We’re sitting in the sun on a deck at the hotel. It’s snowing, snowing white fluffy cotton-ball-like spores, bursting from the great tree by the river. Across the water, maybe 100m, there’s room enough for a few rows of old stone, steep rooved buildings before the land rises steeply and becomes lined with vines – like a green zen garden curving up over the hill top.
We’ve not long arrived from Paris, a fun trip to be sure. Would it be sacrilege to say that one of my best meals in France so far was cheese on toast this morning? Before we left, we were finishing up left overs. There was some not-bad gluten free bread and about half a kilo of the most delicious, grainy, salty, crumbly gruyere cheese that just had to be dealt with. I stepped up to the plate and made the best cheese on toast I’ve ever had in my life.
After that; six walking abreast down the middle of Rue St-Honore, bulging wheely bags bouncing awkwardly over the cobbles, beladen backpacks screaming at the outrage of carrying twice their rated volume, our fresh morning enthusiasm rapidly draining under their weight. And then, a taxi cab, green light aglow, waiting around the corner, in a column of light born down from the heavens (cue music).
Moments later we were on the train. It was like travelling through Calcutta in peak hour minus the livestock and, as Di rightly pointed out, less the people sitting on the roof. Picture a crowded peak-hour train where each traveller has a wheelie bag, a back-pack, hand luggage, a camera bag and probably a dog, the “Sardine” analogy if you like, with a jar of garlic-chile olives pressed in.
Two minutes before lift-off a young lady, at the wrong end of the carriage, decided it wasn’t for her and started to push her way through the sardines and olives to depart. We had to lift her bag over-head to set her free. Two minutes after lift-off, two ladies decided they needed to “go” and we were all unsettled again as they made their way there and back.
All that behind us, we walked the town of Joigny, the start of voyage and stopped for lunch at a little cafe up the hill towards the vineyards. The lunch rates a mention, not for Di’s sausage, my white anchovies or the others’ fromage de Chevre on fresh baguette, which were all superb, but for the old cafe owner who was hilarious. Absolute deadpan face, then an over theatrical roll of the eyes when madame wants hot chocolate in contrast to everybody else’s cafes. He drops a cup that smashes then points at me accusingly, hands the hot milk to Judy but then pulls it back at the last moment. Quite a character.
Dinner at the hotel was superb and we’re all excited about boarding the boat tomorrow. There’s been a change. The Canal Du Nivernais is closed. Winter weather destroyed a lock and it has not been fixed in time – so we’re doing the Bourgogne. All Good. We’ve managed to secure an 11am load up time (straight from the hotel to the boat place about 100m away) then a test run at 1:30pm.
Yesterday by the way was very cool. We did Musee D’Orsay; Monet, Degas, Pissaro, all exquisite, lots of wandering around town then out for a nice meal at Julien’s (although the upstairs section of the restaurant with zebra print lounge, “mood” lighting, prive function room and selection of 1980s Playboy magazines was interesting).