Southern Canal: Embranchement

Narbonne, Saturday 12 May 2012

We're back in beautiful Narbonne in the far south of France, pretty much in the town centre, moored by other boats in the canal; all we lack is electricity, which means that this computer will soon join my cameras in being exhausted. But I was able to photograph the Archbishops' Palace, with French railways, and a bit of Roman road exposed in the main square.

Spent last night by the Île Ste-Lucie, some 17 km and one lock downstream. It is a couple of kilometres from the Mediterranean Sea (which I could have reached, but didn't, as I preferred to spend my available time here—anyway, Mathilde cruised on it last year). I pictured the island as flat and sandy, surrounded by lagoons previously used as salt pans, but it was an outlier of the rocky ridges visible around here—not high, but dramatic in an otherwise flat landscape.

I came to moor at the island, but saw one of Adam's friends and relations on the mooring post, so I moved on slightly (a photo, repeated, shows Adam on the flagstaff). I then went for a walk, with reasonable footwear to cater for Adam's friends and relations, and with insect repellent, as it was obviously mosquito country. Over the centuries the island has hosted barracks for customs officers collecting salt tax (very big in the 14^th century) and, after the Second World War, piggeries. Now it is a nature reserve, but clearly olive trees count as nature, as many have been planted recently. According to the guide book, “traces of wild pigs and dear are also proof of a rich animal life.”

I headed past water-reeds into gently rising ground, with cliffs to my right. Buildings had been constructed against and partly in the rock; these included what I took to be a windmill, presumably for grinding corn or pressing olives. There were oleanders and many pines and hence a heady atmosphere. I heard many birds calling but saw few.

I reached the top of the island, a plateau, and manoeuvred carefully for the perfect shot of the canal snaking between lagoons to my island and, beyond it, the sea. That was when my camera battery went dead.

This morning we made our way back, past the territory of the Narbonne rowing club; a chap at the lock warned me: beaucoup de bateaux. I proceeded carefully and slowly, making little noise, which meant that people kept on sculling as they approached me at collision speed. I tried to attract attention by revving the engine in neutral, but one boat just kept coming, so I began to reverse slowly—then, fearing the fate of ships sunk by Captain Nemo's Nautilus, I reversed rapidly, in fear and trembling. At this stage the scullers heard us, and all was well.

I didn't photograph the boats, which would have been hard while steering, but I felt the strong westerly and tried to photograph that—or at least the bending reeds and trees. For the first kilometres there were seabirds.

Port la Robine, Dimanche 13 mai

We are now in Port la Robine, where Mathilde is to be operated on tomorrow, Monday. The wifi code is 19651965 but Fievel, my laptop, has not succeeded in connecting. Perhaps I didn't clean the shower properly. Madame la Gardienne told me what to do, demonstrating with the mop the while. In the loo there was a sign explaining the dreadful penalty imposed on men who did not point accurately; to emphasise the point, a row of little wizened objects hung from the ceiling. Well, at least I had a good shower.

And I have electricity, so that I am now charging a laptop, an iPod, two cameras, a Kindle and a phone. Most of these things had run flat, which was very uncomfortable.