Welcome to the Canal du Midi; high drama in Bayage lock; Victor Hugo market; Toulouse dry docks; IKEA is cool; double martyrdom at Saint-Sernin; cultural cuisine at L’Ouverture

Having waved off daughter Wendy, who was returning to her job in Marseilles, we set off from Grisolles. Lock Emballens was followed by Castelnau, l’Hers – and it was at L’Hers that Roy resolved to push on to Toulouse, rather than moor somewhere overnight. (L’His decision, not L’Hers.)

St Jory did have a small jetty on the left, immediately after its lock. After that, there was plenty of what looked like nice green mooring on the right; but much of it was so silted up – you could tell by the wake, according to the Old Sea Dog – that we would not have been able to get alongside.

Next came  Bordeneuve and then Lespinasse, followed by locks Fenouillet, Lacourtensourt and Lalande to bring us to the end of the Canal Garonne.  It’s the Canal du Midi from here onwards, with Bernais, Minimes and Bayard locks to take us into Toulouse’s Port Saint Sauveur.

Welcome to the Canal du Midi!

As you leave the Canal de Garonne and enter the turning basin, it’s a bit of a tricky entry into the Canal du Midi – under a small bridge to the left of the beautiful sculpture. (When we came through from the other direction two years ago, the sculpture was undergoing restoration and wreathed in green netting.)

First lock, Bernais, and welcome to the CdM! We’d not long entered the over-three-metre-deep lock, I’d scrambled up the ladder and attached my forward rope before trotting back to help Roy with his, when the doors had closed behind us and the water came pouring in.

Minimes, the second lock, was already occupied by the lovely Sheigra Bay, but the light showed green to indicate that we should  come in. (She’d been instructed by loudhailer to move forward.) We just fitted in behind her – not without a bit of a nudge from our the rope fender on our bow – and I climbed the ladder and made my rope fast. Again, there was no time to get the rear line on, so Roy did a reverse running moor to keep us back where we belonged.  He also made use of a wall bollard to help keep us in place.

At Bayard, it was the same story. The lock had a floating bollard midships, so for the first time this year I stayed on board and Roy did an astern running moor. All was well that ended well – for us, that is. (More later in this post about Monique,  a bigger boat that did not fare so well.)

Another uncertain welcome…

It was 5.50pm by the time we came into Port Saint Sauveur, still just behind Sheigra Bay. Though one of the staff came out to see Sheigra Bay take one of the few suitable berths left, she didn’t bother to let us know where we should moor – and we’d take the trouble to book a place weeks before. Hooting didn’t bring her out of the office; I had to call her on the phone and explain that we’d booked before she eventually came out again and told us to moor further down, behind Melburnians Suzanne and Allan’s Whisper.

And when Roy enquired later, the answer was: no, we could not have our preferred berth right outside the capitainerie; there was a plan, and that space was for someone else.

Never mind – we’d made some new friends: Helen and Donald Carmichael, and got to see their stunning barge. Sheigra Bay was designed by Andrew Wolstenholme, built by Will Tricket, and launched in Reading, UK in 2012. The adorable sheepdog is Billie (a girl, as in Holiday).

It was Monday, and most of the eateries in nearby Saint Étienne were closed. But one bar (Le Sylène) was open, and that’s all you need. Along with a 500ml pichet of rosé, we had a couple of tasty tapas – spicy potatoes, mixed meat and cheese charcuterie and an aubergine dip – while watching hip toulousains at pavement tables quaffing Hoegarden and Leffe pressions and puffing on roll-ups.

 

Drama in Bayage lock

It was time to catch a train to Grisolles, to fetch the Twingo. As we approached Toulouse Montabiau station, we heard a series of disastrous-sounding bangs and screams emanating from the nearby lock.

Huge Monique, a 39-metre barge, that had passed by us in the port earlier, was at the bottom of the 43-metre-long lock. We discovered a few days later from the owners themselves, Yves and Florence, that they had not had time to make their front rope fast before the lock started to empty, their rear end got stuck on the sill, and they slid forward and back multiple times into huge, heavy gates that were intent on opening: bang, bang, bang, bang, bang! It was terrifying, said Florence.

(Florence is flutist in the local orchestra, and Yves runs his violin workshop from the boat. VNF had been rather désagréable about the event, they said, putting the blame on them. So, as fellow-sufferers of the unpleasantness of locks being closed and filled too hastily and without due regard for the safety of the boater, we agreed to make a statement about our own experience with these locks.)

Wednesday, 26 June, Toulouse

Thirty-nine degrees was forecast today; too dreadful. We stayed on board as long as possible – until around noon – before driving to the Capitole car park. From there, it’s a five or ten-minute walk to Victor Hugo market. No wonder it’s a top attraction of Toulouse. Fresh produce, meats, seafood, cheeses, patisserie and more, all the best quality and a lot of it artisanal or special in some other way.

Friendly vendors seemed happy to be photographed. Below (left) is Jessica Hammer from North Michigan: her business, Taste of Toulouse, runs gourmet walking tours and tasting workshops.

As for us, we bought a gelatinous slice of  veal-cheek terrine and then found our way to the restaurants upstairs. You don’t feel very hungry in this sort of heat, so we ordered only entrées – hareng (herring) for Roy and pied de veau ( calf’s foot) for me – and it was still too much. Including a 500ml pichet of rosé and a coffee, it came to just 25 euros.

IKEA is cool!

While poor Roy sweltered over bitter coffee at the horrible Le Floride Café opposite the Capitole, I ducked off to Zara. As it happened, this was the first day of their summer sale, and I spent over two hours in the place.

Then we drove to IKEA, as much for the blissful air-conditioning as for the essential serviettes, zip-lock bags, gravadlax and meatballs. (I’d rather stick knitting needles in my eyes than go to IKEA for serviettes, commented our neighbour Suzanne the next day. She probably has a point, though I suspect that she may have forgotten the excellence of an IKEA hotdog.)

Dinner was on the pavement outside Chez Autié (depuis 1882), where we had a drink with Digby and Allison two years ago. (Click here for my 2017 post that includes Toulouse.)

Dry dock business

On a day when the mercury rose to a terrible 41 degrees, we had important business – a meeting with the delightful contractor Serge Ribes at the dry docks (or graving docks: cales de redoub in French), just 600 metres along the canal from Port Saint-Sauveur. Serge speaks excellent English, and that is just one of the reasons he is so popular with the international boating community.

The one covered dock, which you can see clearly in the feature photo at the beginning of this story, was built in the 1840s using pink Toulousain brick. Its curved wooden arches are described as one of the best examples of fluvial architecture in Toulouse; it is protected as a historical monument. Nevertheless, rumours of its imminent closure continue. The authorities will neither confirm nor deny its continuance, says Serge, but each year they hear that yes, it will be open for business next year.

Serge is a respected contractor in excellent standing with the VNF guys at the dry dock, and we have contracted with him to have our bottom inspected, cleaned and painted next year – commencing 30 June, and estimated to take around ten days.

Martyrs of Toulouse

Roy suffers just one church per city visit, so this time we headed for La Basilique Saint-Sernin, a five-minute walk from Place Capitol. The magnificent edifice was constructed from 1080AD onwards to house the holy relics of Saint Sernin, the first bishop of Toulouse, who, as punishment for refusing to take part in a pagan ritual in 250AD, was dragged to his death by a bull through the streets of the city.

With the heat outside mounting to an intolerable 41 degrees Centigrade, it was miraculously cool behind Saint-Sernin’s  thick and ancient walls.

After lunch at a little creperie – Greek salad, cabécou crepe and a couple of delicious cidres pression (draft cider) served in traditional teacups, I let Roy return to the boat while I did a bit of shopping, starting from Place Capitole and heading down retail mecca Rue D’Alsace Lorraine. From there, I retraced my steps and slowly melted my way back to the canal in the infernal heat.

Cultural cuisine

The next evening, we went to a “restaurant musical” (€30 a head) called L’Ouverture [http://l-ouverture.fr/] at 40 Rue Pargaminières, recommended to us by  our friends Rob and Cherry (Rovi 1). Only on Friday and Saturday nights, classical guitarist Santy, a Sicilian, not only gives an impressive guitar performance, but also welcomes you and serves the wine and the entrées, having personally baked the fennel bread earlier that day.

L’Ouverture seats about 30, and was 90 percent full. To my left were three Sicilians (or were they speaking Occitan?); to my right was an Italian couple; and among a table for seven who’d brought their own cake, Irma was celebrating her birthday.

The experience was only slightly marred by having decided to drive there – though Uber is available in Toulouse – and discovered an almost totally pedestrianised old neighbourhood. We took a chance on a nearby spot (what was the option?), but Roy kept on slipping out to see if the gendarmerie were towing us away.

As Port Saint-Sauveur was closing for the whole of July and August for inspection and repairs to its moorings, it was time to continue east along the Canal du Midi to Castelnaudary. See you there!