MARANS AGAIN

So here we are back in on our 'catway' in Marans.  The original plan was to go for a short cruise leaving on Thursday, but a phone call and family drama called Marylene back to her maternal role and she took off for Spain yesterday.  There is plenty to keep me occupied - never a moment when there isn't something that can be done - aside from social media and just chilling out reading.  Yesterday's errand - a trip into La Rochelle for a spark plug, a tin of varnish (for the boat hook - watch this space) and a nice lunch at our favourite restaurant in Minimes.  (Nice thing about eating alone - you always feel like it's half-price!)

Just to remind you what Marans looks like:

The Old Chat Noir - now re-named the Marans Cafe.

Not sure what happened to the colours here!  Time to download photo software for the iPhone 5!  

Get that typeface!

MARANS AGAIN

So here we are back in on our 'catway' in Marans.  The original plan was to go for a short cruise leaving on Thursday, but a phone call and family drama called Marylene back to her maternal role and she took off for Spain yesterday.  There is plenty to keep me occupied - never a moment when there isn't something that can be done - aside from social media and just chilling out reading.  Yesterday's errand - a trip into La Rochelle for a spark plug, a tin of varnish (for the boat hook - watch this space) and a nice lunch at our favourite restaurant in Minimes.  (Nice thing about eating alone - you always feel like it's half-price!)

Just to remind you what Marans looks like:

The Old Chat Noir - now re-named the Marans Cafe.

Not sure what happened to the colours here!  Time to download photo software for the iPhone 5!  

Get that typeface!

Endless Winter

 

Snork Maiden and her sisters on her pontoon at Marans

Slow start to this year's blog, I'm afraid.  Facebook partly to blame - I feel as though I have already said it all - but I'm aware that it is a different medium.  This b(log) acts as a diary and record of where we go and what we do, although it fell into a black hole of Internet paranoia last year - maybe year before.

It usually takes me a couple of days to acclimatise, to settle into boat life, live in a space of around 4 square metres, speak French and hone my DIY and engineering skills.  This year I am also having to get used to the temperature and the unforgiving NW/West wind.  It's rare to have to turn on the fan heater between April and September - but this year is pretty strange, weather-wise.  For anyone who's interested, Meteo France have a detailed 10-day forecast on the Internet.
Marans Weather

The plan for today, after a second cuppa, is to major on the engine, and give the outside of the boat a first, rough clean up.  Lots of winter debris - dust from the grain silos, dead leaves, green tint to woodwork and lines.  The engine... will she start?  First check will be batteries, once I can find somewhere to put the self-steering gear that is occupying the aft berth.  Oh yes, on MY bed.  The boat becomes like one of those old plastic puzzles where you had to move from one corner to another by sliding tiles one at a time.  In fact the whole business of becoming seaworthy again is a kind of mental and physical Rubic's cube.  Eventually it all falls into place and away you go!

The wide big sky landscape that surrounds us - if you enlarge this pic you can see the line of trees that marks the Marans Canal.

I just want to tell you a bit about the landscape here - the photo gives a clue but can't capture the huge sky, flat land leading to an expanse of shallow bay.  It can be bleak under a grey sky, with an icy wind blowing from the west.  There's a desolate feel to the small coastal villages, shuttered against the weather.  Here and there are fabulous banks of wild flowers and clumps of irises in all shades of mauve-to-purple. The sun is shining today - but it's still fan heater weather.

Nothing stays the same!  Our favourite lunchtime cafe has turned into a betting shop with soft porn beach babes on the TV.  The old boys sit around with glasses of wine while the (new) proprietor operates some sort of instant lottery machine.  Maybe horses come into the picture somewhere.  They still serve lunches and coffee is OK but another bit of 'old' France has slipped away.

Endless Winter

 

Snork Maiden and her sisters on her pontoon at Marans

Slow start to this year's blog, I'm afraid.  Facebook partly to blame - I feel as though I have already said it all - but I'm aware that it is a different medium.  This b(log) acts as a diary and record of where we go and what we do, although it fell into a black hole of Internet paranoia last year - maybe year before.

It usually takes me a couple of days to acclimatise, to settle into boat life, live in a space of around 4 square metres, speak French and hone my DIY and engineering skills.  This year I am also having to get used to the temperature and the unforgiving NW/West wind.  It's rare to have to turn on the fan heater between April and September - but this year is pretty strange, weather-wise.  For anyone who's interested, Meteo France have a detailed 10-day forecast on the Internet.
Marans Weather

The plan for today, after a second cuppa, is to major on the engine, and give the outside of the boat a first, rough clean up.  Lots of winter debris - dust from the grain silos, dead leaves, green tint to woodwork and lines.  The engine... will she start?  First check will be batteries, once I can find somewhere to put the self-steering gear that is occupying the aft berth.  Oh yes, on MY bed.  The boat becomes like one of those old plastic puzzles where you had to move from one corner to another by sliding tiles one at a time.  In fact the whole business of becoming seaworthy again is a kind of mental and physical Rubic's cube.  Eventually it all falls into place and away you go!

The wide big sky landscape that surrounds us - if you enlarge this pic you can see the line of trees that marks the Marans Canal.

I just want to tell you a bit about the landscape here - the photo gives a clue but can't capture the huge sky, flat land leading to an expanse of shallow bay.  It can be bleak under a grey sky, with an icy wind blowing from the west.  There's a desolate feel to the small coastal villages, shuttered against the weather.  Here and there are fabulous banks of wild flowers and clumps of irises in all shades of mauve-to-purple. The sun is shining today - but it's still fan heater weather.

Nothing stays the same!  Our favourite lunchtime cafe has turned into a betting shop with soft porn beach babes on the TV.  The old boys sit around with glasses of wine while the (new) proprietor operates some sort of instant lottery machine.  Maybe horses come into the picture somewhere.  They still serve lunches and coffee is OK but another bit of 'old' France has slipped away.

M. Coindeau, the Harbourmaster

Thursday, May 21, 2009

OK some of you asked for pix and this is the only one that appeals right now. Being in the water means no longer having to pee in a pot.

This is a weird day in between all the hustle of getting the boat launched yesterday, and leaving for London tomorrow for a week of yoga, then coming back to Marans, with my birthday sandwiched in between, along with a shopping list of forgotten/desired items not findable or affordable in France. Prices here can be a bit shocking. We have to buy a new battery for the boat when we get back - bigger than a car battery so I’m expecting 100 Euro or so. Food seems expensive - but maybe it’s just difficult to make the comparison.
Anyway - I’m not going to describe the boat launch - you can see it on YouTube. STOP PRESS EEK UPLOAD TAKING TO LONG, WILL HAVE TO DO THIS TOMORROW: I want to write about the harbourmaster.

The harbour master here is the appropriately named M. Coindeau. For me he symbolises the way France is. I know nothing about him, except that he is a ‘fonctionaire’ - a local government employee. He’s in his 30’s I suppose - although he could be younger. I imagine him being the latest in a long line of harbour masters. His job is mainly petty bureaucracy - form filling, done mostly by hand and with occasional reference to an ancient computer. He also checks the boats each day to make sure he has everyone listed, and that no-one has snuck out without paying. The commune owns a small crane and I think the high point of his work is probably that he gets to operate it now and again to launch smaller boats. He has a little harbourmaster car that claims now to be ‘electric’ - although it looks exactly as it did last year. Otherwise it’s the kind of small shabby generic white vehicle that you see everywhere in rural France (which is most of it). His office is housed in the same building as the toilet & shower block - looks like 1950’s concrete, although could be later. He’s laid back about being paid, and has put us on the list here for a permanent berth. I’m not sure if it will happen in our lifetimes.
In my fantasy of his life, M. Coindeau has a wife, a little ‘plan pied’ house about 20 minutes drive form his work. He has very civilised hours of 9 - 5 with Wednesday afternoons off, although he varies it a bit in the busy times in summer when there are several boats leaving and arriving with every daylight tide.
He has a wife in her late twenties and they have two children, and maybe one more planned or on the way. They have a small family car and they visit their respective in-laws at all prescribed holidays. I am not sure when he takes his vacances - summer is too busy but the French are quite hidebound about this. Maybe he & Mme C, and les petits fly off to Gambia or Martinique in the winter, although he shows no sign of a winter tan when I arrive in May. Although perfectly pleasant M. Coindeau is a man of few words, even given my linguistic limitations.
He and his wife and the kids shop in Super-U at the weekend, they rent DVDs and maybe he even gets on the Internet now and again, but not on a Mac. I like the idea of his wife being a teacher in one of the well-supported public schools - maybe she teaches 8 or 9 year olds. They use old-fashioned wall-charts, promote French nationalism in a European context, teach a bit of comparative religion and don’t have SATS tests. The kids speak good French and pronounce all their vowels. (French doesn’t really work otherwise. They look forward to jobs for life, and retiring on public service pensions - not generous, but adequate for their modest life style. (This is still my fantasy, you understand.)
I think what I am trying to conjure is the unchanging feel of France, in spite of ‘progress’ there is something about the stability of rural life that anchors the country to its roots and culture. The taxes are maybe higher than ours, and there are fewer new cars and flashy boats. There is less obvious wealth. Some complain that France is over-bureaucratic, too heavily taxed, too repressive of unfettered capitalism, but this is part of its charm. Maybe it’s the employment of M. Coindeau - and his offspring in perpetuity, for all I know, that give France its enduring quality. (You realise I don’t speak for the cities - Paris, Nantes, Marseille might as well be on another planet - although the white French seem to need to touch base with their own country every August, while the UK likes to take off on a long-haul to somewhere much more exotic.)

An aside on life here amongst the boat community in the winter: it seems there were big disputes last winter between those who get electricity thrown in with their mooring fees (modest) and those who pay for a separate supply. As more and more heaters were switched on, ovens used, kettles boiled… supplies were often pirated. You’ll be glad to know that a new hot water system has been installed in the shower (and washing up) block. The water comes out of the taps at scalding temperatures but the showers are surprisingly well behaved. The drains still smell a bit, but it’s become familiar and therefore quite comforting.
OK. Time to get busy on unloading the car, sorting out what’s where on the boat. Everything necessary - nothing unnecessary is the goal! I think I’ll start with a coffee…

M. Coindeau, the Harbourmaster

Thursday, May 21, 2009

OK some of you asked for pix and this is the only one that appeals right now. Being in the water means no longer having to pee in a pot.

This is a weird day in between all the hustle of getting the boat launched yesterday, and leaving for London tomorrow for a week of yoga, then coming back to Marans, with my birthday sandwiched in between, along with a shopping list of forgotten/desired items not findable or affordable in France. Prices here can be a bit shocking. We have to buy a new battery for the boat when we get back - bigger than a car battery so I’m expecting 100 Euro or so. Food seems expensive - but maybe it’s just difficult to make the comparison.
Anyway - I’m not going to describe the boat launch - you can see it on YouTube. STOP PRESS EEK UPLOAD TAKING TO LONG, WILL HAVE TO DO THIS TOMORROW: I want to write about the harbourmaster.

The harbour master here is the appropriately named M. Coindeau. For me he symbolises the way France is. I know nothing about him, except that he is a ‘fonctionaire’ - a local government employee. He’s in his 30’s I suppose - although he could be younger. I imagine him being the latest in a long line of harbour masters. His job is mainly petty bureaucracy - form filling, done mostly by hand and with occasional reference to an ancient computer. He also checks the boats each day to make sure he has everyone listed, and that no-one has snuck out without paying. The commune owns a small crane and I think the high point of his work is probably that he gets to operate it now and again to launch smaller boats. He has a little harbourmaster car that claims now to be ‘electric’ - although it looks exactly as it did last year. Otherwise it’s the kind of small shabby generic white vehicle that you see everywhere in rural France (which is most of it). His office is housed in the same building as the toilet & shower block - looks like 1950’s concrete, although could be later. He’s laid back about being paid, and has put us on the list here for a permanent berth. I’m not sure if it will happen in our lifetimes.
In my fantasy of his life, M. Coindeau has a wife, a little ‘plan pied’ house about 20 minutes drive form his work. He has very civilised hours of 9 - 5 with Wednesday afternoons off, although he varies it a bit in the busy times in summer when there are several boats leaving and arriving with every daylight tide.
He has a wife in her late twenties and they have two children, and maybe one more planned or on the way. They have a small family car and they visit their respective in-laws at all prescribed holidays. I am not sure when he takes his vacances - summer is too busy but the French are quite hidebound about this. Maybe he & Mme C, and les petits fly off to Gambia or Martinique in the winter, although he shows no sign of a winter tan when I arrive in May. Although perfectly pleasant M. Coindeau is a man of few words, even given my linguistic limitations.
He and his wife and the kids shop in Super-U at the weekend, they rent DVDs and maybe he even gets on the Internet now and again, but not on a Mac. I like the idea of his wife being a teacher in one of the well-supported public schools - maybe she teaches 8 or 9 year olds. They use old-fashioned wall-charts, promote French nationalism in a European context, teach a bit of comparative religion and don’t have SATS tests. The kids speak good French and pronounce all their vowels. (French doesn’t really work otherwise. They look forward to jobs for life, and retiring on public service pensions - not generous, but adequate for their modest life style. (This is still my fantasy, you understand.)
I think what I am trying to conjure is the unchanging feel of France, in spite of ‘progress’ there is something about the stability of rural life that anchors the country to its roots and culture. The taxes are maybe higher than ours, and there are fewer new cars and flashy boats. There is less obvious wealth. Some complain that France is over-bureaucratic, too heavily taxed, too repressive of unfettered capitalism, but this is part of its charm. Maybe it’s the employment of M. Coindeau - and his offspring in perpetuity, for all I know, that give France its enduring quality. (You realise I don’t speak for the cities - Paris, Nantes, Marseille might as well be on another planet - although the white French seem to need to touch base with their own country every August, while the UK likes to take off on a long-haul to somewhere much more exotic.)

An aside on life here amongst the boat community in the winter: it seems there were big disputes last winter between those who get electricity thrown in with their mooring fees (modest) and those who pay for a separate supply. As more and more heaters were switched on, ovens used, kettles boiled… supplies were often pirated. You’ll be glad to know that a new hot water system has been installed in the shower (and washing up) block. The water comes out of the taps at scalding temperatures but the showers are surprisingly well behaved. The drains still smell a bit, but it’s become familiar and therefore quite comforting.
OK. Time to get busy on unloading the car, sorting out what’s where on the boat. Everything necessary - nothing unnecessary is the goal! I think I’ll start with a coffee…