Disability in Singapore

Watched a couple of good movies en route to Singapore: The Master, which wasn't at all about Scientology, and Cloud Atlas, and the FSM knows what that was about—but I look forward to watching it again on the next leg. It was a tour de force, with settings including an ante-bellum cotton plantation, a dystopian future with Tom Hanks living a Stone Age existence (some people might approve that fate for him), Hugh Grant as a nauseous politician, Jim Broadbent trying to escape from a walled residence for the aged of whom their families were tired, Hugo Weaving being evil, and TV John going slightly mad. Actors played several roles, so that Hallie Berry (how do you spell that?) was a modern journo and a Stone Age lass on a mission not from God—or was it?

The master in the movie did not write science fiction, so far as we know, but had a great gift for manipulating people—memorable party scene in which everyone was naked, except for the men—and attracting the needy and vulnerable. I assume that his arrest for embezzlement and his acolyte's violence against critics were features of the life of L Ron Hubbard, even though the film was not about Scientology. 

When checking in on Bencoolen Road i was feeling fine, thinking i had coped with the flight quite well but the hotel staff were clearly not impressed, as I was assigned to a room with unfamiliar layout, in which one enters from the corridor straight into a large bathroom, with two emergency buttons, i.e. designed for a person with disability. So far I have refrained from pressing.

While Adam is doubtless enjoying the air-conditioned hotel,  I am lurking in the shade in Singapore's amazing Gardens by the Bay, with stunning artificial trees. Next time I'll make sure to come by night, when there is a light show. Also, the sun will be less strong.

My disability in Singers is in coping with the heat.

Mascaret

Written at Bègles, which is a reasonable port de plaisance some 5 km outside Bordeaux; there is a good cycle path which I have used to get there. There is a good bus and tram service, but the last bus from Terres Neuves (the tram terminus) to Bègles leaves at 8pm. Stick to the bikes. The bloke who runs or helps run the port de plaisance is helpful.

Bordeaux is a lovely city with a great tram network. I went on a guided walk, which I enjoyed, the guide pointing out the many beauties of the city's architecture, including mascarons, the stone images by balconies. I also went to Compas Marin, a nautical shop at the western end of the basin (bassin) in town and bought a proper chart of the southern end of the Gironde (7427L). I tried to buy other Breil guides but no go. I should have bought a tide table.

On 3 August we left Bègles for Blaye, a town on the Gironde with a castle owned by a troubadour I had read. I had also read the Breil guide to the Gironde, but not carefully enough. I thought I knew about tides but, apart from mooring at Bègles, had no experience of tides so fast and with such a range. Of course we went with the tide, which ran fast, and got to Blaye early in the afternoon, mooring at the end of the pontoon, facing the ebb. I went on land, gave the tourist office an exorbitant €20 for the mooring; I was given no receipt (which is very unusual) or warning about the tides: this I find irresponsible; where I live I would have had to sign a disclaimer, undertaking not to sue the authorities if something went wrong. I then went to see my troubadour castle. When I got back to Mathilde the tide had turned (as it does) and water was washing unpleasantly into her stern. When another boat left and yet another moved forward, I turned Mathilde so that she could face the flood, and all was well. After that I saw a small sign at the mooring saying: moor facing the current. I pumped and sponged out Mathilde's bilge—it could have ended badly for her.

By then I had seen what I had wanted to in Blaye. I left around 0500 the following morning, at slack water (which is a very short period). The buoys in the estuary are lit, so I made my way, using the chart, to the mouth of the Dordogne, where I hung around a bit, because the buoys there are not lit. Once in the Dordogne we were doing 16 km/hr, which means the flood must have been about half that, because I chose to go slowly through the water, bearing in mind the debris. We passed a few moorings (shown in Breil) and eventually moored at Libourne, on the river Isle. As I went for a walk away from the pontoon I could see, once on land, the signs saying: don't use this pontoon, it's unsafe. There is another pontoon a hundred or so metres away in the Dordogne itself; it was locked and it was Saturday. Libourne is very pretty, with defences built by the Black Prince (a town can't really hold its head up in this area if it doesn't have defences built by the Black Prince or was not pillaged and burnt by him). Later in the afternoon we went a couple of km up the Isle, which was pretty, though certainly not in the class of the Baïse. The ebb was still flowing, so I anchored mid-stream (I had seen no tourist traffic all day). At 1930 I heard a roar and saw the mascaret coming up; I had time to start the engine and face it, though it was only 20' I mean 2' or so high and would not have done much harm anyway. It's just the terrifying roar that made it sound like 20 feet high. So now I know that: one minute you have the ebb, then next minute you have the mascaret, the water in the Isle has risen by a metre and there is a strong flood. I went back to Libourne, moored and had a drink.

There is a bit of flotsam in these rivers, which bumps against the hull when moored. When Mathilde is moving I like to keep a lookout and move through the water not too fast.

Guys at the river bank at Libourne told me that the mascaret at the mooring was not a big deal, and the pontoon rose with it. I was not sure: it probably would have been all right, but I did not want another cleat pulled out by a sudden wave, perhaps with the boat rising faster than the pontoon.

I could have gone further up the Dordogne but I wimped out and headed back. I got under way so that we would not face the mascaret when moored. We bounced around a bit when it came but it was not a problem at all. Went back to Libourne, moored and waited for the ebb. We left shortly after noon, and soon the current was running at 6 km/hr. I got to the Gironde and hung around for the flood up the Garonne, mooring at Bègles a bit after 8 p.m. At slack water near midnight I moved Mathilde a bit further in, to a pontoon where the current was not so strong. This was for comfort rather than safety. I don't turn Mathilde here, but she is moored facing the flood. A sign at the office gives times for the mascaret, but most days there is none—depending on the moon.

We have the Loire on the agenda for next year. I may have another go at the Dordogne then. I think I would then plan to go from Bègles to somewhere upstream of Libourne in one go, and I would avoid a full moon, i.e. choose a time of lower tidal coefficient.

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Back in Meilhan I saw a notaire about my problem with Cathare Marine.

Canal de Garonne--Agen

Mathilde is going strong, having reached beautiful Agen. The only cause for her failure to post is lack of wifi.

Down the Thames to Greenwich

I took a ferry downriver, travelling deck class.
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Past Tower Bridge, holding in its arms has The Shard (Europe's tallest building pending an effort by the French)

Past the building from which John Cleese hung naked, in A Fish Called Wanda

And so to Greenwich and the Cutty Sark

whose bow has a fine entry

and much the same technology as the tall ship James Craig (they were built just five years apart). The main difference is in the colossal amount of government support which Cutty Sark receives--apart from the tiny fact that James Craig actually sails,
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while Cutty Sark rests on her bed of glass.

Who needs the seaside when you have a Thames beach?

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Portsmouth

Visiting England, I had a fun day in Portsmouth, site of Europe's largest naval base.

Warrior was built in 1860 as a response to the construction of the French Gloire

 

 

 

Halyards trailing on deck: ropework not up to James Craig standards!

The crew handling the guns worked, ate and slept here

Mary Rose, pride of Henry VIII's navy, sank in 1545--was it the result of French gunfire?

Sailors streamed the log in Mary Rose, as is still done aboard the tall ship James Craig

Sadly, Britain's sovereignty is lost, as daleks have taken over the Royal Navy

Oxygen Masks On!

Mathilde reached the highest point on the Canal du Midi, almost the height of K2, a dizzying 189 metres above sea level. Australians are proud of the Snowy Mountains Scheme: over three hundred years ago Monsieur Riquet brought about a canal connecting sea to shining sea, and he turned rivers around to provide water to feed it (each time a lock is used, water goes from one level to a lower level so that, without replenishment--30 million cubic metres per year--the system would run dry).

There were many signs saying parting of the waters. 

This sign "parting of the waters" made me think of Moses and the Red Sea but of course it means watershed.

Riquet's descendants erected an obelix to mark his achievement, with a symbolic girl replenishing the canal, which links Poseidon (representing the Atlantic) and Venus (I'm sure it's significant that this goddess was chosen to represent the Mediterranean). 

 Then Mathilde went to bed.

Mostly Castelnaudary

Castelnaudary (meaning Arius' New Castle—new in the 12^th century) is fun for the photographer.

 I caught snow on the Pyrenees to the south.

I was intrigued by a sign saying Semi-Pedestrian Way: I found this puzzling till I saw some one-legged people hopping along. Maybe it's all in honour of St Roch.

As I make these notes I enjoy practice at the Ecole de Musique across the water. Reminds me of classes in Toronto.

I'm reading a book by Alison Weir on Eleanor of Aquitaine, redoubtable ruler of these parts in the twelfth century. She was quite a girl—a good-time girl--and it helps to know some of the places mentioned in the book.

Today Saturday I went by public transport to the market of Revel—a village, not a composer. Going northeast, we drove up into the foothills of the Black Mountains, past an artificial lake which feeds the Canal du Midi, and which is itself fed by streams from the said Black Mountains. Very pretty countryside, patchwork of fields with crops including wheat and sunflowers and forest. Like the Shire, good tilth pleasing to hobbits.

Then back to Castelnaudary.

 Strange to think that in less than a week's time I'll be in England. Christopher Ecclestone is playing in Antigone. I believe it's not a comedy, but it may be worth seeing.