Canal de l’Aisne à la Marne, Canal latéral à la Marne, Canal entre Champagne et Bourgogne: 

Ropy run to Reims, Lynn and Kim for lunch, close but no champagne at Billy-le-Grande, super-chaud in Chaussée, stranded in Orconte

Berry-au-Bac to Sillery port (10km from Reims)

For today’s  14 locks, we’d be experiencing  a different automatic lock system – one that’s activated by twisting a perche, or rod, that’s suspended from a gallows-like contraption over the river.

Lock Protocol 

We – well largely Roy, if I’m to be scrupulously honest – lie awake at night thinking of better ways to control our Karanja in the locks: keeping her neatly against the side, rather than banging about from wall to wall.

As recommended, we’ve been using two ropes, one from the bow and one from the stern. But, because of the design of these smaller locks and the placement of their bollards (perfect for the big commercial barges, not so much for us), plus the fact that we’re montant (going upstream, always tougher), here’s what we’ve been doing each time:

1. As we enter the lock, we check which side the rods are located, and if necessary – putain! – scramble to change the ropes to the correct side.

2. Holding the aft rope, I climb a slimy ladder to the top of the lock, bravely stomping on spider-webs, then loop the rope around a lock-side bollard (occasionally selecting the inappropriate one, or looping the rope in the wrong direction, thereby eliciting menacing looks from my Significant Other), and drop it back down to said SO.

3. Catching the forward rope that my SOD has thrown up to me (he muttering about the pathetic way I’ve coiled it – merde!), I secure it to another lock-side bollard.

4. Now I activate the lock mechanism by pulling upwards on the blue rod (not the red one!).

5. Then I return to my bollard, loosen my forward rope and – precariously squatting on the edge of the lock, continuously attend to the rope to keep it tight as the water mounts in the lock.

Yep, 14 times over a non-stop shift of eight hours. By the time we got to the last lock, just before the Sillery Relais Nautique where I’d phoned ahead to book us in for that night and the next, I was smeared in lock-slime, I’d strained my lower back, any sense of humour had departed, and the SOD (sorry, SO) and I were frankly yelling at each other.

Next task for Boaty McBoatface? To come up with an alternative rope technique, at least until Ropy McRopeface’s back is feeling better.

Sunday Lunch in Reims

Up early to clean the canal-weed and lock-scum off our Karanja, though not as early as we’d intended – blame those 14 locks yesterday. Our Singapore friends Kim and Lynn Sadler are holidaying in France and made a special trip from Strasbourg to visit us.

After a couple of pastis in the wheelhouse, a taxi took us the 10km into central Reims (that’s about R700 one way, for our SA friends!) and dropped us off at one end of the pedestrianised, café-lined Place Drouet d’Erlon. Impossible to pass Café Hemingway without popping in for a bière pression, and then to Les Trois Brasseurs for lunch.

Next on the agenda was a short walk to the 13th-century French-Gothic Cathédrale de Notre-Dame de Reims, where many of the kings of France were crowned.

After saying goodbye to our friends, we caught the last train back to Sillery (€3.50 each) – thereby saving €33, according to Roy’s calculations, or €26 (according to mine) if you subtract the cost of beers and chocolates at the station.

 Billy-le-Grande

Roy came up trumps today with a new rope technique to spare my back. I’m still climbing the ladder with the forward rope, hooking it around a lock-side bollard and chucking it back down to him; but then he employs the “running moor” technique with just that one rope. It’s working fine!

And then came the 2.3km Billy-le-Grande tunnel. My job is to stand on the starboard side and continuously call out the distance between the boat and the side, something like this: “One foot, one foot, two feet, three feet, two feet, one foot, less-than-one foot, LESS THAN ONE FOOT! – aarghh!!” Engaged in this pursuit, 23 minutes passes rather slowly.

After mooring up  in the lay-by immediately after the tunnel, I walked (in 33 degrees Celsius heat) through pristine fields up to the tiny village of Billy-le-Grande.

What did I find? Half-a-dozen Champagne houses! And a spa! But you need to book way ahead to visit these cellars, and the spa is (of course) closed on Sundays and Mondays. (Today, of course, is Monday.)

Châlons-en-Champagne

A quick avalant (downstream) eight-lock chain,  a sharp left into the Canal latèral à la Marne and just three montant locks, and we were at Châlons-en-Champagne. We came here on our recce road trip last year, and I remember saying: “We’ll be back next year, on the boat!” Then, it seemed hard to believe.

The main mooring of the Châlons Relais Nautique was horribly choked with weed, so much so that the boat’s depth-finder threw up its hands in disgust.

From there it’s a 10-minute walk into town, past St Etienne Cathedral and up to the Hôtel de Ville (city hall) and its square, for an alfresco dinner at the same place we had lunch last year – Le Comptoir de Licorne.

My triflette and Roy’s raclette – boiled potatoes, onion, lardons and soft cheese popped into a hot oven until golden and crispy – parfait! Great people-watching, too, while working our way through a lovely pinot gris from Alsace.

Next morning, after my gentle 7km run southwards along the canal, we walked up to Carrefour to stock up with a few essentials – and, on the way back to the boat, became proud owners of one of those old-lady shopping bags on wheels. (I’ve always coveted one, and now my time has come! Watch out for a picture of it in a forthcoming blog.)

At the end of another broiling day on the Canal latèral de la Marne – it’s been highs of 35 and 36 degrees Celsius! – we moored up at La Chausée-sur-Marne.

Canal entre Champagne et Bourgogne

Previously called the Canal de la Marne à la Sâone, but renamed the Canal entre Champagne et Bourgogne – I suppose the marketing types thought it a bit sexier. At Désert lock (Number 1), the éclusier gives you the remote control that you’ll be using to activate the next umpteen locks.

Getting through Vitry-le-François – full of big barges and with awkward twists and bridges – had been fiddly, to say the least. Also, the bow-thruster had blown and the generator had been playing up, along with some of the instrument gauges on the dashboard. After blowing our only replacement fuse, too, there was nothing for it but to moor up at the fortuitously located Orconte halte nautique. Comfortably hooked up to electricity, we enjoyed an unblocked view of the shower and toilet.

We were not alone, however. An exceptionally hirsute cyclist in unusually brief shorts had, from his bicycle panniers erected a tent; done and strung up his washing on a makeshift line; and enjoyed a good shower. And – for the first time in France – a woman came along to collect our €8 per night mooring fee.

Early the next afternoon, the lovely Piper engineer, Fred, arrived in his van with all sorts of useful things, including fuses. He fixed everything that was wrong, bless him!