LTRC`s French Connection from the U.K. Part Deux. It was 5.10am

LTRC’s French Connection from the U.K. Part Deux.
It was 5.10am and Ron and Jackie were knocking on the door. A rude awakening but
the beginning of an adventure! That night we expected to be at the Three Marches
Hotel, Rennes but first we needed to collect Tyson, Trafalgar, Dunkirk and a total
crew of dix personnes. Early misty morning moans were eventually arrested by the
French ferry attendant jeering at the boat name “Spirit of Trafalgar”. With the help of
some masking tape we quickly renamed that ship “Spirit”. Our mild irritation soon
gave way to sighs of contentment as we ate Boeuf Bourguignon washed down with
Cote du Rhone on the calm and lovely ferry journey from Newhaven to Dieppe. Soon
we were eating again with coffee and cidre in Honfleur, a very pretty old harbour, if a
tad expensive, in the Calvados department in Normandy. Darkness then fell and it
was a bit of a lengthy slog motoring across to Rennes, where the hotel bar had
closed at 7pm! But tomorrow was another day and Pierre had gone with the wind so
we all retired for an early night. Breakfast the next morning was a wonderful array of
most things you could possibly want. We were therefore well fortified as we took the
boats to be launched on the Ruisseau de Pont Lagot, a small tributary leading in a
few hundred metres to the river La Vilaine, our route to the Atlantic coast. Star date
one and the Captain’s Log suddenly appeared. It was a big one and stretched across
the entire waterway.
Would our adventure stop
here? After a few words
between Scottie and the
Admiral we were suddenly
beamed up and transported
to the other side. Magic was
in the air as we rowed on to
La Vilaine, although Dave’s
swanky, expensive glasses
had been lost forever in the
process.
He
had
no
Klingons.
Surely nothing could go wrong now? But at the first lock the keeper asked “where is
your permit?” Evidently a kayaker had had an accident there a week before and
obviously a permit would stop the same thing happening to us. But the lock keeper
was very helpful, sorted the problem out for us, commended Garry on his life jacket
and we were away. Away to a bar for lunch where the filled baguettes were
scrumptious and the “Affligem Triple” pression at 9% abv lifted the already high
spirits. I am very pleased to confirm that similar bars were to be found regularly
throughout the week, all containing unique characters and helpful, friendly staff. Our
first taxi driver was another tasse de thé, charging over E50 to take the Admiral from
our pretty stopping point, Rean, back to the bus in Rennes. When we’d all got back
and showered the restaurant next door to the hotel turned out to be just what the
doctor ordered. Adrian had been crimped into the crew while hanging around bars in
Norwich but like the rest of us he found the menu and the wines here excellent value
and his conversation began to flow.
The next day there was rain in the morning which triggered a trip to see the centre of
Rennes, with its old buildings hanging drunkenly almost to tipping point. Our bus
journey there saw Place du Parliament three times and Rennes Football Stadium
was seen three times on the way back so maybe that’s the explanation of the
previous day’s cab fare.
There was still some rain as we
began the Rean to Pléchâtel leg of
our journey but the occasional
sights of the swans and herons, the
trains, the locks, the ever present
chemin de halage and of course
some bars were still beautiful. The
afternoon ended with a bit of an
uphill trek from the boats to the bar
but there the landlady took the
hungriest looking crew member
into the back room for something
tasty. Very, very tasty. There was
rain again in the evening which
was all the excuse we needed to
return to the splendid restaurant
next door for another lovely meal.
Tuesday morning required loading up, complete with Tyson, as the next five nights
were to be spent at Gite Ker Maria at La Bogerais near Rochefort en Terre. This third
day of rowing was in kingfisher country. It was a little overcast, not just by rain clouds
but by a near mutiny when a certain change to the crews was proposed. Later,
Jackie was overheard saying how much she would have enjoyed being part of a
debating club. That club missed out on a skilled advocate.
We still managed to catch
some sun, had some
soothing hours in the
boats and found a lovely
riverside bar at Le Port
near Messac at the end of
the
afternoon
which
served jugs of cirdre as
well as beers.
The Admiral meanwhile was
collecting Tyson and then
we set forth for Rochefort
(affectionately
dubbed
Rochford
of
course).
Rochford is straight off of a
picture postcard and looked
splendid in the evening
lights.
Before we arrived you could hear a pin drop and we were just in time to get into one
shop/bar/restaurant before the whole village closed. The menu might as well have
said “I hope you are happy with the following few items of food and wine”. It was very
welcoming and great fun, as was the bottle of calvados shared back at the gite.
In the daylight of Wednesday we found that our two cottages shared a swimming
pool and were set in beautiful countryside. The refrigerator heaved with half the
contents of the local(ish) “Super U” supermarket as Sue and Ken had enjoyed only
limited success in restraining Norman and his shopping trolley. But we enjoyed a
good breakfast. Our row that day took us from Messac to Beslé but the map
suggested no obvious lunch location. Never fear, the boucherie was sampled for
sausages, the French countryside was pillaged for corn cobs and then wine,
potatoes and tin foil appeared from nowhere. Baden Powel would have given Ron a
merit badge for the bankside barbeque luncheon, even if the open fire smells
lingered on our clothing for the duration.
When we arrived at Beslé it was closed. Maybe it was due to the smell of smoke and
our feet. We must have looked a sorry sight snacking on a wall at the main junction.
That evening we scrubbed up and ate a splendid and rather more refined meal at the
two star Hôtel le Pélican back in Rochford. The starched tablecloths and the
accommodating waitresses were at two ends of the scale.
The Beslé to Redon leg was to
herald fine weather for the rest of
the week. The river was noticeably
widening and the north-easterly
wind on our back helped us to
increase our daily distances. So in
no time, it seemed, the motorway
and town bridges were passed and
we were negotiating a fee at the
posh moorings in the Redon
harbour.
The après row drinks were taken in warm sunshine and in the evening the glowing
and relaxed rameurs (rowers) returned straight to the rough and ready restaurant in
Rochford.
Redon to La Roche-Bernard was some distance but the journey was beautiful,
fascinating and fast. Another mini-mutiny at Rieux meant only one boat stopped
there for morning coffee. However, unifying beers were taken soon after at Pont de
Cran. We never worked out what the often seen “upturned umbrella” nets were
meant to catch but there was now more activity on the river.
Yachts and marinas were regularly seen then once again we reached a motorway
bridge which this time towered over our boats, as did parts of the old bridge which is
now history. Like smugglers, we rowed far up a little creek to a tight mooring but
unlike smugglers the grog was soon on display everywhere. To save time we ate in
the old town at La Roche-Bernard before returning to the gites. The food and wine at
Le Vieux Quartier restaurant was at the same time pretty good yet the least good
evening meal of the trip.
Saturday arrived, the last day of rowing. Our challenges? Negotiating la Barrage
d’Arzal which separates La Vilaine from the Atlantic and getting the boats out at the
tidal slipway at Trehiguier. It proved to be a relatively short day with fine weather and
helpful winds. But as we tied SoD and SoT to the lock walls at the Barrage behind
twelve sailing vessels, the man from the control tower, he say “no”.
Apparently only boats with motors
could pass. The Admiral, he say (in
English) “They let us through at St
Malo. We’ve rowed all the way from
there and our trailer is 4 miles on
the other side”. The man from the
control tower, he then say “yes”!
Clearly one out of three truths ain’t
bad. The many onlookers could only
have been impressed by the
shipshape LTRC vessels as they
smartly rocketed out of the lock and,
with the help of some corner cutting,
the row boats gradually overtook the
vessels under sail. The cormorants
and seagulls piloted us on the rising
tide through sometimes choppy
water for the next few miles.
We had time to
reflect
that
throughout the
week
every
stroke had been
a pleasure and
every stopping
point had been
a treasure.
But soon we were hauling our boats out of the Atlantic and onto Tyson before we
took our final oysters and beers by the water’s edge.
That evening all ten
rameurs sat round a
large table at “WiFi
Gite”
feasting
on
fantastic
home
prepared
moules
marinière along with
some fish, squid, and
chicken. There was
also a French tart on
the table.
On Sunday morning with heavy hearts we had to say au revoir to France as we
retraced our steps taken eight days previously. Admiral Ron was presented with a
small gesture of thanks for his driving, the all-round effort he’d put in and above all
for what had been a truly fantastic trip. Was the journey back uneventful? Of course
not, it was an adventure!