On June 1, we had to leave Paris. The lease for our mooring at Arsenal was up. We took a route that was familiar to us – downstream on the Seine to the river Oise – and then upstream on it. We made it to Cergy, 80 kilometres away in eight-and-a-half hours. We moored at our usual spot on the Oise.
And then went to the nearby crêperie where we watched on a large screen as our dinner was being prepared.
The next day was a mere 21 kilometres – much more enjoyable than the previous day’s brutal 80-kilometres. We spent a few days recovering in L’Isle Adam – one of our favourite towns.
Once again, we didn’t have to walk far to find a place to eat.
Although we did feel a bit lonely.
Like almost every other town we have visited, L’Isle Adam has its share of stunning architecture.
What was a bit unusual was this bunker alongside the chateau.
Up close, evidence of the battle that had taken place.
It wasn’t the first fortification to be built along the Oise. Earlier ones date back to the 800s. That’s 800s – not 1800s.
We grabbed a salad and a glass of Champagne for lunch.
As we ate, we watched a brood of ducklings raiding the restaurant’s pantry.
They weren’t shy. Obviously. They had no fear of humans approaching to get a shot of them.
Reinvigorated from our stay in L’Isle Adam, we returned to the Oise. And tried to figure out who at a United Nations committee decided a smaller arrowhead on the CEVNI direction signs would be easier to see.
Yup, the arrowheads used to be much larger. Oh, well. Someone must have thought smaller is better.
Later, we didn’t need any signs. We’d just follow the commercial in front of us – if we could keep up.
Occasionally, it got a bit crowded – as when this commercial, traveling at more than twice our speed, whisked past us.
And then another one. I’m constantly amazed at how low they sit in the water when they’re loaded. At the bow, now totally submerged, are two very large anchors. On the sides, the Oise appears ready to flow onto the gunwales.
Finally, on a gorgeous day, we arrive at our usual mooring spot in Compiegne.
It’s a lovely city to explore.
We had dinner at a spot we’ve been to before, Les Accordailles.
It seems I was too busy enjoying what I was eating to document what we had. I’m guessing that’s pea soup. (If not, it’s another green vegetable.) I’m equally clueless about dessert – a lemon meringue pie, maybe. And I totally forgot to get photos of what our main course was. We’ll have to go back.
After Compiegne, we stopped for the night at the grain elevator in Noyon. There wasn’t much room. Commercial after commercial were tied up waiting for their turn to take on a load of grain. We squeezed in between two of them. I knocked on the wheelhouse door of each of them to say, “Please take a look behind you before moving.” The captains of each were exceedingly gracious and said they had to wait a few more days before they were allowed to move to the elevator. They said there was no reason for me to worry.
Jeannie and I went for a walk and wondered what the driver of a car would think the first time he (or she) came up the road.
The next day, another type of lock – a guillotine. Instead of gates that opened, this one had a giant sheet of steel that rose just enough for us to pass underneath. We crossed our fingers that whatever was holding this giant knife in place wouldn’t fail while we were under it. We also didn’t like all the water that poured off it – soaking our guide book, laptop computer, and us. In this shot, we’re waiting for a commercial to exit before we go in. Immediately to the left of the control tower is the giant, guillotine blade. We hope it’s being securely held in place.
And then… the worst part of the voyage. If there were a word stronger than worst, I would use it. “Le Souterrain de Panneterie” I think that translates into “The Tunnel from Hell.” The green light (perhaps controlled by the devil) was saying, “Come on in.”
The tunnel is just fractionally wider than Aleau. It has unfinished concrete along one side – with the occasional piece of rebar sticking out. It’s one-kilometre long. It’s also low. Because of that, the mast was down. We had installed a bright light on it – specifically for tunnels. If the mast were up, we’d be able to see. Without it, it was pitch black inside. We have to come this way again. I’m going to measure and remeasure that mast to see if there’s any way we can keep it up. As black as it appears in the photo below is how black it was inside. Don’t let the later photos below fool you. It was black!
The camera on the iPhone is too damn good. It was NOT like this inside the tunnel. It was pitch black. Jeannie held a flashlight so she could see the edge. She walked from side to side and told me to move left or right.
Believe me, all I could see was the bulb of her flashlight and the so-called “light at the end of the tunnel.” The lights on the wall that you see in the photos did absolutely nothing. Back at the helm, I was dependent on Jeannie’s constant instructions.
Even as we reached the end, all I could see was sun streaming through the opening and the beam of Jeannie’s flashlight.
We were finally out – 35 minutes to go one kilometre. Average speed, 1.7 km/h.
But the drama wasn’t over. We tied up at a long mooring spot near a lock. And then heard a continuous blast of a horn. The captain of a commercial wasn’t happy that two cruisers were moored in “his” spot. Jeannie and I listened as the captain on the commercial yelled at someone on the cruiser – and someone on the cruiser yelled back. They said they had every right to be there and they weren’t moving. So the commercial moved. Into the side of one of the cruisers. Apparently damaging it. We couldn’t understand why he was doing this.
There were 200-metres of space available for him to use. But this was “his” space. He made it known that he didn’t think pleasure boats should be allowed on the canals at all. Below, the space he could have used.
He was the exception – a rare exception. Almost all the captains of commercials, all of them faster than us and in a hurry to get to their next port – have been exceedingly nice to us. I expected them to be annoyed at the small, slow boats in their way. That has rarely been the case. We do try to be courteous. When on the AIS I see one coming up behind us, I call on the radio saying we see them, will slow down and pull to the side so they can pass. We always get a friendly wave in return.
The incident was so upsetting, we told the VNF we wanted to get out of there. They readied the lock so we could go through and moor and spend the night on the other side of it. The next morning, we left for Péronne.