POOH BEAR REPORT - December 2000
The French Canal - Part 3
Starting:  Paris, France, 27 August 2000
Ending:  The Tunnels of the San Quentin Canal, France 15 September 2000

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In Part 2 of the French Canals, Pooh Bear had come northwest through the
canals of central France and turned north down the Seine.  We enjoyed the
scenery of an immense city, passed under dozens of the famous bridges of the
River Seine, no two alike, and at the conclusion of Part 2, had arrived at
our destination in Paris, d'Arsenal Marina. .

Paris
The River Seine winds like a serpent through the City of Paris, and midway
through is D'Arsenal Marina.  A relatively small marina, it is very compact
and, because the level of the River Seine varies widely between floods and
drought, must be entered through a lock.   It is pricey, but the central
location and the friendly, English speaking personnel make it an easy choice.
 And not only do most of the personnel speak English, but they are ever so 
helpful with sticky problems. Several times they willingly helped us where a 
French speaker was desirable.  And they made a phone line available to check 
our e-mail.

The marina is located in the middle of Paris, an exciting city with a 
distinctive character.  As in most big cities, everyone is in a hurry; 
especially automobiles and pedestrians and bicyclists and skate boaders and 
roller bladers.  But maybe they must hurry as they have so much to see.  We 
had no problems using public transportation, mostly the Metro subway, to get 
around the city.  In our nine days there, we hit only the high points.  Judy 
spent an entire day at the Louvre and saw only a fraction of it (she reported 
the Mona Lisa smiled at her).  Together, we toured Nortre Dame, a magnificent
structure.  Regrettably now, after a World War and sixty plus years of 
tourist hordes, sections I walked through freely as a boy are blocked off.  
We visited the Arc de Triomphe, the site of France's Tomb of the Unknown 
Soldier.  The Arc de Triomphe stands on Place Charles de Gaulle, the world's 
largest traffic circle with twelve streets entering it, two of them
boulevards.  Judy and I were awed by the traffic scene at rush hour.  Traffic 
never stopped, but cars squeezed in at the slightest gap, changed lanes, and 
exited with the aid of a not inconsiderable amount of horn honking.  And of 
course we visited the Eiffel Tower, rode (not walked) to the second level and 
spent almost two hours walking around the four sides.  It gave us a beautiful 
view of the city in spite of heavy clouds and intermittent rain.  We were
plagued by heavy clouds and rain much of our stay in Paris. Each day we 
walked around the Place de la Bastille, which commemorates the storming of
the infamous prison of that name during the bloody French Revolution.  We 
spent a day at the Musee d'Orsay art gallery.  It is housed in a former train 
station, unchanged from the outside with it's huge clocks still operating, 
but inside a magnificent place to display art and sculptor,  The building 
alone was worth the price of admission.  (I just now remembered we went on 
Sunday and Sundays were free, so it really was a good deal.) 

But that was about the only the thing free in Paris.  Paris was a very 
expensive place.  To start with, the marina wasn't too bad at $209 for nine
days.  But for one load of laundry Judy put 44 Francs ($7) in the washer and 
drier.  At a caf‚ on the Place de Bastille we paid  $4.30 for a cup of 
coffee, $1.70 for a croissant, and $4 for beer (but cheaper than the coffee). 
 It was the first, and I hope last time, I pay over $20 for a plain old 
haircut.  And I paid over $20 for a bottle of Camping Gaz (butane) that had 
cost only $13.50 in southern France (and that was twice the cost in the 
States).  Actually, we have since found these prices were just the warm up 
for London.

Paris was also a required stop for a personal reason.  It was the home of 
Madame Mangin.  Madame Mangin was a friend of my Mother and Dad going back to 
the mid 30s.  I had last seen her when she visited my folks and came to 
Dallas in the late 1970s.  Since then, we have exchanged letters every year
or so, with great difficulty as my French was as limited as her English.  In 
a letter before leaving the States, we told of planning to see her in 1999, 
which we did not.  She reminded us to not wait too long as she was then 93.  
Upon our arrival in Paris, we phoned her, and with the help of Bernard in the 
marina office, found directions to her apartment (only a few blocks from the 
Arc de Triomphe).  Judy and I found her apartment and when we entered  were 
aghast.  She was lying in bed with a bloody bandage around her head and blood 
on the bedroom floor.  It seems the night before, she had gotten up, tripped 
on the TV power cord and fallen, hitting her head.  She could not get up and 
was not wearing her emergency call necklace.  She lay there 5 hours before a 
security man found her.  The doctor was called, but she refused to go to the
hospital explaining "Bob and Judy were coming".  In spite of that, her 
English had improved since our last visit and we talked for an hour.  The day 
before leaving Paris we returned for another visit.  That time she was 
beautifully dressed and made up, and sitting in her living room chair 
awaiting our arrival.  A strong and lovely lady.

We took a busman's holiday riding on a tour boat through the St. Martin 
Canal, the beginning of which was a few feet off Pooh's stern.  The first two 
kilometers of the canal are in a one way tunnel under the city streets and 
probably unknown to most Parisians.  It is part of a canal system through 
Paris, complete with many locks and still used by some commercial vessels
when the Seine is on a rampage.

In Paris we were also introduced to a new drink, Kir.  For those of you who 
might not know, Kir is a mixture of white wine and a fruit liqueur, usually 
black currant.  But raspberry or peach are also very good.  Our educator was 
Olivier.  We met Olivier coming down the Seine on his house boat; quite 
literally a small house on a small barge with a small diesel engine and 
steered by a long tiller while standing on the roof.  He was moving his house 
boat to d'Arsenal where he would live aboard while a student studying 
architecture.  He also showed us how locals can afford to eat out.  He took
us to La Mange Tout, across the street from the marina,  Instead of going 
into the normal front entrance he led us in a side door.  We selected from a 
menu on the wall and gave our order directly to the kitchen staff via a dutch
door.  We selected our own utensils and napkins and carried them to a plain 
table.  When called by the kitchen staff, we picked  up our food.  After 
eating, and the meal was very good, we cleared our plates into a trash barrel 
and left the plates at the dutch door.  Price was about 1/2 that of the same 
meal in the section with the table cloths and crystal.  

In spite of Paris prices, our stay was so enjoyable and there is so much to 
see and do that we made reservations at the d'Arsenal Marina for the 
2001/2002 winter.

North Down the Seine, Part II
Unlike our arrival, our departure from d'Arsenal was under beautiful blue 
skies.  Again, commercial and tour boat traffic was everywhere, but as we 
locked out a commercial barge was passing and we fell in behind him.  That 
was a real stroke of good fortune as we had been apprehensive about some of 
the traffic regulations.  For example, at one blind S turn, southbound 
traffic is allowed, on the honor system, for fifteen minutes starting on the 
hour and half hour.  On alternate periods the northbound vessels go.  At 
several points, downbound traffic must switch form the normal right bank to 
the left bank.  

But with a pro to lead, we could sit back and watch the scenery pass.  Only
occasionally was it necessary to punch right or left on the autopilot or 
adjust the throttle to maintain our position.  We watched the bridges over 
the River Seine flash by, ("flash" is only relative on a sailboat).  We had a 
wonderful river view of Notre Dame de Paris, the Musee D'Orsay art gallery.  
The Eiffel tower passed by close to port and, shortly after, a small version 
of the Statue of Liberty flanked by skyscrapers in the background.  The 
serpentine path of the Seine let us view many of the best sights from three 
sides.  And all along on, both sides, are spectacular modern skyscrapers, 
perhaps more spectacular that Manhattan as they are spaced out a bit.  Before 
early afternoon we were once more in a rural setting, eating up the miles 
with the GPS reading a knot and a half higher than the speedometer.

As night approached we passed a boat club on the right bank with one elderly
man cutting grass.  We pulled up to their pontoon and asked if we might spend 
the night.  A young boy, probably a grandson, showed up and translated.  Oui, 
Oui and a big smile was the answer. Only one problem.  After he left we had 
to climb over the fence to walk into town in a vain attempt to find an eating 
place we could afford.  We then had to climb back over the fence after dark.  
I fully expected the gendarmes to show, but it was a quiet night.

Up the Oise
At Conflans, the hub of the French commercial river traffic, we turned
northeast into the Oise River.  Although we didn't really need any fuel, we
knew the fuel strike was over so tried for some white diesel.  Both places we
tried claimed to not have any and didn't offer to sell us red.

Now against the current, our pace slowed, but with the smaller river, it was
quite pleasant and scenic although interspersed were some huge industrial
complexes.  Near Criel was a colossal machine for unloading coal  barges.  I
was disappointed it was not operating, but considering the wind direction at
that moment, maybe it was just as well.   Through here our good weather
failed us and we chugged on in heavy rains.

Compiegne
For a multitude of reasons, Compiegne became a longer and both more pleasant
and unpleasant stop than we had ever imaged.  While in the lock below town, 
the lock keeper explained the fuel strike was back on and the bargemen, 
nationwide were blockading the canals at key points.  The middle of Compiegne 
was one of those points.  We tied to the bank a quarter of a mile south of 
the blockade and started reading up on the town.  We quickly concluded 
Compiegne was quite a nice place to be stuck.  It is historic with more 
points of interest than we could see in a week.  Little did we know we would 
have opportunity to see most of them.  

We toured the town by foot looking at buildings dating back to the 1400s.  We 
toured the museum, formerly a spectacular palace of French kings.  We checked 
on Joan of Arc's digs.  She was held here in 1430 before being turned over to 
the English.  As in almost every French town, there were two beautiful
churches and marvelous gardens (through which we somehow got a private 
escorted tour).

Armistice Park
In the first World War, Compiegne was almost obliterated as the Germans and 
the French battled back and forth. The loss of life in the trenches during 
that war was appalling.  Some French towns lost 1/3 of their young men.  
Fittingly, it was near here that the war ended.  Judy and I rode our bikes to 
Armistice Park, a few miles to the northeast.  More correctly I should say we 
rode a little, then pushed them through mud pits (on the wrong road) and then 
pushed them back to town through the largest remaining forest in France (with
no map).  But it was worth it.  At Armistice Park, in a railcar on 11 
November 1918, French Marshall Foch accepted the surrender of the German 
Army, ending World War I.  
  
To provide a touch of irony, in the same railcar at the same spot, Hitler 
accepted France's surrender in April 1940.  The Germans then took the railcar
to Berlin where it was destroyed in the Allied bombing.  Now a replica of the 
car is inside a building along with an immense quantity of historical 
documents and photos.

The Visitor in the Night
About 0500 Saturday morning I awoke aware of a shadow moving across the 
mid-hatch.  Just as I started from my bunk, I felt Pooh heel slightly as 
someone stepped on the rail.  I looked out the port and all I could see were 
two shoes and ankles on the cap rail.  I couldn't get the latch off the main 
hatch so started yelling very loudly for him to "Get Off My Boat".  By then, 
Judy was awake and adding to the din by beating on the mid-hatch.  After only 
a few seconds I managed to get the latch free, slid the hatch open and looked 
out.  Our visitor was nowhere to be seen.  It was apparent he was after one 
of the two bikes we carried on deck.  While he had two ties undone, he could
not quickly have freed it.  It was locked to the mast pulpit with a heavy 
wire cable.  Had we reported it to the police (as we should have), the only 
description would have been "brown shoes, no socks and a very fast runner".

The Fuel Strike 
The fuel strikers and the government were at loggerheads with no progress 
being made.  Barges continued arriving daily.  From the original 15 or 20 
barges, the blockade grew to probably 50.  One could literally walk across 
the river, stepping from barge to barge.  Feelings were high, but a far as we 
heard, there was no violence.  Finally on a Saturday night, the government 
gave a little and truckers and bargemen gave a little and it was suddenly 
over on Sunday morning.  But hey, it was Sunday morning and nobody moves on 
Sunday morning.  However, late Sunday afternoon, engines started spewing 
smoke, lines were cast off, barges started moving and by nightfall, the River 
Oise was open.  How they all disappeared so quickly with locks only a few
miles in each direction, I don't know.
 
The Engine Again
In the following section, I do not paint a pretty picture.  For those of you 
faint of heart and with no interest in engines, I suggest you skip to the 
section on the St. Quentin Canal. 

We, along with several other pleasure boats, were tied along the bank with no 
electrical service, making a couple of hours of engine running mandatory at 
least every other day.  We ran the engine Saturday for a short time, and then 
we tried to start it Sunday morning.  Over the alarm bell, normal until
engine oil pressure comes up, I thought it was trying to start and held the 
key on for ten or fifteen seconds several times.  Then I realized it wasn't 
cranking at all.  What I was hearing was the starter solenoid chattering.  
While in the "black hole" pondering, Judy asked if I had checked the oil.  I 
dismissed that suggestion with a comment that low oil won't make the engine
not turn over.  It seemed likely the starter motor had failed.  I removed it 
and burned up two screwdriver tips convincing myself it was good.  

While sitting there, I noticed the electric fuel pump switch was on; not 
anything significant.  Idly, I checked the oil.  We had so much oil it was 
almost coming out the dipstick.  Alarmed, I checked again with visions of 
head gasket replacement racing through my mind.  But, just a minute.  That 
oil was black, not milky.  No water!  Wait again.  That oil was very thin.  I
remembered two days ago I found the diesel fuel on the far side of the 
engine!.  That should have alerted me to a gasket failure.  The on engine 
fuel pump gasket had failed allowing diesel to be pumped into the crankcase.  
And since the electric fuel pump had been left on during engine cool down 
yesterday, it had pumped diesel in even when the engine wasn't actually 
running. So much diesel had been pumped in that oil worked up around the
pistons and filled the cylinders, locking the engine. 

I pumped three quarts from the crankcase just to get the level down to 
normal, then replaced the fuel pump gasket (I had not one, but two spares).  
I then slowly pulled the engine through several revolutions using a very
large screwdriver wedged in the crank shaft pulley.  By the time I completed 
eight revolutions it was turning normally, but the batteries had been so 
drained earlier that, while the engine would crank, it was not fast enough to 
start.  So now one major problem remained; with batteries down, how to start 
the engine.

It had become a very friendly group of cruisers in Compiegne.  Two of the 
boats were Dutch, and, as usual, spoke very good English and, at least some 
French.  They frequently stopped by and offered tools and help and advice.  
During our Monday morning coffee, Marja & Arrend, on Bar Kras, a beautiful 
steel motor boat, arranged by telephone with the fuel dock just across the
river, for us to stay at their dock and plug in to charge our batteries.  Bar 
Kras towed us over, we said our good-byes and they headed up the now open 
river.  A bit later Dik and Joke (pronounced Yoka) on the Dutch sailboat, 
dropped their lines and headed North.  

While waiting for the batteries to charge, I felt I needed some professional 
consultation and called Kevin Alley in Maine.  He confirmed the entire 
sequence.   I then completed a total oil change and cleaned up (me and the 
engine room). Later in the day, I hit the switch, the engine started, albeit 
roughly and with lots of smoke.  It soon smoothed out.  We ended up staying 
on the fuel company's dock until the following morning, and they declined to 
charge us.  Very generous.

The wit who defined cruising as "the act of repairing a boat in exotic 
places" was so right.

The Road Map
We were now using the last canal map book.  I should maybe explain the use of 
the word "map".  One land one uses a "map".  At sea one uses a "chart".  
However, even though on a boat in the water, I could never bring myself to 
call what we were using a "chart".  They have no latitude or longitude marks, 
no compass rose (no telling which was north) and no mileage, oops, I mean 
kilometer scale.  But they do show every detail we needed such as lock style 
and height, mile posts, villages and their main roads, facilities available,
and sometimes a little write-up on major points.  Two different companies 
each have about twenty books with maps of every canal system. As one would 
expect, the area of interest is along the waterway resulting in a tall narrow 
book with each page covering a small section of the canal.  The bottom of 
each page connects with the top of the following page, but for some reason we
are always coming from what the map maker assumes is the ending end of a 
canal so must progress from back to front.  

Just as one would not try and sail anywhere without proper charts, one would 
not attempt to sail the canals without the map books.  Therefore, these 
books, while a necessity, can become quite expensive, Barry and Sandra,
British friends we met in Alicante, Spain, generously loaned us a complete 
set for France.

In addition, guide books are a necessity as they supply information not 
available on the maps.  Some also give fascinating historic information that 
makes the passing countryside come alive..  We had four different books on 
board and found no single book would do the job.  For possible future use and 
for other cruisers, Judy kept many notes about where we could, or did, stop, 
water depth, town quays, good or bad stops, etc.  These notes have been 
written up and already given to southbound cruisers we met.

St. Quentin
Our channel destination, Calais, was in sight by just flipping over a few
pages in our map book.  But we still had two stops of interest as well as 
"The Tunnels".  St. Quentin was doubly easy to visit as it had an 
unexpectedly large and tidy marina at a moderate price.  It was pretty laid 
back too.  We didn't find the real Capitain until the second day.  The 
grounds were like a city park, as indeed they may have been, open to the 
public in the day time but locked up at night.  We were given (with a $16 
deposit) a key card for the gate.  Each time we returned after dark we feared 
the card might not work and the Capitanerie might not hear our intercom call 
and we might have to sleep on one of those park benches.  

The town turned out to be wonderful.  Besides visiting several excellent
"patisseries" where we enjoyed some decadent pastries, we wandered through
two very large cathedrals and the Hotel de Ville (the town hall).  The town 
hall was built in 1509 and has 37 bells that chime a tune every fifteen 
minutes.  One of the cathedrals we were only able to visit because the doors 
were open for  men planning repair work.  We wandered through, taking our 
time. We often found it very moving to sit in the huge churches and 
cathedrals, totally alone.  In this case, only on leaving did we find the men 
outside waiting for us to leave so they could lock up.  Just another example 
of courteous treatment the French showed these Americans.

Almost every building in St. Quentin was destroyed or damaged in World War I
as the fighting raged back and forth in this part of France.  Almost all of 
the major buildings were rebuilt or repaired and done so the 20th century 
work is almost indistinguishable from the 16th century work. 

Besides being a delightful, historic town, the marina had probably some of 
the better showers encountered in our cruise.  I think the only showers with 
soap dishes.  And well they should be nice as at checkout, we found that 
while the slip rent was only 65 francs per night ($10), the showers were 12 
francs ($2) each.  Had we known that ahead, we might have not showered so 
often.  Only kidding(?).

It was in St. Quentin that we found the first French pay phone that we could 
not use for e-mail.  It was too modern.  It had an electronic rather than
mechanical hook switch (what you hang the phone on).  In the time it took to 
strap the coupler to the handset, the dial tone went off.  A momentary hang 
up was required to reset the dial tone.  But that required unstrapping the 
acoustic coupler.  Eventually we located a less hi tech phone booth.

Mother Nature's Schedule
The Autumnal Equinox is generally accepted as the start of frequent gales in 
the English Channel.  Hence our target had been Calais by mid-September.  
Allowing a week to rerig Pooh, we could still expect good weather for 
crossing to the White Cliffs of Dover.  But, there we were, still a week's 
traveling to the coast and it was already mid-September.  Remember, you can't
fool Mother Nature.  Although we would have much liked to stay another day or 
so in St. Quentin, on the 15th of September we pushed on North toward the 
tunnels, including Le Gran Souterrain, the Big Tunnel.        
 
Pooh Bear's travels through The French Canals will be concluded in Part 4 (I
promise).

Bob & Judy  (aboard s/v Pooh Bear in St. Katharine's marina, London, England)
W5TFY@amsat.org