Clamecy sur Yonne

Saturday/Sunday 30 June: 

Shelagh (in the UK) rang at around 11pm to see where we were – expecting us to be in NZ.  Apparently Dominic has come to grief with a cyclist who bowled him when crossing the road in London.  She wanted to know where we were to be picked up from, whether it was an airport.  I think she was vastly relieved to find it was from the nearest railway station.  After that, I was wide awake, so spent some time texting family as there was reception.  Francie has learned that she is to be an aunt for the second time, and to a niece.  She is thrilled to bits!  I finally fell asleep around 2am and awoke to the church bells...

The boat’s power system let us down last night, our fault, as we weren't plugged into the onshore electricity overnight and somehow the boat's battery had become absolutely drained when we stopped.  

In the morning, we went back to the tabac/bar that we had a drink in last night.  Jenny and I decided to try the local Chablis - it was absolutely vile and we could tell it was off, just from its bouquet... but the young woman kept on and on about it being perfectly ok.  She even gave Jenny another 'fresh' glass.  Just as bad.  Smelled and tasted like kerosene.  Anyway, we went back in the morning for croissants and coffee.  The coffee was a large cup of hot milk with a faint flavour of caffine, so still the great coffee hunt is still on.  However, when we went to pay for this, the shop assistant took off a few euros because of last night's wine.  Maybe they decided we were right and their wine hadn't 'just been opened' that day.  We found the little super marché and bought Italian ground coffee as there is a plunger on board.  Thoughtful acquisition.  Also bought several excellent cheeses, some smoked ham and salami, beautiful large tomatoes and breads.  

Onwards we pressed, going through lock after lock, walking in between some of them, and stopping for lunch by a weir in the Yonne which was running alongside the Canal.  The cheeses are fabulous!  The prosciutto is delicious!  Coffee is getting better!  As we motor along the canal, we often see the river Yonne running close by.  Sometimes it's lower than we are, sometimes we actually go into the Yonne before turning off again into the canals. We even passed a little village called Lucy sur Yonne.

Our destination for Sunday evening was Clemecy which turned out to be a charming little town – quiet, of course – but with a few little shops, a large church atop the hill, and a strong history of being the central point for logging in the olden days.  Logs were milled and simply floated down the Yonne to Paris, and .. was one of the main areas dedicated to this business.  From what I could gather, the town was basically started by a couple of families who seemed to maintain the right to govern and lead.  Since it was Sunday, we were a little dubious about what might be open that evening; we found a bar and had a bier while discussing where we might eat.  Jenny and I were keen to try out an Algerian restaurant specialising in couscous and tagine.  We sat atop our boat drinking wine and eating nuts and nibbles until the restaurant opened at 7pm.  We were looking forward to the tagines..

..What we found, however, was that one had to order the tagine well in advance.  I mean, a day in advance.  Or at least phone on the day and order for that evening.  So we had instead a mammoth bowl of beautiful, light, fluffy, couscous and a platter of lamb kebabs and a couple of pieces of chicken.  Along with this came another large bowl filled with what could have been soup with large pieces of vegetables and chickpeas.  This was to flavour the couscous and provide a sauce.  To top it off was a small dish of very hot harrissa.  The restaurant had soft sofas and small curtained-off rooms, as one might expect to see in Morocco or the Eastern countries.  It was very convivial and not expensive.

The town's history is to do with logging. Log 'trains' were floated down the river to Paris and the town was built and developed really just be one family.  I was standing on the bridge looking at a statue to the loggers when an old man tapped me on the shoulder and started to talk, in French, about the statue.  It's moments like these when you wish you could speak the language fluently enough to converse.  He shook my hand, tipped his hat and walked away.

We walked back to the boat, talking to others moored nearby.  We are near to a German boat, a long yellow American boat, and across the water from us is a British couple with two dogs.  Many people cruise the locks as a way of life, or at least for all of the English winter months.  Some, like us, are just there for a few weeks or days.  I am sorry that we are having to return the same way as it would have been nice to keep on going.  But, tomorrow we start our return journey of two days, and then onto Paris.