Northern France, Menen - Reims
Menen, Belgium/France
My first stop in France was Menen, Belgium/France. The town is in Belgium while the port is actually in France. It was mid-afternoon when I stopped, not really time to quit for the day but I needed local information about traveling the waterways of France. The port was officially closed but the manager is resident and told me (in German), that the mooring would be free of charge as he didn't want to do any paperwork off-season. I thanked him and he pointed out a small wooden hut on a slight rise, up by the trees, that served as the port hangout/bar and that later when it opened, there would be many canal yachting locals to give me all the info I needed. I thanked him again and went for a walk into town.
Later after I had eaten dinner, I went up to the hut when I saw the lights come on. I walked in and the place was already full. Wood paneled, rustic looking with small square Formica tables and a bar. If I hadn't known better, I would have thought I was in some midwestern U.S.A., bar/restaurant. I sat at the only place left free, a barstool, and ordered a beer using just about, the full extent of my knowledge of the French language. The bartender slid me a beer and asked me a question, the entirety of, I didn't understand except for "Trimaran rouge Américain" which I picked up on and assumed he was asking me if I was the owner of the red trimaran with the American flag. I answered, Oui. He, assuming I spoke French, started talking to me, rapid pace, until I finally held up my hand in stop fashion and said, Pardon, pardon, je ne parle pas Français! (Sorry, I don't speak French) Which he waved off with his hand and just kept talking. I had to smile, he didn't care if I spoke French or not, he, he was gonna talk to me. One thing I have learned , having been in many foreign lands, when confuse, just keep smiling. I smiled and nodded as he spoke and he kept talking. One of the younger gentlemen actually did speak a little English and jumped in the "conversation", translating bits here and there for me. I did eventually reveal my plans to travel the canals to Marseilles and asked for advice on which canals to travel (there are many), asked where I should buy the vignette, etc. The bartender brought out a stack of maps and guidebooks and the bar erupted in people grabbing at them and all pointing to the best routes, safe places to stop, which canals were closed for winter or construction and so on. They were insistent about pointing out the best places to eat, favorite restaurants and bistros along the way. That seemed very important to them, maybe a sense of national pride even. All the while, maps are being shoved, literally, in my face, fingers jabbing at points of interest, people are buying me beers, everyone talking loud, and louder, it was madness. I had to laugh, one doesn't have to understand the language to see the comedy in it all. It finally settled down a bit, enough for me to thank everybody and I asked to pay for my beer and he said, 1 Euro. (1 Euro a beer! I wanted to take up residence there.) I only paid for the first one, the rest were taken care of by the locals. I said Au Revoir to everyone, making sure to shake each and everyone's hand, they all said goodbye in turn with Bon Voyage!
It had started raining and I walked along the gravel path back to my tent, instead of taking a shortcut across the grass, I didn't want wet pants and shoes in the tent. I was about 200 meters away from the bar when someone shouted my name from behind. I turned around and it was one of the French gentlemen from the bar, the one who never spoke during the melee, I stopped and waited for him to catch up to me. He was a young guy, and when he got to me, I realized, he spoke perfect English. He said, you forgot your maps, and handed me a hand full of canal maps that, I guess, the bar had donated to me. He told me that he worked for the VNF (Voies navigables de France), the French river and canal authority. He then told me that 2 locks down, at Comines, I would have to buy the vignette. He then said, "Those guys at Comines are vultures and they will try to bleed you, read everything they give you and make sure it's correct, they will try to get every penny out of you they can, stand up for yourself or they'll run over you." He went on to explain that, they're government bureaucrats and they don't like pleasure craft on the canals, and not to take it personally, they're like that to all tourists. I said, OK, and thanked him. He wished me luck and we parted ways.
When I was bedded down that night, I was thinking about what had just happened at the bar and was beginning to think that all my apprehensions and fears of France and the French people were beginning to wane away.
The next morning, I was doing the normal routine, cooking coffee and packing up while it's cooking when the family (father, mother and 2 daughters) in the blue boat next to me brought out a croissant on a plate for me. I didn't know them, only spoke to them briefly while I was mooring up the day before. Here we go again, they spoke no English, I no French, and we had coffee and croissants and talked for half an hour until it was time for me to go.
Comines, France
I arrived at Comines about noon and went through the lock and was immediately waved over by the Lock Master to the small-craft pier and told to bring in my paperwork to the office. I did as I was told and entered the office and there sat 3 old men, glaring at me as if I had just slapped their mamas and I knew this was not going to go well. I said bonjour, they didn't respond. The one closest to me spoke first with the declaration, "You cannot enter France with that boat." (In English) I told him that I had previously spoken to Paris, and they had approved my trip. He barked at me that he would call Paris but he knew for a fact it wasn't so. As he made the call, I dug through my file folder and pulled out a letter of approval from Paris and slid it in front of him while he was talking on the phone. He looked at it and kept talking. And talking. Finally he hangs up the phone and asks me for my paperwork. I asked, what paperwork, it's a kayak? He said, you must have paperwork for the boat. I told him, I didn't need paperwork for the kayak, with no motor in Germany, Holland or Belgium. He said, and I quote, "If you are floating on a dead tree in my canal, you better have paperwork for it." I couldn't argue with that and handed him the bill of sale for the kayak, which had all the details, length, weight, type, etc., and he was satisfied. He pecked away at his keyboard and after about 10 minutes, printed out my vignette application and handed it to me and said, please sign it. It was a typical, fill in the blank form and I started reading. Sure enough, the man the night before was right, the form had erroneous data entered in. I told the man, this is all wrong, the kayak is 6.5 meters long, not 7.5. It doesn't have a 20HP motor on it, it has no motor at all. The Vignette was valid for 1 month, which I thought was a bit short on time but I said nothing. The kicker to all of this was, the cost of the Vignette would be 129 Euros! Because of the erroneous data. We argued and it was obvious he was not going to budge on what he had entered on the form, and I was getting upset. I finally said, listen, if you don't want me on your canals or in your country, I will turn that kayak around and go back to Belgium, but I am not paying 129 Euros for one month, for a 6.5 meter kayak with no motor. The other 2 men turned around in the seats and looked at me. One of them got up from his seat, came over and took the form, looked at it, said something I didn't understand and went back and sat down, concentrating on a barge that was going through the lock. The man I was talking to, again, started pecking on the keyboard and again handed me the revised form which was corrected, but this one was for 1 year and cost 38 Euros. I paid him, took the Vignette and turned to leave, looking while looking it over and I noticed it expired on Dec. 31. I stopped, turned back around and said, this expires in less than 2 months, I paid for a year! He didn't even look up from his desk and said, that's the way it is. I knew from his tone, this was not a mistake and there would be no changing it. It was his way of saving face, so I left the office. I was not a happy camper.
To the reader; the above actions of the 3 men are in no way a reflection of the VNF as a whole. The VNF personnel I dealt with throughout the trip were, by and large, extremely professional, caring and friendly people. I have nothing but good to say about the VNF, as you'll see in later instances.
Warneton, France/Belgium
It was a little after 3 PM by the time I got all my documents packed away and the Vignetted pasted to the front of my kayak. I left Comines and arrived in Warneton about 5. I had read in the map guides that was given to me in Menen that Warneton was a nice, quiet place to stop, so I did. There was a small, floating pier that I moored to. I made me a cup of coffee and sat on the pier, just relaxing. Warneton is a beautiful little town with a couple of huge churches. For the size of the town, it seemed so out of balance. But the guide book was right, it was a very nice place to stop.
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Wambrechies, France
My next stop was Wambrechies, a small town a few kilometers north of Lille. The port master was very concerned about my security in the port, so much so that he had me move the Bold Venture out to the canal and moor off there, which put me and my tent on a grassy island that separated the port from the canal. The island is accessible by a bridge over the port but after 9 PM, the gate is locked and the unauthorized cannot enter, so I was somewhat secure.
It was here that I met Clarie Lefebvre, a journalist with the La Voix Du Nord Newspaper. She expressed interest in writing a story about me and asked if I would be at the port for 2 more days. I told her that I really needed to be moving on as the port fees were a little bit too steep for my budget. She then asked exactly where I would be and we looked at a map and I estimated, on average days, how far away I would be. I made a guess that I would be in the area of Don, France. She said, she'd try to find me in that area.
I set my tent up on the grassy area on the small island and crawled in my sleeping bag at about 11 PM after I had taken a walk through town. I was awakened by a thud sound and a sharp pain in my shoulder. I sat straight up, startled, and tried to gather my wits as to what as going on. I honestly thought I'd been shot. I kept touching the bone at the top of my shoulder and rubbing my fingers together to see if I was bleeding. I wasn't. Neither could I feel a wound, it just hurt like hell. I just couldn't get a grip on what had happened and I was too afraid to turn my lantern on in case I had been shot, I didn't want to make myself a lit target Then another thud and bounce, right outside the tent. Rocks! Someone was throwing rocks off the canal bridge that I was camped next to. I scrambled out of the tent and saw 2 young kids on the bridge about 40 feet above me. I yelled something at them and they took off running across the bridge, laughing as they went. I watched and listened as they came down the berm on the south side of the bridge and, still running, entered into a housing area that you can see just above and to the left of my tent, in the picture below left.
I went back to my tent to survey the damage and get a better look at my shoulder. The shoulder was fine, just a big bump on top with some scraped off skin. Believe or not, the tent fared better. Only a scrape mark where the brick (they were red clay bricks, not rocks) hit the tent and bounced off after hitting me and not tearing through the fabric.
As you can see in the picture below, I moved my tent up under the bridge for the rest of the night.
Lille, France
When I passed through Lille, I saw many campers along the canal and wondered if this was common in France. I also saw a barge being refitted to look like a submarine. I was working my way down the canal in town among many barges when I came upon one named Cosmao that was moored along the right side of the canal. As I passed, 2 people came out with big smiles and waved as a went by. Then the man called out to me that 10 km down the canal, on my left side, would be a old disused canal where I could find a nice place to camp. He then told me, you can't miss it, it looks like a park. I never got their names until further down the canal, I was talking to 2 Brits, John and Carol, and told them the story, and they asked me if the name of the ship was Cosmao. I wasn't sure my recollection was correct but, I answered, yes, I think it was. They laughed and said, we know them, that was Stefan and Flo (short for Florence).
Canal de Seclin, France
True to Stefan's words, I found Canal de Seclin exactly where he said I would. The park-like area where I moored to a large Sycamore tree was well off the main canal so I didn't have to worry about the wake from passing barges damaging the Bold Venture against the rocks.
As I was setting up camp, an older gentleman, who looked to be in his 70's, came by looking closely at Bold Venture and seeing the American flag asked me if I was American, and I said yes. He exclaimed, your boat is amazing! You are amazing! You Americans! Amazing! Are you really traveling alone? Where to? Where from? How long? He was so excited, hell, I was amazed! I had to laugh at his enthusiasm. He went on, we French would never dream of doing something like this. I tried to interject that, most Americans wouldn't either but he didn't want to hear it. In my mind, I was thinking of one Frenchman in particular, that did do something very similar to this, Bernard Moitessier, who, in 1968, having won the first, round the world sailing race, opted to not cross the finish line and kept sailing on past, and continued sailing the globe for most of his life until his death in 1994. But I couldn't bring myself to steal his thunder, I let him continue. Finally, he ran out of steam and asked me if I needed anything, water, food, something else? I said, no thanks, I'm good to go and he gave me a big smile and wished me the best of luck and Bon Voyage! He walked toward town, I sat down, I needed a rest.
Somewhere near Don, France
I had left Canal de Seclin about 9 AM. and was slowly making my way south when, about 11 AM, a small white car slowed to my pace on the service road of the canal. The driver's window rolled down and and young woman called to me, "Hey, you remember me?" It was Clarie, the journalist with La Voix Du Nord that I had met in Wambrechies. We had made the plan to meet in this area, I had wondered if she would make it, she did. I told her that I could not stop until I could find a safe place to moor the boat. So she paced my speed and we talked about everything and nothing to just pass the time until I could find a place. Finally, after about half an hour, we came upon a bridge where the canal narrowed and barges would slow to negotiate it. I moored right on the other side in the angle where the canal opened wide again. I tied off to a canal sign and climbed up the 1 meter concrete wall to get up where Clarie waited. In the mean time, she had called her photo-journalist, Séverine Courbe, and gave her directions to where we were.
When Séverine arrived, she began to interview me and I answered her questions as best I could. The one question that she pressed the most, and the one I could never give a concise answer to was, why are you doing this? I answered the best I could, to me, it's just something I want to do, there's no real reason or purpose. I know I can do it, so I will. Her response was, "So you're American!" I laughed and said, that's twice I've heard that in as many days. Clarie left for a few minutes, she wanted to buy me lunch, and while she was off shopping, Séverine stayed behind with me and we talked, she took pictures of me (there's one below) and my maps, the routes I had taken and the ones I planned to take. Clarie returned with a bag full of canned meats, baguettes and fruit, handed it to me and I thanked her and we continued talking. After about a half an hour, she had all the information she needed, we said our goodbyes and I continued on.
For the full article in La Voix Du Nord (in French), with video and pictures, click the button below.
Canal de Lens, France
Right as I was leaving Don, France, a southwest wind kicked up and the peddling and paddling became difficult. I wanted to make it to the little used Canal de Lens as with the low traffic, would be a safe place to moor for the night. Just as I got to the canal junction, it started to rain, a heavy down-pour. Even with my foul weather gear on, I got chilled from the sweat build up under the rain-gear. The heavy growth of trees on both sides of the canal sheltered me from the wind, and not having to work so hard peddling, my body temperature fell. It was raining so hard that I could not change to warmer clothes without getting soaked in the process At the first pier I found, I moored off and grabbed my Ready-Bag and started looking for a dry place to change. But this time, I was shivering, almost uncontrollably, and I knew I needed to take action quickly to avoid hypothermia. I found a gazebo in the park and stripped down, put on a fresh, one piece, long-john type fleece on. The affect was almost immediate, the warmth was most welcome. I went back to the Bold Venture, got the campstove, coffee and a pack of cookies that Clarie gave me and headed back to the gazebo. Once there, I made coffee and munched on cookies for a couple of hours until it was dark and the rain stopped. There weren't many people about, probably because of the weather so I decided to camp underneath the gazebo for the night, which worked out well. When I packed up the next morning, the sky had cleared, it was a beautiful day, and most of my gear was close to dry.
Douai, France
I had heard earlier in the trip that Douai, France was a nice place to stop and so some sightseeing. I got there late afternoon and found the pleasure boat port almost empty, only 2, a live-aboard boat, the Vertrowen was moored off to my left, and another with no name, back behind me. I half wondered if there's a reason I shouldn't moor in port. I tied off and took a walk around the port to see if I could find a local to ask if where I was moored was OK. I met Susan, who was walking her dog and asked her about the mooring. She said it was fine and explained that the VNF was refurbishing the port but the size of my boat posed no problem as it could be moved easily. Susan and her husband George are British and live on their boat the Vertrowen, currently moored at Douai. We had a long conversation, she told me where the nearest shopping was, the best sights to see and how to get there, she was quite pleasant and friendly.
I was stowing away my compass, Lowrance and other valuables, and generally just securing (hiding) everything before I was to take a walk into town, when George, Susan's husband walked up, introduced himself and invited me over for supper that evening. I graciously accepted and he returned to his boat and I headed for town.
I returned from my walk, got cleaned up a bit and went over to the Vertrowen for supper. George greeted me and ushered me in their beautiful boat. Like the Gem in Deinze, very practically built and roomy. Susan had cooked a mince meat and potato pie which was absolutely delicious and I commented as such. We all talked about our travels, our trials, tribulations and mistakes we've made concerning boating, some of which are very amusing but can't be shared here as these are stories that are shared among mariners all the while presenting ourselves as experts in the field to outsiders. I will at some time share these stories with names and places changed to protect the dignity of the guilty.
It was getting late and I excused myself for the evening and as I was leaving Susan brought me the rest of the mince meat pie all wrapped up so I could have some for the next day. Of course I thanked her and we parted for the evening.
The next day, a French gentleman approached me as I was cleaning the Bold Venture and introduced himself as Patrice and said he was my neighbor as he pointed out his motor-home very close to where my tent was standing. He spoke very little English but with what little French I knew, we communicated well enough. He told me that he is a Baking Specialist/Consultant and had just returned from Houston, Texas, representing a French firm who wanted to expand into the US. He invited me over for coffee and we went over and sat under the awning of his motor-home while his wife, Anne-lyse, made coffee. The 3 of us sat there for most of the afternoon talking. Patrice had fallen in love with Texas. The city of Houston, the culture, but mainly the people. Being there and not knowing the language had, in the beginning, unnerved him. But that feeling was short lived as the Texans he was working with, had gone out of their way to make him feel welcome. He was overcome with excitement when I told him, I was born in Texas. He ran inside the motor-home and shortly came back out with cowboy boots, hat, belt and his pride and joy, the Texas state flag. Anne-lyse was laughing at him and told me he's crazy about Texas. I admitted, I can see that, and we all had a good laugh.
Early in the evening, Daniella, the port manager came over and joined us. Daniela is a retired Barge Captain who now owns her own "home on the water". Coffee, turned to dinner, and later, to wine, the 4 of us ended up spending the entire evening outside under the awning, for November, it was quite pleasant outside. About 11 PM, we all went our separate ways and retired for the evening.
I had just bedded down when a car pulled up next to my tent (the tent was set up in the gravel parking area, just across the paved path from where Bold Venture was moored), someone got out and closed the door but the car sat there with the engine still running. After a minute of listening to the engine, I stuck my head out of the tent to looked around and I could see someone shining a light down on my boat. I quickly left the tent and approached the Bold Venture and asked the person there, can I help you? He answered with a question, what are you doing here? I told him, I was traveling the canals, headed south. He asked, when I was leaving and I told him, I'm not sure, I'm cleaning the boat and doing laundry, by the time all is finished and dry, I'm just not sure. He curtly told me that he is the president of an association that he created in the Douai Port and that I would have to pay him money to moor my boat here. (Earlier that evening, I had discussed my staying in Douai with Daniella and she told me that in winter, there are no port fees for travelers passing through.) So I'm rolling all of this around in my mind; I'm in France, a French port manager with the VNF has given me the OK to stay, port fees waived, and this Brit "president" shows up and demands money from an American, for an association that he created. I was quick to answer, I'm not paying you anything and if you have a problem with that, we can awaken Daniela and talk to her about it. He didn't say another word, just turned around and went to his car and drove off to his boat which was moored up the canal a ways. I went back to bed.
The next morning, I was hanging my sleeping bag over the fence to air out and the same guy walks up, I said, good morning, he didn't answer and just asked, are you leaving today? I said, no. He turned and walked away. Just then Anne-lyse yelled a Bonjour! And waved me over, holding up and pointing to, a cup of coffee in her hand. She knew how to get my attention. I headed straight over.
She told me that she had heard me and Collin talking the night before. She then apologized for not warning me about him but thought he was still away skiing in he Alps. She told me to ignore him and that she would speak to Daniella about what had happened. She also told me that the "association" he's talking about, applies only to live-aboards in the port, and not pleasure craft passing through. But, she said, "he bullies everybody that comes to port". I didn't say anything, but I was thinking; I wonder if that is why the port is empty except for George and Susan on the Vertrowen, and Collin on the Kei. And Port Douai, is a large port.
The next morning, I was checking my laundry I had done the day before, to see if it would be dry enough for packing and Collin walks up, I said, good morning, Collin. He asked, are you leaving today? I said, nope. He turned and walked away. I thought to myself, the man is definitely committed to his cause.
I spent some of the day packing, reorganizing, preparing to leave the next day, just keeping myself busy so I wouldn't nap all day. Spent some time with Anne-lyse and Patrice, they're such happy people, they're always good for a laugh and a cup of coffee. Danielle came over and joined us, she was saddened that I was leaving but ran and got her best canal charts and pointed out places to see, places to avoid and so on, offering her knowledge of 30 years on the canals which was invaluable.
The next morning, I was packed by 7 AM and ready to go but waited for Anne-lyse and Patrice to come out so I could have one last cup of coffee with them, which they soon did. We had coffee, I said goodbye and Patrice gave me a couple of going away presents, and I climbed aboard Bold Venture and peddled away.
The Douai Port sets off the main canal on a subcanal that goes into the city center. As I was peddling toward the main canal, I looked up to a bridge that runs over the subcanal and there stood Patrice with the Texas flag draped over the bridge, his way of showing his love for the Great State of Texas. (Pictured below) I waved and peddled on.
I had just turned onto the main canal headed south when I hear someone calling loudly in English, "Hey, stop, stop!" I looked to my right to locate where the voice was coming from and saw a man standing in front of a building with a sign that read, SWANNY. I waved and he told me to turn around and tie up to the Norway, a barge moored to the canal quay. Unclear as to what was going on, I did as he instructed. I tied off to the Norway and had to climb aboard her to walk across to the quay. I had reservations about doing this without permission, ship captains don't take kindly to unauthorized personnel on their boats. I was tied to the bow of Norway and as I walked across the bow, I looked astern to the wheelhouse and saw the captain standing inside looking at me, I gave a wave and a point to the Bold Venture and he gave me a thumbs up gesture in return, I felt better.
I stepped off to the quay and was greeted by a Frenchman who grabbed my hand and shook it firmly saying, I'm happy to meet you, I read about you in the La Voix Du Nord, would you like some food to take with you? Caught a bit off guard, I answered, yes, thank you! I followed him inside the building under the SWANNY sign and I could immediately see it was a food service business. He explained that this was his business, the La Bonne Marmite, and he provides prepared meals and delivers them to senior citizens, and that he always has left-overs and does his best to throw nothing away, and that meeting me, it made that task all the easier. I told him laughing, I was glad I could help! As he and a co-worker packed a crate of food for me, a young woman gave me a tour of the place and I met each and every person that worked there. She then escorted me to the front door where I was presented with the blue crate that was packed with fruits, salads, pasta and sauces, and sliced roast beef. Of course I didn't pick through it there, but I was very curious...
I climbed aboard the Norway and took the crate and stowed it away safely on the Bold Venture. Once that was done, I went back aboard the Norway and walked back to the wheelhouse to thank the captain for letting me moor to his ship. He gave me another big thumbs up with a big smile as a young woman stepped out of the crew quarters and introduced herself as Marie-Laure, the deckhand of the Norway. She also told me that she's studying to be a barge captain. She had a camera with her and asked if she could take pictures of me with the Bold Venture, of course I said, sure. She walked with me back up to the bow of the Norway, and like others, was fascinated by the type of boat it was. She wished me luck and Bon Voyage and I peddled out of Douai. It had been a heck of a week.
I was down the canal a ways and my curiosity got the best of me, I then tore through blue crate like a kid with a Christmas present.
Anne-lyse and Patrice
The Norway
Marie-Laure
Arleux, France
My next stop was in Arleux, a small town at the junction of 2 canals, one going southeast to Saint Quentin, France, the other, southwest towards Paris. The sun was low in the sky, so I naturally started looking for a place to camp for the night. The canal junction was a good place to stop as I had a decision to make. Head southeast, a shorter distance to the Rhone river, or southwest and get to see Paris from the canal. Unbeknownst to me, this decision would prove to be a crucial one in the future.
I found a place to moor between a barge and a cabin cruiser. The bank rose steeply up about 3 meters to the paved service road of the canal. Between the service road and the top edge of the back was about a meter and a half of level place to pitch a tent. I didn't like such a narrow space to camp as traffic in the middle of the night could be hazardous. I took a walk up and down the canal looking for a better arrangement, but none was to be found. I would just have to keep an eye on traffic and if I deem it too dangerous, sleep on the boat.
It was still early evening so I decided to sit on the bank and have a drink of wine that Patrice had given me. I was sitting there relaxing and wondering about maybe going through Paris, or not, when an older gentleman with a fishing pole walked past me and then down the bank to fish right between the Bold Venture and the cabin cruiser I mentioned earlier. I said bonjour and he said the same in kind. He fished for a little less than an hour occasionally giving me a side-wards glance. Finally, after not catching anything, he reeled in and walked back across the pave road, where he entered the house right across from me.
After 15 minutes or so, he and, a woman I assumed to be his wife, exited the house and came walking towards me. He had a newspaper in his hand which he held up to me without saying a word. There I was, pictured on the page he had it opened to. Then he indicated in a questioning gesture, is this you? I smiled and said, Oui. There was no doubt it was me but, this was an ice breaker for him and I obliged. He introduced himself and his wife as Alain (pronounced Alon, kind of, you have to hear it to get the full effect) and Marie-France. We started talking and Marie-France hustled back to the house and fetched another bottle of wine and 3 plastic cups. It was a scene out of Seligman, Mo. back in my younger days in front of the seed store drinking Boone's Farm out of plastic cups. We stood there for a good 3 hours talking in gestures and confused looks. And laughs.
The next morning, I was packing while the coffee was cooking, the normal routine, and Marie-France and Alain came outside to see me off. He carried a small plastic shopping bag which he handed to me and in the only English he ever spoke said, "For you." I could see there were some canned food inside and a bottle of wine. I took it and said, Merci beaucoup! He watched intently as I stuffed the bag into one of the cargo holds of the kayak and gestured, be careful or keep an eye on it. I assumed he meant the wine. I assured him I would take care of it. I poured my coffee into my travel cup, packed the stove and was ready to go. I went back up the back to shake their hands and to say Au Revoir and both Alain and Marie-France gave me a hug and said, Bon Voyage.
It was only until of couple of days later when I took one of the canned items out of the bag that I found a 20 Euro bill inside. Now i understood why he wanted me to be so cautious with it.
Marie-France and Alain
Corbehem, France
It was getting late when I came upon a smaller, less used canal to my right and decided to peddle up a ways to see if there was a suitable place to stay the night. I could only go up the canal about 500 meters as there was an unmanned lock, so I turned around and and stopped about 100 meters in front of another pleasure boat. The canal wall was very high, almost 2 meters above the waterline, which made it difficult going back and forth from the boat. I stayed one night and moved one.
Cambrai, France
I entered Cambrai about 5 PM and had to steer clost to the side to wait for a barge that was clearing the lock in town. While I was waiting, a car drove by on the street above, honking it's horn radically, I looked up and saw people waving, yelling and giving me a thumbs up, I waved back but had to divert my attention back to the lock as the barge had cleared and it was my turn to enter. I entered the lock and secured my kayak to the side when a young man standing on the platform above me introduced himself as, "Hey, I'm Otman, I'm also a world traveler." I didn't yet consider myself a world traveler, but hey, close enough. We talked as the water level changed in the lock and he asked me if I was going to stay in Cambai. I to told him, yes and he instructed me where to go for pleasure craft mooring and that he would meet me there. After mooring where he instructed, I sat on a park bench, resting and Otman walked up and started telling me about his travels. He was Moroccan/French, in his early 30's, was raised in France and schooled as a welder. He left France at the age of 18 to see the world. He made it as far as Australia where he worked for a while, then went to India and worked for a time there too. On is way back to France, he traveled by train, bus and hired car from India to Yemen and then the same across north Africa to Morocco. When he had finished, he asked me where I was staying and I told him, right here in a tent. He offered his apartment, that he shared with his wife and 2 children but I declined saying, thank you for the offer. He insisted that I at least come over and use their shower and have dinner with them. I agreed to that. It was close to 7 PM by that time, and dark, so I secured everything as usual, not comfortable that he was watching all the while as, what's the use of hiding your valuables, if someone is watching? The one thing that made it tolerable is the the British flagged, live-a-board moored ahead of me had watched me come in and, I would hope, intervene if someone besides myself started meddling around my boat. Live-a-boards look after their own, most times.
I walked with Otman to his apartment which was situated on the second floor corner of an intersection that overlooked the lock and port about 300 meters away. I could see my boat from their corner balcony window, which made me feel better about being there. I showered, and then had dinner with he and his family. After dinner, we sat in his living room, drank wine and talked about our travels. Occasionally, I would walk over to the balcony window and check on my boat. I did, in the end, stay in their apartment for the night and went back to the Bold Venture the next morning. Nothing was disturbed, she was fine. I spent the morning walking around town. As France goes, Cambrai, being a pleasant town, is not that picturesque as most towns with medieval beginnings. But it does hold and interesting place in history as it was here, that battle tanks were used for the first time, in a large-scale offensive on Nov. 20th, 1917 in WWI.
I returned to the Bold Venture that evening and was preparing to set up camp when the gentleman (John) from the British live-a-board came over and commented on what an original looking craft (the boat) I had, and we talked further. He invited me over for coffee and I accepted. Once there, I met his wife Carol. They both are retirees, living aboard in France. Carol brought me coffee and I said, "thank you ma'am". And she scolded me in turn for calling her ma'am. Just the way she did it, I got a good chuckle out of it, as John sat there grinning. They showed me around their boat, the Plover, and Carol wasn't happy that I was seeing it while the bathroom was in the middle of renovations, but the boat was lovely nonetheless. We sat and talked and the conversation turned to speaking French, they taught me a couple of good phrases to know, and then Carol brought out 2 books, one a phrase book with phonetic pronunciations which was excellent for me in the future, the other, a French/English dictionary that came in handy reading signs along the way. She gave both of them to me. I had an absolutely wonderful time with them that evening and when it came time for me to set up my tent, they weren't having any of that. There was no way I was going to sleep in a tent when they had a perfectly good guest room on their boat. To be honest, I didn't have much trouble relenting to their insistence. I stayed the night on the Plover and was awakened to coffee and breakfast. I wasn't quite ready to leave Cambrai just yet as I was looking for Camping Gas canisters for my camp stove, so I spent that morning walking through town again looking for them, which I did finally find. That afternoon, I spent with Carol and John looking through canal maps and they shared their experience of canal travel throughout Europe. It was both, an interesting and entertaining afternoon.
They invited me out for dinner and I accepted. We walked over to the Buffalo Grill, and American styled steak house popular in France. The dinner was simply fantastic and reminded me of home. After dinner we returned to the Plover for drinks. Carol offered me a Scotch and we said the customary "cheers" and I was mid-drink when I thought of something. A year earlier, for my birthday, my son had bought me a bottle of Chivas Regal, and I had brought it along with me. I excused myself for a 5 minutes and went to fetch the Chivas from one of the aluminum expedition boxes on the Bold Venture. I had packed it in an antique wooden box made for it that I had found at a flee market in Germany. I brought it in and we shared each others scotch whisky, talking about travel, family and life in general for the rest of the evening. I felt really comfortable with John and Carol, it was like meeting up with old friends I hadn't seen in a long time and, of course, they made me feel right at home.
As with all things, they must come to an end, and he next morning, Carol, John and I said our goodbyes and I moved on down the canal.
John, on the Plover
Masnieres
My next stop in Masnierers was a short one, just an overnighter. I camped next to a small park, where I set up camp. I got to know my next-door neighbors, Nora, and her son Kevin, Senegalese/Moroccan immigrants who now own a fast-food place on the canal.
Nora
and
Kevin
Venduille, France
I reached Venduille on a Saturday and I was warned by VNF, that if I didn't reach the Tunnel De Riqueval by Friday, I would be stuck in Venduille for the weekend and there's "nothing there". Have all the food and water you will need for the weekend or you're gonna be hungry. They were right, I moored close to the bridge and took a short walk into town and the VNF was right, as far as commerce goes, there's nothing there. I did see a sign for a hotel and was curious enough to walk in that direction to see it. If I had been driving, I would have passed it, the sign on the hotel itself was about the size of a license plate on a car. The "hotel" looked more like a large, unkempt farm house. I stayed under the glow of the street lights at the bridge Saturday night until... I was sitting outside, sipping on a coffee when, the whole town went dark. I looked at my watch and it was 9 PM. Lights out. I learned later that most small towns in France do this, conserving energy. After having stayed at ports along the canal, which are somewhat lit, this was quite unusual for me. It reminded me of Holland where I was camping well out of eyeshot, and of course, in the dark. Being in darkness, in unfamiliar territory and around people, for me is not a good mix. The next morning, Sunday, I moved on to the tunnel to wait until Monday morning.
Tunnel de Riqueval and
The Traveler
The Traveler saga is a long one, so much so, it deserves it's own page, for full story, click on the The Traveler Button below.
St Quentin, France
After having been towed through the 2 tunnels by the Traveler, there was a lock at Lesdins, France we would have to negotiate, and being towed through a lock was not an option. A couple of hundred meters before the lock, Suzanno radioed to me that it was time to separate before we entered the lock. I told her to untie the line and toss it clear of the ship's prop and I would gather it as I went along, which she did. I radioed my thanks for their hospitality and the the extra towed kilometers which they weren't obliged to do. Towing another vessel is not that difficult but it is an added responsibility to the barge captain that he/she would rather not have. That Piet and Suzanno had towed me much farther than they were required is just one example of their generous character.
Once I had gathered the tow line up and stowed it, I began to peddle in the direction of the lock. I noticed that had little to no effective rudder. I took a look at it and saw it was fouled with twigs, leaves and grass that I had gathered as I was being towed. This has happened many times before and is usually easy to clear by raising the rudder. I gave the rudder-up line a tug and it broke. I knew then, I would have a find a port soon, to try to fix this thing. I was clearing the rudder of the remaining debris when I heard Suzanno calling me on the radio. I answered her call and she told me that she had left some bread at the lock for me. In the middle of this rudder annoyance, I had to smile recalling that we had discussed French bakeries being closed on Mondays and I was out of bread! I thanked her and wished them bot a Bon Voyage! Generosity without end, I thought to myself.
The rudder was cleared and I entered the lock. Sure enough, next to the water flow control lever was a small loaf of bread. Enough to last me a few days. I exited the lock and started down a long straight stretch of the canal and could see the canal was clear of traffic so, I diverted my attention to the my maps looking for a port where I could camp for a couple of days until I got this rudder problem figured out. According to the map, the next best place would be St Quentin. 7.5 kilometers away.
For you Hobie Tandem Island owners, the broken up-line on the rudder did not affect the performance of the rudder any whatsoever. The only problem was, I could not raise the rudder in shallow water areas or to avoid it hitting slightly submerged objects like tree trunks, etc.
I made it to St Quentin that evening and there was a VNF gentleman there making his rounds. He came over and asked if everything was OK. I told him, yes but explained the problem with the rudder and asked if it was alright that I stay there until I got it repaired. He assured me it was fine to stay but said that the port was officially closed for the winter and there are no facilities such as toilets or showers. I told him I would make do and thanked him. The port is a secure one and he gave me a "key" to it so I could come and go as I pleased.
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I secured everything on Bold Venture, unpacked my laptop and headed to a McDonald's that I had seen about 500 meters back up the canal. There I could get a good Coffee (Carol on the Plover had clued me on that McDonald's has the best coffee in France, she was right!) and use their free WIFI to contact Hobie support in the UK before I tore the Tandem Island apart trying to repair the rudder.
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Once there, I settled down with my coffee and contacted Hobie Support, UK and ended up in an email conversation with "Kris", who turned out to be a real champ with getting me fast information on how to repair the up-line. He contacted engineers in the UK and the States getting me diagrams and tips to help me through this. Armed with this information, I headed back to the port and set up camp, fully prepared to get up early the next morning, unpack the kayak and attack the problem.
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The next morning, I did just that. I unloaded the back end of the kayak and removed the seat so I could lay down and work in the small rear hatch opening. When I took the end of the line out, I saw that it had broken about 2 inches from the end of the line, as can be seen in the photos below. I went to the hatch at the back seat and fished the other end of the line out, and using a fishing pole inserted into the back hatch, was able to pull the line back, tie a new knot and reattach it to the rudder cord. I was lucky, it was an easy fix because it had broken so close to the end of the line. If it had been somewhere in the middle, I would probably have to replace the whole line or, tie a knot (splice it) in the middle. Not something easily done trying to get both arms inside the hatch opening. And, I did have to remove the turning block at the T-Handle to get enough slack to tie the knot and reattach the line, which is not for the timid, and, if you're working alone, a wide range of expletives are needed to get it back together, trust me...
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I applaud Kris at Hobie, UK for his quick help and moral support. Without him, I'm not so sure the fix would have been so painless.
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I was finished with the repair right after noon and decided to use the outside water faucet at the port showers to wash my clothes. The water was cold as a winter in northern France but after some soaking and then washing, worked well enough. I hung the clothes out in the afternoon sun and repacked the kayak, readying it for an early morning departure. There was a brisk southwest wind and clothes dried as much as they were going to on a winter day so I took them and laid them out in the tent. Even in winter, tents can get very warm inside which will cause the moisture in damp clothes evaporate and collect on the rain shell of the tent. It's a good way to dry clothes if you catch the sun and time of day right. As a side note, you can put damp socks in your sleeping bag with you at night and they will be reasonably dry in the morning. Tricks from my army days.
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Having completed that, I took my laptop and walked back up to McDonald's to give Kris at Hobie a progress report and thank him for his help, and to chat with my daughter on Messenger. That was about 6 PM, by 9 , I was finished and walked back to the port. As I entered onto the pier, I stopped in shock. My tent was gone! My first thought, someone stole everything. But that would have been odd as there were fishermen line up on the bank opposite the pier and, French fishermen are like geese, they squawk and honk when someone who doesn't belong comes around. Second thought, the port management moved my tent from the pier to the grassy area, I ran over and looked, nothing. I went back to the pier and was basically, looking like chicken with it's head cut off when one of the fisherman called out to me and speaking so fast, I was lost in first sentence. I called back that I didn't speak French and he called a young man over who spoke English and explained that a big wind had come and that my tent was in the water. I thanked him and frantically started looking in the water with my flashlight to see if I could catch a glint of red, the color of the tent. I couldn't see anything. I then started going from boat to boat, looking for a gaff pole to use as a hook to probe the depths and, hopefully, snag the tent and pull it up. I know it's not entirely ethical to be running around on other people's boats but, desperate times require desperate measures. In any case, at this point, I was more inclined to beg for forgiveness than ask for permission. But I found nothing. I was walking over to the port clubhouse to see if I could find something to probe the water with when my eye caught a glint of shiny metal as my light panned across the water. Then I saw the red. My tent, when blown in, had floated and drifted across the port, then sank over the rudder of a live-a-board ship, the Tarahumara. The shiny metal glint that I saw, was a the metal joint of one of the fiberglass poles hung over the top of the ship's rudder. Now, how to get this thing out of the water...
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The first thing I did, was put on my drysuit, then gathered some short bits of rope and carabiners and went back over to the Tarahumara and climbed down the canal wall to survey exactly what I would have to do to rescue the tent and what was in it. I couldn't reach the tent and hang onto the water faucet pipe I was clinging to at the same time. It was obvious I would have to get into the canal, which I did, hanging on to a rope I had tied to the pipe. Once over to the rudder, I could see that the weight of the tent and everything inside was putting dangerous bend on the fiberglass tent pole. Just looking at it I guessed I couldn't lift the tent and pull myself back over to the canal wall, and once there, haul myself up with the tent in one go. I clipped a carabiner onto the tent pole and went back up the wall and pulled the tent over to the wall. Once having secured the tent to the faucet pipe, I climbed back down the wall. A wooden bumper bolted to the wall, just under the waterline gave me something to stand on while I worked on getting the items out of the tent. I couldn't believe how heavy the tent was but was lucky enough to get it turned around so the the door was facing up, got it unzipped and started retrieving items out. Then I recalled how much stuff I had in the tent. Sleeping bag and mats, a rucksack full of clean clothes, all the laundry I had laid out to dry, large towel, lantern, stove, pots to cook with, jars and cans of food and batteries with charger. That must have been a hell of a wind to blow it off the pier. Now, everything was saturated with water. By pulling up the inner liner of the tent I was able to retrieve most items pretty easily and throw them up onto the grassy area. The sleeping bag, not so easy. I could not lift the saturated sleeping bag out of the water so I ran a rope through the hanging loops of the sleeping bag and then up and around the faucet pipe and inch by inch pulled the bag up, letting it drain for a few seconds and then pull it up another couple of inches until I could lift it completely out of the water. I then spun the tent around, door down, and lifted it out of the water. I laid everything out to dry, over park benches and hedges and set the tent up and used the wet towel to mop out excess water from the inside. By the time I finished, I was exhausted. I laid down inside the tent, in my drysuit, and slept.
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I awoke about 3:30 in the morning, chilled to the bone, shivering. I was the surprised that the drysuit had held warmth as long as it did, but coupled with the fact that I hadn't eaten since noon the day before and sleeping with no cover other than the tent, my body had produced all the heat it had the energy for. I got up and jogged around the port to bring my body temperature up which, after about 10 minutes, started to work. Enough for me to stop shivering. Luckily, I had the port to myself and so one saw the is strange man jogging up and down the pier in a drysuit at 3:30 in the morning. I warmed up enough to lay back down and sleep until 6, when again, I awoke shivering and repeated the procedure I had done at 3:30. Jogging along I kept thinking back to the dive schools and endurance training I'd been to 30 years before and I kept telling myself, I've been colder, wetter, for longer, I can do this. I'll get through this, it's only temporary. Having warmed up a bit, I lay back down to sleep but did rest well so after an hour, got back up and made coffee. After the first cup, I made a pot of oatmeal with honey and cinnamon. The affect was almost immediate. Maybe it was the half cup of honey I put in it, I thought I was going to have a heart attack. Sugar rush.
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I collected everything that had gotten wet and took off to find a place to get it cleaned. To carry the 2 bags of wet items was almost impossible. I was stopping to rest ever 200-300 meters until I got to town. I stopped at a bakery and asked where a cleaners was and the 2 workers discussed it with a customer for a couple of minutes until they decided the best place to go and then the customer offered to give me a ride there! (which was a considerable distance) This customer and I talked on the way there and it turns out he has gone to New York to run the Marathon since the 1970's. He was about the same age as me and admired the fact that I was crossing Europe in a human powered boat.
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2 hours and 41 Euros later, everything was washed and dried. I walked back to the port and repacked what I didn't need for the night and prepared to leave early the next morning.
Chauny, France
I continued down the canal past Jussy and then to Tergnier where the canal splits. To the left the canal turns back north toward Belgium but I turned right heading southwest, direct into a southwest wind. I fought that unrelenting wind for a little over 8 kilometers until I reached Chauny. The port in Chauny was full and I would have to spend the night on the canal. I don't like mooring on the canal, firstly, for being so small, I was afraid that larger barges wouldn't see me in the dark until it's too late, and second, passing barges sometimes travel at higher speeds along straight stretches of the canal and their wake beat the Bold Venture against the bank and me being asleep, I can't get out fast enough to hold her off the bank. But it was something I would have to do from time to time and hope for the best.
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I moored on the edge of town, just inside the lit zone of a canal refueling bunker, but far enough out that a barge wouldn't have problems getting around me to refuel. And sure enough, about 8 that evening, a barge slid in around me using high intensity LED spot lights to light his path, he saw me well enough, waved as he went by and I was satisfied I was as safe as possible under the current conditions. I was cooking a dinner of spam and eggs when another barge, the Elo Yan, slowly edged up my side of the canal and nosed up to me and moored for the night. This made me even more comfortable with my decision to moor where I was. No passing barge in the middle of the night would miss seeing me with another barge parked on my nose.
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The crew, Brigitte, Jim and Guy, of the Elo Yan came over and eyed my boat curiously, asking me where I was from and where I was going. We talked for a while and I asked them if I could charge my phone and MP3 player aboard their vessel which they were happy to oblige. We talked for a while longer and they explained that the Elo Yan is a Swiss/French owned, French flagged ship as Brigitte is Swiss and her husband is French. I never did determine if it was Jim or Guy that was her husband, or if he was even present. When you're carrying on a conversation in French, German and English, and none are proficient in the other's language, sometimes I get lost... It didn't matter, they were nice people and I enjoyed talking to them. They invited me over to the bunker bar for a beer and we all walked over to what I thought was the bunker office but was in fact, the local canal bar also. We stayed for a couple of hours and talked about pleasure boating on the canals and the hazards of barge traffic. They seemed a bit mystified as to why a man would travel the canals of Europe in such a small boat, a craft that was so slow. I gathered they see the canals as a liquid form of interstate commercial highways and thus, "nothing to see here". But from my vantage point, as a traveler/tourist/explorer, there's "a lot to see here". Don't misunderstand me, they didn't have a problem with me doing what I'm doing, to the contrary, they were fascinated by it. Simply put, when they take a vacation, I can guarantee you, it's not on the canals.
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It was about 11 when we called it a night and headed back to our boats. I was preparing my bedding when Brigitte came over and gave me my phone and MP3 player telling me they were both fully charged. I thanked her and wished her a good night.
Jim, Guy and Brigitte
Me and Jim
Pinon, France
I left Chauny about 7AM and as soon as I pulled around the bow of the Elo Yan, a brisk head wind hit me and almost brought me to a halt. I peddled hard against it but the wind kept getting stronger. I knew it was 2.5 kilometers to the next canal turnoff where I would head southeast and I pushed myself to get there. But the wind got so strong that the canal was white-capping. I pushed harder thinking to myself, if I can just make it 10 more meters, having done that, then 100 more meters, just don't stop, keep going. But to no avail, after an hour and a half, I'd made it just short of 1 kilometer and I was exhausted. 8:30 AM, and I'm exhausted, this is gonna set me back for the day, I thought to myself. When I stopped peddling, the wind would blow me backwards, and fast! I knew what I had to do. I pulled to the right side of the canal and held on to a bush while I connected my longest mooring rope to the forward aka arm of the kayak. I then set the rudder to turn slightly left, hoping the stiffness would hold it in place and keep the kayak from bumping into the bank. I got onto the bank and pulled it on foot. This turned out to be both faster and less strenuous. By 9:30 I was at the canal turnoff. I pulled the kayak a little farther up the canal to give me time to secure my mooring rope and get into the seat to guide the boat into the mouth of the other canal as the wind blew me backwards. The tactic worked and I "blew" into the canal with little effort. I cleared the lock and set the mast up as the wind was now at a beam reach and I unfurled the sail. What time I lost in the past 2.5 kilometers was quickly made up. But not for long. At about Guny, France, the wind shifted, coming from the southeast and I stowed the mast to lessen the wind load. Thankfully, the wind was not as strong as when it was from the southwest. The going was slow, but I was going.
When I was in the lock near La Vallée, a gentleman from the VNF pulled up in his little white car, got out and came over to me. He asked if I could make it to Pinon today. I asked him how far it was and he said it was about 12 kilometers. I told him I wasn't sure, but it was early afternoon and, possibly, I could make it before dark. He said, if I could make it, there was a very nice place to camp across from the VNF office and there was a shopping center behind the campground where I could buy bread. I had to smile, the VNF guys and gals knew by now that I was always looking for bakeries along the way to supplement my diet as I was losing weight fast and most of my packed food was high proteins and canned vegetables and soups. Word travels fast down the VNF grapevine and the new VNF people I met along the way always knew what I needed and offered help whenever they could. I told him, I would try my best to make it to Pinon and he waved bye and took off in his car. And then stopped. He backed up, rolled his window down and asked, "If you don't make it to Pinon, how many baguettes do you need? I laughed thinking, these guys amaze me. I told him, 1 would be fine and thanked him. He waved again and was off down the service road.
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I got to Pinon just a little after dark and the same man as before stepped out of the VNF office and waved to me, then pointed to the place he wanted me to moor at, just where the canal widens a bit after a bridge. He called across the canal and asked if everything was fine for me and I told him yes. He said, good night, see you in the morning, and disappeared back into the VNF office. I secured the boat and walked over to the shopping center and bought 2 baguettes. As I was walking back to the boat, it started to rain so I quickly got everything I needed for the night and set up camp under the bridge, in the dry.
Berry-au-Bac - Reims, France
For the next couple of days I made my way southeast through Bourg-et-Comin where I stayed for 1 night. The weather had turned from windy to rain, to cold, to absolutely miserable. I was wetter than when I was sailing through the ocean spray of the north Atlantic. Everything was soaked. I both dreaded and welcomed making camp as on the one hand, it was difficult to keep my bedding dry while making camp, but on the other hand it was a welcome respite from the weather once I was settled inside my tent. I had to keep a small towel handy so when I leaned out of the tent to dig through the food box for whatever I needed. Just a few seconds of rummaging in the box meant my head and arms would be soaked by the time I got the tent flap zipped up again.
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By the time I cleared the first lock at Berr-au-Bac the rain had stopped but it was getting noticeably colder. I was sure it was getting close to freezing and when I moored behind a barge and got off the boat, the grass crunched underfoot, it was freezing. I had stopped because I was getting chilled and I wanted to put on another layer of fleece under my foul weather gear. I was standing on the grassy area stretching my legs when the cabin window on the barge slid open and an older man stuck his head out and asked if I wanted to come inside and warm up.
