Unexcused Absences France 2016 - Week 3 (he said)

France 2016 – Week 3 (he said)

by Kent 2 Aug 2016

July 24 to July 30, 2016. When we got back to Bar-le-Duc from our weekend in Brussels, we met our new Australian boat neighbors, Peter and Pam, who have not one but two French canal boats. Talk about an awesome setup; they keep one in the south for when they get the urge to cruise the Midi, and one in the north to cover the rest of France.

A hilltop fortress on the drive home from Brussels

Bar-le-Duc, like many French cities, has a long and interesting history. In the first century AD the Roman Road ran through the Ornain valley, and a town called Caturiges developed on the right bank. About a thousand years ago, Duke Frederick of Ardennes fortified a spur of rock that became the Upper Town. Over five hundred years ago, a long period of peace and prosperity defined the renaissance in Bar-le-Duc a century before the official “Renaissance” of the mid 16th century for the rest of Europe. Thus, the town is filled with beautiful old houses whose architecture was inspired by ancient Rome and Greece.

The “Maison du Duc” in Bar-le-Duc

Beginning in the mid 17th century, though, the town began to suffer. First came the 30-years war, a century later it was annexed to the kingdom of France, and then came three wars in succession; the Franco-Prussian war of 1870-1871, WWI from 1914-1918, and WWII from 1940-1945. Today the town is a prosperous rail terminal that serves Paris to the west and Alsace to the east.

These days, Bar-le-Duc is famous for a sculpture by Ligier Richier (a pupil of Michelangelo) of a prince (René de Châlon) who was killed in battle. But this sculpture, while incredibly life-like, is like nothing you’ve ever seen before. Richier’s commission, from the prince’s widow, was for the sculpture of her husband to be what he would look like three years after he had died.

Bar-le-Duc town hall

The “decaying prince” statue

Closeup of “decaying prince”

Church in the upper town

From Bar-le-Duc we continued west on the Canal du Marne a Rhin, and after a couple days travel reached Vitry-le-Francois, where we entered familiar territory (we passed through Vitry two years ago in 2014). We did not linger in town, other than to stock up on supplies at the local E. Lelerc supermarché, and by the next morning we were underway north towards Chalons-en-Champagne. Two years ago we accidentally timed our visit with the last three days of their big summer music festival, and this year, by pure chance, we did the exact same thing.

Prefecture, Chalons-en-Champagne

This year’s music festival did not feature the same level of talent as two years ago, unfortunately. Although we attended four performances, only the final one, Saturday night, was something worth seeing. And I say “performance” with a degree of literary license. The “musician” looked to be a DJ, in the sense that he was doing DJ things like twiddling knobs and bopping his head to the beat and focusing with great intensity on his table full of electronics. But it soon became apparent that he wasn’t actually doing anything.

I wandered to the side of his setup and sure enough, his right hand was on the master volume knob of his mixer and his left was tweaking his graphic equalizer, but he wasn’t actually creating any music, at least not on stage. There were no mixers or drum machines or samplers or any other tools of the DJ trade. He had clearly created the mix back at home and could have done his entire “performance” while splayed in a barcalounger and smoking a Gauloise. But he was making sure to play the part, furiously twisting knobs and sweating and wiping his brow with a towel.

A forgettable concert in the town square

Weak performances notwithstanding, we still had a terrific three nights at the port. We reconnected with our English friends Richard and Julia on their gorgeous barge Ettie, whom we met in 2013 on the Doubs river in Franche-Comté. We also made time to eat at Le Royal Kebab, a spectacular eaterie just east of the big cathedral. The meat is cooked nicely crispy, and the white sauce is accented with mint. And the fries were just as we had remembered them, crisp and hot and delicious.

Roasted chickens at the market

We had an “only in France” moment Saturday in Chalons; I needed to get a small repair to my camera bag strap, so we dropped in to a cordonnerie (shoe repair) place about a half hour before it closed. The repair was literally a 1/4 inch of stitching, that would take 60 seconds from start to finish. The owner was sitting at a desk reading the paper, and I showed him what I needed. Here’s how the conversation went:

Cordonnerie owner: I’m sorry, it is close to closing, I do not have time.

Me: But it’s a very small repair, and I’m happy to pay.

Cordonnerie owner: No, I would have to oil the machine.

Me:

I need to point out that there was no evidence that he had any customers that day, or any for the forseeable future. There did not appear to be any work in the queue. In fact, there was not much evidence of any work occurring at all in his shop. I’ll just never quite understand why he wouldn’t want to make several euros for about one minute’s work, but such are the charms of living in France.

“Florida Miami ’88 New York”

One final story from Chalons; at the market, a vendor was selling standard European t-shirts, the kind with random English words on the front. Normally they don’t cause us a second glance, but these shirts stood out for their mis-appropriation of the English language. The first one that caught my eye said “Florida Miami ’88 New York,” but my favorite, by far, was “Tank War – the style since new fashion to.” I cannot possibly make this stuff up.

France 2016 Cruise – Week 3

Engine Hours: 16
Kilometers: 82
Locks: 41
Moorings: 18.50 Euros

France 2016 Cruise – Total

Engine Hours: 51
Kilometers: 245
Locks: 125
Moorings: 78.90 Euros

France 2016 – Week 3 Route

A drawbridge chain in Montmédy

Vintage ironwork on the drawbridge

Goats lounging at the lock

Can’t imagine why this business went kaput; maybe it’s because karaoké, lunch, and a winning poker hand have nothing whatsoever to do with each other.