Dear all,
Our trip continues in
France:
Day 27 –
Saint-Léger-sur-Dheune to Saint-Julien-sur-Dheune
Our first day
sailing was to Saint-Julien-sur-Dheune, a mere 12km away up the River Dheune.
Easy, apart from the 12 locks we had to navigate on the way.
The first
lock took an hour, because the thrusters on the boat I was driving were on
strike which meant that I had no navigation tools. It was like a slow-motion
bumper car derby. Eventually, we found our rhythm and reduced time in each lock
to a respectable 10 minutes per boat. Each lock could accommodate two boats at
a time, and we quickly developed a system: captain (me), bow rope (Katie),
stern rope (Mel), and cabin boy (Bernie), who jumped onto each lock like a
swashbuckling hero to start the mechanism.
Everything was
going swimmingly until we reached the 11th lock. The boat behind us
drifted back and kissed the lock gate a little too affectionately, the emergency
stop rope was pulled and everything froze. Of course, it was 12:02pm—lunch time
in France, when even mechanical mishaps must wait an hour. Nobody answered our
phone call for help, so we had lunch down at the base of the lock, which is not
something you’ll find in any travel brochure. Just after 1pm the phone was
answered by a young lady who spoke only French. Katie’s French proved
invaluable in explaining the situation over the phone and giving our location,
and ten minutes later the lady arrived, pressed a single button inside the
locked controller, and voila, we were free.
We arrived in
Saint-Julien around 2pm. A quick scout of the town revealed that everything was
closed. It was Sunday, after all, and as every French person will tell you,
Sunday is for rest, not commerce. The pretty Auberge just near the village was
also “fermé”(closed) and clearly had been so for several years, so we searched
for somewhere a little further afield. Paul found a restaurant that appeared to
be open and bravely called to book a table. As they spoke no English, he passed
the phone straight to Katie and she managed to book a table for ten people. Mel
and Bernie had already planned a romantic dinner further afield that night to celebrate
their wedding anniversary.
The rest of
us cycled 6km to the restaurant, which was a pleasant ride beside the locks,
apart from the uphill gradient and the 30°C heat. Upon arrival, we discovered
that the restaurant was, in fact, a service station. Reactions ranged from
amused to mildly outraged. We cycled back to the boats and reverted to our
trusty fallback: French cheese, bread, and champagne.
Day 28 –
Saint-Julien-Sur-Dheune
It rained. A
perfect excuse to ditch lock navigation in favour of a drive in the French
countryside. We headed to Puligny-Montrachet, a village that seems to have
been preserved in 18th-century aspic. The area is known globally for white
wines that make angels weep, and has been producing wine since the Middle Ages,
when monks from the Abbey of Cluny first realised the soil here was liquid gold
in disguise.
We wandered
the cobbled streets, admired the stone buildings, and found ourselves at the Château
de Chassagne-Montrachet, owned by the Famille Picard. The chateau is a
stately affair with a very impressive wine cellar. We were treated to a tasting
while watching the harvest in full swing—grapes being crushed and vatting
underway. It was all very rustic and romantic. And yes, we did make the
obligatory Jean-Luc Picard joke. As always, resistance was futile.
Next came a
long, luxurious lunch at Le Montrachet, a Michelin-starred restaurant that
somehow manages to be both elegant and welcoming. The girls were in raptures
over the interior décor, while the rest of us admired the biblical wine list with
wines up to €16,000 per bottle. We avoided this particular drop and the bill was
surprisingly reasonable—under €100 a head, which in Michelin terms is
practically a bargain bin special. The food was exquisite and was Katie’s
favourite French experience.
Suitably
stuffed, we returned to the boats for a nap. Later, we reconvened on the lead
boat for – you guessed it – a light supper of French champagne, French cheese
and bread.
Day 29 –
Saint-Julien-Sur-Dheune to Blanzy to Montceau-les-Mines
Today was a
grand canal odyssey, featuring no fewer than fifteen locks —eight up, seven
down—and a lunch break under a tree that may have been planted during the reign
of Louis XIV. The locks are part of the Canal du Centre, a waterway completed
in 1793 during the French Revolution and this section is known as the Ecuisses
staircase. Because when you're overthrowing monarchies, why not also improve
inland navigation?
The locks are
marvels of 18th-century engineering. They were designed to connect the Loire
and Saône rivers and facilitate the movement of coal, wine, and other
essentials like wine and cheese. Each lock is a deep stone chamber with gates
that open and close with the enthusiasm of a sleepy butler. By now, we could
navigate each one in under ten minutes, most of which was spent waiting for the
lock to decide it was ready. It’s a bit like coaxing a cat into a bath.
Midway, the
third boat in our convoy had a bit of a Titanic moment—minus the iceberg and
Celine Dion. A fender got stuck on the lock wall as the water drained, causing
the boat to tilt alarmingly. All the boat’s crockery fell to its doom, a bike was
lost at the bottom of the lock, and several phones flirted with a watery grave.
It was, by all accounts, traumatic. Gin was administered.
We had
intended to stop in Blanzy, but the pontoon was already occupied by some local
homeless people and their dog, so we pressed on to Montceau-les-Mines, a pretty
town that flourished in the 19th century thanks to the mining boom and the very
canal we were cruising. The marina there was spacious, welcoming, and
canine-free. Dinner was at a nearby restaurant, where we raised a few glasses
to surviving the day without sinking one of the boats and to the unsung heroes
of canal travel: the lock engineers of yore.
Day 30 –
Montceau-les-Mines to Saint-Julien-Sur-Dheune
Today was
yesterday in reverse, like a soggy palindrome. On the way we stopped at a
supermarket to buy an entirely new set of crockery and glassware for the boat
that had lost everything. The locks, now our old friends, were handled with the
ease of seasoned mariners. I drove, the others lounged, and the boat glided
through the locks like a baguette through brie.
We arrived
back in Saint-Julien-Sur-Dheune in time for a nap. The village was as quiet as
ever, still no sign of a restaurant. The evening brought wine, cheese, music,
and a pasta dinner whipped up by Bernie and me. Nothing says “we’ve conquered
the canal” like feeding a crowd from a tiny galley kitchen with questionable
counter space.
Day 31 -
Saint-Julien-Sur-Dheune
Another
driving day, this time to explore Beaune, a walled city dating back to the 12th
century. Yes, the 1100s — a time when knights were fashionable, plumbing was
not, and “medieval charm” was just “life.” Beaune was once the capital of
Burgundy wines and still takes that title very seriously. While the boys took
the high road — literally, walking the rampart walls — the girls went shopping
unsupervised. This, in hindsight, was a tactical error. The local economy
thanks us.
We regrouped
for drinks and lunch at a picturesque little bar that looked like it had been
plucked straight from a French film. Then off to Meursault, another beautiful
little town famed for its white wines and elegant architecture.
Back at the
boats, we all enjoyed an afternoon nap before dressing in our best white
outfits and heading out to celebrate Kylie’s 60th birthday. The venue was
another fabulous Michelin-starred restaurant: L’Ouillette in nearby Santenay, a
village that sounds like it should be whispered. The dinner was, in a word,
spectacular. In two words: dangerously delicious.
Day 32 -
Saint-Julien-Sur-Dheune to Saint-Léger-sur-Dheune
We began the
day with a visit to Domaine Evenstad, a winery that opened in 1431 — the same
year Joan of Arc was burned at the stake. Coincidence? Probably. But it does
make you appreciate wine as a more peaceful legacy.
The cellars
were beautiful, the wine-making process fascinating, and by 10:30am we were starting
our tasting of six wines. It felt early, yes, but in Burgundy, wine o’clock is
more of a suggestion than a rule. We have now reached peak wine knowledge. From
here, it’s all downhill — possibly rolling.
We returned
to the boats by noon and began our journey to Saint-Léger-sur-Dheune. Only
eleven locks remained, which by now we were handling with the grace and
efficiency of a mildly competent naval crew. No assistance was needed, except
from the Captain (me), still waiting for someone to salute. The afternoon was
spent cruising down the canal, watching the picturesque countryside drift by
like a screensaver. Over the whole week we had navigated a total of 70 locks up
and down the canal. Upon arrival, we docked, showered, and assembled for a
final charcuterie and drinks session on the deck to polish off the last
remaining magnum. Kylie and Paul departed for Paris, leaving the remaining ten
of us to have dinner and toast the end of a truly lovely week. Katie and I are
now looking forward to at least seven consecutive days without wine. Possibly
eight. But let’s not get carried away.
Day 33 -
Saint-Léger-sur-Dheune to Nice
Today was a
transit day. We bid farewell at the boats to people heading back to Paris and
embarked on a multi-train journey: five of us travelling to Chalon-sur-Saône
and on to Lyon, and then onwards by ourselves to Marseille, and Nice. Four
trains in total. The Lyon to Marseille leg was a high-speed train, while Marseille
to Nice was a leisurely chug through the countryside—half the distance, triple
the time, and a reminder that not all trains are created equal.
It was oddly
quiet to be on our own again. Our hotel in Nice was perched right on the
Promenade des Anglais, the grand waterfront boulevard of Nice, where the
Mediterranean sparkles like a well-polished sapphire. We strolled along the
Promenade looking for a beach bar for a light dinner. Unbeknownst to us, Nice
was about to host the World Ironman Championships the next day. This
masochistic race consists of a 3.8 km swim, a 180.2 km bike ride, and a 42.195
km run, which makes a total of 226 km of pure, unfiltered endurance. Despite
the impending athletic chaos, there was no sign of setup—just some cryptic road
closure signs starting at 2am. Suspiciously calm, like the eye of a very sweaty
storm.
Day 34 -
Monaco
Overnight,
the Promenade transformed from tranquil seaside stroll to full-blown Ironman
battleground. At least five sets of barriers stretched the entire length of the
boulevard, neatly dividing the run and bike legs. I went for a run myself, dodging
crowds and triathletes, to catch the swim start at 7am. It was surprisingly
thrilling—helicopters, cheering, and a sea of neoprene.
We escaped
the triathlon madness by hopping on a 25-minute train to Monaco, France’s
glittery appendix. Monaco is the second smallest country in the world (after
Vatican City), covering just 2.08 km². It has a population of around 38,000,
most of whom seem to own at least one Ferrari. I saw more Ferraris in one day
than I’ve seen in the rest of my life combined.
We admired
the superyachts in the marina—floating mansions with names like Eclipse and My
Other Boat Is Also Ridiculous—before walking up to the Monte Carlo Casino.
Built in 1863 and redesigned in 1878 by Charles Garnier (the Paris Opera guy),
the casino is a Belle Époque masterpiece. Ornate frescoes, chandeliers, and
enough gold leaf to make Versailles blush. Citizens of Monaco aren’t allowed to
gamble there, which is probably for the best. We stopped at the adjacent Café
de Paris for croissants and coffee, then toured the casino before the gaming
tables opened. It was all very James Bond, minus the tuxedos and espionage.
A hop-on
hop-off bus conveniently appeared, so we hopped on (and then off) to visit
the Oceanographic Museum. Perched dramatically on a cliff, this museum houses
over 6,000 marine species. Jacques Cousteau was director for 31 years, which
explains the museum’s flair for underwater drama. One room was decked out like
a submarine with 26 synchronized video screens. It felt like being inside a
very enthusiastic fish documentary. It made me feel surprisingly seasick when
the submarine submerged and turned through the sea. A truly remarkable experience
and an excellent museum.
We wandered
through the old quarter, had lunch in a cute café, and then visited the Saint
Nicholas Cathedral, where Princess Grace (née Grace Kelly) is buried alongside
Prince Rainier. Astonishingly, it was actually the anniversary of her death on
the day of her visit, and her grave was adorned with fresh flowers—a quiet
tribute to Hollywood royalty turned actual royalty.
Back on the
bus, we cruised to the far end of Monaco and settled into the Meridian Beach
Plaza, with a fantastic view of the Azure Coast. The view was so lovely we
broke our no-wine vow and polished off a bottle of rosé. Oops.
We returned
to the Monte Carlo Casino around 4pm to see the gaming rooms in action. It was
fascinating and alarming to see large piles of chips evaporate in real time. We
finished the day at a marina bar with another bottle of rosé (double oops),
then caught the train back to Nice and had dinner at a great Italian restaurant
near our hotel. A fitting end to a day of glamour and history.
Day
35 - Nice
Today
was a day of gentle wandering. We began at the Cours Saleya Markets,
which, on Mondays, swaps its usual fresh produce and flowers for antiques, flea
market finds, and the occasional questionable taxidermy. This market has been
the beating heart of Nice’s Old Town since the 16th century, and in 1861 it
became the city’s first official flower, fruit, and vegetable market, shipping cut
blooms across Europe. Mondays, however, are for treasure hunters. We had
breakfast in the market, surrounded by vintage postcards, brass candlesticks,
and a surprising number of old keys.
We
made our way to Castle Hill, or Colline du Château, which is
more park than fortress. The original castle was built in the 11th century and
was once the most formidable citadel on the Mediterranean coast, but was subsequently
destroyed in 1706 by Louis XIV. We took the lift up, which was a very good
idea, and the views from the top were spectacular: Nice’s ochre rooftops and
winding alleys on one side, the marina and its floating millionaires’ club on
the other. We walked down—380 steps, which felt like a gentle punishment for
taking the lift up.
The
rest of the morning was spent meandering through Old Town Nice, a
delightful maze of cobblestone alleys, Italianate architecture, and buildings
painted in every shade of gelato. Nice was part of the Kingdom of Sardinia
until 1860, which explains why the Old Town feels more Ligurian than French.
The Baroque churches and palaces are straight out of the Genoa playbook, and
the Cathédrale Sainte-Réparate is a fine example of Roman-style grandeur with a
dash of Mediterranean flair.
We
had lunch on Rue Masséna, a pedestrian street lined with restaurants, and
then an afternoon on the beach. Now, about the beach. Nice’s beaches are not
sandy. They are made of galets—smooth, round pebbles that have been
washing down from the Alps for centuries. They look picturesque in photos but
are about as comfortable as lying on a pile of decorative garden stones.
Walking on them is a test of balance, pain tolerance, and dignity. Still, the
water was lovely, and the sun was doing its best Riviera impression.
We
ended the day with drinks overlooking the beach, watching the sun dip into the
Mediterranean like a well-timed cliché. The sky was perfectly blue, as to be
expected for the Côte d’Azur. It was the final night of our holiday, so we went
to a very flash French restaurant, where the food was exquisite and the bill
mildly traumatic. A bit sad to be wrapping up the trip, but at least we did it
in style.
Day 36 - Nice
to Brisbane
We had a last
morning wandering around Nice before catching the bus to the airport and
beginning our long trip home. Nice to Doha to Brisbane where we got home at
midnight. I think we need more holidays
like this.
Cheers
from Derek, Katie, Matt, Jessie, Molly & Pippa
No comments:
Post a Comment