a fabulous time. The American
cyclists had seemingly not expired coming up that hill, and were also sitting
in the town square, scattered amongst various eateries. She would steal a cap
or a hat from an elderly man and flirt outrageously with him, making him
probably happier than he had been for 40 years. I’m sure that they will long
remember her just as we will.
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| Great town square, but mind those steps. |
After lunch we went to
an epicerie where we picked up a few supplies, and then, of course, bought
ourselves some of the wonderful wine which Sancerre is so famous for, together
with some goat’s cheese, which is also one of their claims to fame.
The kind ladies in the
tourism office called a cab for us when we had done wandering, buying postcards
etc, and we headed back to the boat to set off for our next port of call, Lere.
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| Of course you want some canal-side scenes, I know. Isn't this just fabulous in the extreme. |
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| Just love the variety of architecture |
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| Hollywood circa 1950? Fantastic. |
At the second lock
along, at last it happened, the thing we had been told to expect: a lock-keeper
offering to sell us something. We had read so many accounts of people entering
a lock and finding items on sale, but hadn’t yet come across it. Anyway, there
you are, standing on the deck of your boat holding tight to the mooring lines,
and that lock-keeper really has you in his control so that when he asks you if
you would like to buy some eggs, you realise that saying “Ah, oui, monsieur,
absolutement” is the only way to go. You can’t help but wonder, you see,
whether the lock mechanism could suddenly develop a failure if you refuse to
purchase whatever is on sale. We only have a couple of days left on board, but
you eagerly say you would like six eggs. He brings you seven eggs. Perhaps he
thinks you should eat three and your man should eat four, who knows, but you
decide that seven is exactly what you want. No price has yet been discussed. He
then goes back inside and reappears with some postcards. He asks would you like
to buy these postcards, three different scenes. Of course you would like to buy
them, and so you find yourself with seven tiny, tiny eggs and three postcards,
and you have paid €4.50 for the pleasure. When you look at the postcards, you
then find that they aren’t even of this canal, but are of a different region
and show a very different waterwayl. Ah well, you get a laugh out of it. And
they may be tiny, but those eggs were fresh and delicious.
You wonder, though, if
this guy sends a message down the line that a couple of pushovers are on their
way through. Yes, I think you are correct to be suspicious because no sooner
have you secured your lines in the second lock than the lock-keeper offers to
sell you some wine. He assures you it is an excellent Puilly-Fumé
from this region and he can offer it to you at a real bargain price at only €11. Considering that the wine we pick up in
supermarkets and bottle shops is usually no more than €8, you do wonder what
sort of mark-up this guy is adding on. You also have to think about all the
wine you already have on board and that you only have tonight and tomorrow
night left on board, but you reluctantly, albeit feigning excitement, agree to
buy one bottle of his wine. He then asks
if you are staying the night in Lere, and you tell him that that is indeed your
plan. He enthuses over a particular restaurant to be found there, La Lion D’or (which was actually
recommended by Susan at French Travel Connection also), and hands you a card
for the restaurant. On the back of the card he has written his name, and
stresses that you should show this card when you dine there. You wonder if he
is being kind and passing on a recommendation to an excellent restaurant, or if
he gets a little kick-back on this. Who knows, and who cares really – these
lock-keepers are fantastic people who no doubt have to put up with some real
jerks at times, and this little bit of entrepreneurship is fine by me.
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| Is this more like it for you? |
We went for a good
wander around the town, and found our ears assaulted by something we hadn’t
actually heard since leaving Australia: the unmistakeable sound of youth – doof
doof music being played LOUD. They were gathered around the square outside the tourism
office, listening to their music. I have to say, they were very unthreatening,
just kids having a good time. There is justice in the world, though, because at
7pm their music was absolutely drowned out by the sound of the bells on the
church, which is right next to the square. Those bells started up and rang, and
rang, and rang, and rang, and it pretty well brought the al fresco disco to an
end. Ah, peace.
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| Thanks, Quasimodo |
We were still both way
too sick to even contemplate taking up the recommendation of the restaurant,
although I’m sure it would have been great. We also had quite a bit of food on
board which we needed to polish off before handing the boat back, so we “settled”
on a meal of pates, cheeses, olives, the tomatoes that actually have a flavour,
delicious ham (I love Paris Ham), lovely little hard boiled eggs, washed down –
of course – with vino, on the front deck as we watched the sun go down.
As soon as darkness
sets in, we head to bed, hoping for a good night’s sleep so that we will wake
feeling on top of the world for our last day on the canal. No such luck – we cough,
we sniff, we sneeze, all under the eerie glow of that power plant.”
See
you tomorrow, when we head out on our final day of this wonderful canal boat
trip.
