Cultural Exchanges

With May over the sun finally decided to ‘cast her clout’ of gloomy, grey clouds and make an appearance. Those still on their boats (many from the UK having given up in disgust and gone home) emerged blinking into unaccustomed sunlight clutching scrubbing brushes, paint brushes and plants to pot. Spring cleaning needed to be done and dusted pretty quickly this year – it’ll be midsummer in a few weeks.

We gave it 2 days and then decided we needed to escape. So, as soon as the port office reopened after the weekend and the bill had been settled we waved our goodbyes and set off.

Strong, gusty winds were whipping up waves on the river and there was still a fair current running against us but we were finally on our way -but not the way according to ‘the plan’ which had been turn sharp right (sorry, starboard) at the marina exit and head directly into the first lock of the Canal de Bourgogne.

We wanted to spend a day or two cleaning on the go with the aid of a newly purchased power washer and the fast flowing water of the River Saone would deliver better results than the rather murky, weedy liquid of the canal. So, with me at the helm and he on the blaster I’m sure we made an entertaining spectacle for those onshore. I don’t recommend power washing in a gale incidentally – unless you don’t mind being drenched.

We knew of a lovely, peaceful, country mooring on a bend in the river about an hour away. We’d passed it by several times in the past but never stopped. There is room on the small quay for only one boat and we were happy to find it vacant. The quay with its sign welcoming boaters is what remains of an old port, now disused, with a tiny village close by.

We were in the process of tying up when the afternoon peace was broken by shouting and down the overgrown path bounced a small, elderly and extremely furious Frenchman. In my French class we sometimes do role plays to practise real life situations but we hadn’t done anything that remotely resembled a confrontation with a gesticulating madman literally jumping with anger. Nor did I understand anything much he was shouting about mainly, I suspect, because we haven’t (yet) been given a vocabulary list of swear words and abuse to learn. Of course the best reaction to this sort of situation is the one we, by sheer necessity, gave – blank incomprehension accompanied by that favourite of the French, the shrug.  Getting nowhere, he eventually shambled off back up the path, muttering to himself, got in a car and drove away. What was all that about?

Some days later we heard that we aren’t the first to suffer his fury. Apparently he lives nearby and puts out fishing nets further along the bank from the quay. Recently he has begun to take great exception to boats coming along and in his view, disturbing his fish.

Fishermen and boaters have a delicate relationship and we always do our best not to upset them but sometimes you just have no chance.

So, we’ve now met 2 characters who closely resemble their stereotypes; #1 Parisian Waiter #2 Furious Fisherman. Who’s next?