Tuesday 4th October
We should be in Tournous.
We are NOT in Tournous.
As we past the Old Lock at Gigy and neared the Orme lock, a boat with an English crew who had moored with us at Chalons came towards us and hailed us over. The lock keepers are on strike, at least the lock keepers who had just come on duty are on strike and we cannot pass through today. Close behind the English boat came the Americans who moor at Pont de Vaux. They had tied up at the lock and waited, and waited and waited. Eventually the female crew member (they are both in their 70s) climbed the ladder to enquire into the delay and was told the bad news. I suspect they'd have still been waiting if she hadn't gone and asked the right question. As we left Chalons, the hotel boat Van Gogh (pride of the French Waterways; 110 metres long, 11.14 metres wide, 160 passengers) switched on its headlights and was getting ready to cast off. I wonder if the strike will hold when she reaches the lock?
All three 'pleasure' boats (the English, Americans and us) are now moored at the facility in the Old Lock where at least there's water and electricity. MWNN thinks the Capitain is in cahoots with the lock keepers and is gathering more paying visitors at the end of the season. Tournous is free but I fully expect that to have changed by next season.
The trip from Chalons was a fairly rapid one, during which Loony GSD slept on the back deck with her head on the gunwales and paws dangling over the edge and Killer Terrier burrowed deeper into the artic sleeping bag I'd dug out for him when he complained about the cold a few days ago. One day the GSD will turn over in her sleep and fall in - but not today. I got some really lovely shots of her asleep and then just as she woke up as we approached the mooring.
The sun promised by the ten day Meteo never appeared and we have battened down the hatches for the day. MWNN has settled down for a siesta nursing a very sore left eye which he had hoped to take to a pharmacist later today. I suspect he has an infection, either from the paint he's been insisting dabbing over bits of paintwork, despite the threatening skies, or the soap dish which I disinfected this morning because it was looking so foetid.