The Brasserie at The Edward; Fig Tree at Simbithi Eco Estate Golf Club; curry buffet at The Oyster Box
While in Durban, Roy and I tend to eat out nearly as often as at home. For one thing, it’s relatively affordable. For another, I seem to become lazier by the year when it comes to the sort of dinner-party entertaining I used to do so effortlessly (as I remember it, anyway). Let someone else do the kitchen slog.
After almost four months on our Dutch replica Piper barge “Karanja”, cruising the Canal de Garonne and enjoying our home port of Moissac, it’s almost time to fly south for the winter. Before we go, here’s a tribute to an interesting local restaurant with a unique heritage – Le Kiosque de l’Uvarium.
It’s located literally three minutes’ walk from our mooring, on the esplanade that leads along the bank of the Tarn river to the Hôtel Le Moulin.
It was time to fetch the Renault Twingo from Fontet and bring it back to the boat, so Roy and I walked to Moissac station and caught the 13.26 train to Agen.
With two hours to kill before our connection to La Réole (the station nearest to Fontet), I thought we’d end up lunching on a tired baguette – but no! We lucked out with La Grande Brasserie, located right next to our arrival platform.
Only later did we find out that it’s pretty famous, and that UK chef Rick Stein recommended it in one of his travel series.
Review: La Grande Brasserie, Agen train station
The décor is perfect. In the chequerboard-tiled bar, oversized clocks show the time in Londres, Agen and Moscou. High ceilings, comfortable banquette seating and wooden strip-flooring set the scene for Art Deco mouldings on walls hung with travel posters from the golden age of train travel.
With miles to go before we slept, we decided on a beer and a single course. Roy’s salade niçoise (around €14) came with generous chunks of seared fresh tuna and looked great. I had the bouillabaisse-like marmite de la mer (€18.50), a thick, bisque-y broth crammed with delectable little mussels, more salmon and tuna than I could manage, and small saffron-yellow potatoes, topped with a giant prawn.
This is a destination restaurant – how lucky we were to stumble upon it en route! Fabulously quick and friendly service added to the experience, too.
Once at La Réole, Roy installed himself at a café to rest his knee while I set off on foot over the bridge across the Garonne River to the Fontet halte nautique car park, about a 3km walk. It was a relief to find the Twingo intact and raring to go after having been abandoned for two weeks.
Un été caniculaire; Le Farniente Fourquais and the mineral man of La Fallotte; of fish that wriggle in Buzet; sweltering in Sérignac, broiling in Boé and grilling in Golfech
This has been un été caniculaire, as the French put it – not a summer heatwave, but a full-on heatwave summer.
Fortunately, we were in no hurry. With no agenda but to be back in Moissac in time for the 10-12 August boat festival, or fête des plaisanciers, we could take it easy.
On our last day at Fontet base de loisirs (or leisure base), I was lolling around after a swim in the lake when Tui arrived, bearing friendly Kiwis Lindsay Sweeney and Vicki Ritchie. Drinks aboard Karanja were clearly in order.
Our Karanja safely moored in Fontet on the Canal de Garonne, it was time to see something of the west coast. The resort town of Arcachon is one of the closest Atlantic coastal spots from here, and a favourite holiday spot for the French.
According to podcaster Hugo on innerfrench.com (my latest addiction), French holidaymakers can be divided into two groups: those who flock to the Med (the Côte D’Azur, Sainte-Tropez), and those – many of them Parisian – who prefer the Atlantic coast.
The drive from Frontet can take as little as 90 minutes by motorway, but Roy instructed the Garmin to avoid all such conveniences and to take the back-roads instead.
Old dog, new tricks – me driving on the wrong side of the road to Pont-des-Sables; mediocre lunch in medieval Marmande; frazzled fuses, fan-belt frustration and the fabulous Fabré Pierre at Fontet
Villeton to Pont-des-Sables
A big day for me! We’d spent a full week in Villeton, and now we were were heading for Pont-des-Sables on Karanja, my plan being to cycle the 16km back along the tow-path to collect the Twingo and drive it back to Roy and the boat.
Why is it such a big deal? Well, I’d never ever driven a car on the right side of the road, and in France they kind of expect you to do that.
Getting the Twingo to Villeton; skinning a cat in Nérac; snail soirée in Damazan; petrol-pump wine in boozy Buzet; three canal-side resto reviews; Bastille Day – let them eat paella; Allez les Bleus!
There’s more than one way to skin a cat. Karanja’s 4.3m width being too wide for the river Baïse locks, we’d have to explore Nérac (see the featured photo above) and area a different way – by car. That entailed getting a train to Moissac to fetch the Twingo from its garage.
First, we’d have to find a place: (a) where we’d be happy to leave the boat while fetching the car, and (b) with good train links to Moissac. That place turned out to be a hamlet called Villeton.
Villeton is just 12km and two locks from Buzet – Berry and La Gaule. Going downstream, just before the bridge at PK146 is La Fallotte, which has pegs and free mooring. (Remember this for the return journey in a few weeks’ time.)
Loving and leaving Moissac; Three Men in a Boat: Poms in Lycra at Pommevic; rainstorms, men at work and Le Carré Gourmand in Boé; time with the Thomsons in stormy Sérignac; fish & chips, football and FOMO in Buzet
Who wouldn’t love an excuse to visit Paris in summertime! This time, for us, it was to have dinner with our Californian friends the Campbells, who were spending a few nights in the city.
As I’ve said before, one of the great things about our 15½ years in Singapore is the friends from all over the world that we made there. Among them are Ellie, Steve and their twins Peyton and Prescott (17), long since returned to live Orange County, southern California. It’s been seven years since we visited them there in 2011.
In just under four hours, the high-speed TGV train whisked us from Montauban station (half an hour from our home port, Moissac, in the south of France) to Gare Montparnasse. From there, we hailed a cab to our three-star hotel Chambellan Morgane at 6 Rue Kepler, close to the Champs Élysées. Ten out of ten to them: they upgraded us to their best room, complete with Nespresso machine, bathtub and separate loo. So civilised!
Daughter Wendy had requested that we “go somewhere on the boat this time” – a clear reference to her last visit during September 2017. That was shortly after Karanja’s epic three-month journey from England to Calais and thence to the south of France – when Roy and I were not keen on going anywhere at all!
