Downhill all the way from Lauragais, caffeine deprivation en route to Ayguesvives, five nights in Toulouse with Digby and Allison… and we reach the end of the 240km-long Canal du Midi!

 

Going west from Castelnaudary, the single locks are automatic, while double or triple locks do still have a lockie. Two singles, a triple and a double were followed by a couple more singles – and we were alone in them all the way except for the last one, which we shared with a French family on an unusually well-behaved hire-boat.

Best news of all, today we got to Mediterannée lock, where we stopped climbing the locks as we’d been doing for the past approximately 74 Canal du Midi locks, and started to descend – much easier, as I’ve mentioned more than once.  It also means we have only 17 locks left to Toulouse, which in turn is just 5km from the end of the Canal du Midi.

Lauragais is a nice, clean port, if rather bland, and full of gongoozler tourists using its autoroute aire de service (motorway rest-stop facilities). That said, its absorbing Canal du Midi Museum was worth a good half-hour; being largely fixated on food, my favourite exhibit was the 1850s postal boat restaurant menu below:

After buying (more) soap and (more) cake at the well-stocked shop – and you know you’re getting close to Toulouse when the tinned cassoulet starts to include mouton as an ingredient – we had a panaché (shandy) on the terrace of La Maison de la Haut-Garonne.

Lauragais is a departure point for hire-boats, so it was good that we’d arrived soon after noon. If you’re wondering what hire-boats cost, click on the link. (Nicols boats from this company range from around €1,000 per week for a little one to €4,000 or more for a big one with accommodation for up to about 10 people.)

Run to Ayguesvives lock

And so it finally came to pass – on our second-to-last day on the Canal du Midi – that I ran along the towpath between four locks, a total of around 10km, leaving Roy home alone on the boat.

I’d meet up with him at each lock to perform my lock-side duties, after which I’d head off again. My sedate 9.5km/h jog worked well with him averaging around 7.5km/h on Karanja – and as these locks are automatic (no lockie), it helps that I can be slightly ahead to activate the filling of an empty lock.

Main drawback? No one in the galley making coffee!

Ten locks we did from Lauragais to Ayguesvives, including three doubles. Not one other boat on the move and very little wind: “Midi cruising at its best,” says Roy. All he could find to “bitch about” (his words, again) was the reflections – when the canal is so untroubled, it’s hard to see where the water ends and the trees begin.

Destination Toulouse!

From Ayguesvives, it was only four locks and 28km to Port Saint-Saveur, Toulouse – just 5km from the end of  the Canal du Midi. But it was not to be a day without excitement.

At the third lock, gorgeously flower-bedecked Manchurian barge Gladys waved us ahead of her (as we had a bow-thruster and she did not) to join a large Le Boat. Mais, quelle horreur! As we were nosing into the lock, the gates began to close in our face – the “stupid cow” (Roy’s words) from the hire-boat  had pressed the button to start operations.

She (the SC) may then have pressed the red alarm button in response to our outraged yells, or perhaps the lock mechanism sensed Karanja’s presence. Either way, the gates re-opened and the lock lights changed  to double red: meaning: “En panne (out of order), you’ve stuffed up, and now you have to wait for a VNF guy to come and reset the lock.” Which the VNF guy duly did; and then followed us in his car to keep an eye on things at the next and final lock before Toulouse.

“I didn’t think your boat would fit in”, said the patently unapologetic SC to me in German-accented English. 

It doesn’t do to swear too rudely at other boats, though, as there’s every chance you’ll see them again. In fact, SC and family ended up on the same pontoon as us at Port Saint-Saveur – and right next to Digby and Allison on Angelique. We got our revenge that first night, chatting and cackling loudly while our neighbours, whose air-conditioning was gratifyingly en panne, were trying to sleep on deck. It was so hot, too. Ag shame*!

*South Africanism meaning something like, “Oh, poor dear!”

 Descent of the Dinghy

With Digby’s help, the outboard motor was brought up from the engine room and attached to our TT Karanja, the davit was erected, and our little dinghy was lowered from Karanja‘s roof into the water. It’s not absolutely essential that your boating buddy for such manoeuvres should be Rear Admiral Digby Thomson, retired six months ago from the South African Navy, but no doubt it helps.

This slideshow requires JavaScript.

Roy and Digby employing the davit in the delicate operation of launching dinghy “TT Karanja” for a manly shopping expedition in Toulouse

Off puttered Roy and the Admiral to a canal-side chandlery 6km away, so as to procure such obscure items as fender halyard (or simply rope), plus cable and fittings for Roy to make an extension for our shore electricity connection. And a telescopic boat-hook so that he doesn’t have to throw wet, heavy ropes up to me on the sides of locks; it’s my early birthday present, apparently. (Hurrah.)

We had lunch at a nice little café called Stradivarius, on the way into the city: salade de gésiers (gizzards) for me and quiche for Roy, followed by a super-light banoffee tart (me) and tarte tatin (he). The reason that mine alone are pictured here is that he wouldn’t wait for me to take the photos.

There’s some good shopping in Toulouse, especially on the elegant Rue Alsace Lorraine; I forced myself to buy a couple of things from the enormous Zara, mostly to keep my skills up.

This slideshow requires JavaScript.

Beautiful Touloussain architecture – interestingly angled corner buildings and ornate doorways

 

Street-name signs are in both French and Occitan

The other language used on the street signs shown above is Occitan, also called Languedoc. Nowadays, it’s a group of four dialects (of which one is Provençal), and is spoken by an estimated 1.5 million people in these parts. If you’re interested in languages, find out more at www.languedoc-france.info/1006_occitan.htm.

Digby and Allie, bearing a delicious and still-warm homemade quiche, came over for our favourite kind of meal: apéro dinatoise – a pre-dinner drink that morphs into dinner and continues to midnight. [Note: Must try my hand at Allie’s amazing duck breast: seared to still-pink, neatly sliced and topped with a creamy sauce enhanced with a dash of soya.]

Clean-up in Toulouse

After sweeping loads of leaves, dust and grime off our Karanja, I tackled the tiny specks of seeds or whatever that were stuck to the paintwork. Then, for the first time, I got onto the roof of the wheelhouse and scrubbed that clean that, too. (Brownie points were rapidly mounting.)

Running Toulouse

Directionally challenged as I am, running around the place seems the best way for me to get my bearings in a new city. So I headed – south? – through the Grand Rond park in the direction of the Garonne River. The most picturesque of its bridges is Pont Neuf, which, as it was built during the period 1544 to 1632, is not particularly neuf at all.

A number of rough sleepers – the one above looked particularly comfy – dotted the riverscape; stale urine odours wafted from under bridges and staircases. Nevertheless, the general impression is of a lovely and interesting city.

Celebrating in Toulouse

The 25th of August was Roy and my 25th “Keg-iversary”, celebrating the day we met, a full quarter-century ago, at the Keg & Thistle bar in Florida Road, Durban. (It’s no longer there, sadly.)

So we scored some tequila and lime juice at Carrefour City, and Allie and Digby (on Angelique, you’ll recall) came over for Roy’s superb margaritas. After that excellent preparatory groundwork, we all set off in search of more drinks and some sustenance.

This gorgeous old Café Althié (depuis 1882; 25 Place Dupuy) was our first refuelling stop.

Then, in the lee of Saint Etienne cathedral, they had just one spare table for us at Lapref. Though we had our meal outside in the howling wind – which I generally hate – it was great. I tried the ris de veau, or sweetbread. The term “sweetbreads” can mean different things, depending where you are; here, it was the thymus gland (located in the neck) of the calf, done in a rich vegetable gravy. Everyone agreed it tasted like chicken. (Of course it did.) Roy and Allie had the rascasse (fish), Digby the lobster.

Back on Angelique, Allie whipped up some of the best Irish coffees I can remember, and no doubt we kept our long-suffering neighbours in the port awake again. Good.

Trying to See Some Sights 

Nursing well-earned hangovers, Roy and I walked into the heart of Toulouse to visit the famous Victor Hugo market – only to find it closed until 1 September. Likewise, the reputedly beautiful Capitol building nearby was closed for “un mariage”, said the towering armed guard at the entrance. So we gave up, had a coffee and a pastry, and returned to port on the useful Metro subway train.