Oh la la language…

Here we are in France, where it is the custom to greet everyone you see. Passing someone on the street means that you look at them, acknowledge them and speak to them. It is the norm to “dit bonjour,” however this can be somewhat awkward as in this town you are more likely to be speaking French to someone who doesn't. As you may be able to see in the photo, there are boats from everywhere here – New Zealand, Australia, England, Switzerland, Holland, Belgium, Germany, the USA, etc., etc.

Just the other evening we were having a glass of wine with a couple and he was telling a story about how he was washing his boat and the water sprayed into a hatch and hit his computer. His computer screen went blank and he was certain he had destroyed the computer so, he said, he took a "torch to the monitor."

Well, I know computers can be frustrating but that did seem a tad extreme to me. A few minutes further into the conversation I realized that, to an Australian, a torch is a flashlight. Thank goodness the computer was saved and the monitor just had to be read by flashlight.

Last evening, someone who lives on a boat further down the canal, swam over to our boat – I guess it was the only way he thought he could get an invitation aboard – up and over the stern. His girlfriend was in pursuit by land, found him and joined him in a glass of wine with us. He refers to them as a “Mank and a Yank” – I’ll let you figure that one out on your own as I’m still trying to make sense of it; sounds like exotic cat breeds to me.

The language thing does get a bit tricky and some days are easier than others. This hit me full force the day after I arrived in Paris this time and Dave and I were at the train station on our way to Dijon. Dave had gone to get our tickets and I was guarding the luggage when a man come up to me with his hand out and asked (in French of course) for money. There are about a zillion of these folks in and around the train stations and this one was relatively well dressed and was wearing a decent watch so I wasn’t of a mind to give him any money. I simply said to him that I didn’t speak French. He gave me a curious look and continued his plea, so I said, again, that I didn’t speak French and added that I didn’t understand him, just for good measure. About two minutes after he walked away I burst out laughing because I realized that I had been speaking to him in French!

It is very easy when you are in a foreign country, and equally rude, to say “I don’t speak the language.” The French do not look favorably upon this attitude. They would prefer that you give it a try. They may not understand you. They may pretend to not understand you and they may speak perfectly good English but wouldn’t give you the slightest hint that they could converse easily with you. They think if you are in their country you should speak to them in their language. If this were true in the US we would be able to navigate the Miami, FL airport as English speaking Americans – we wouldn’t have to have a course in Spanish simply to get from one terminal to another but that is another matter.

Attitude is what the French have in abundance, and it is a strange and wonderful phenomena. We asked Jean-Luc the other evening why the church bells ring at 7:05 in the evening rather than at 7:00; his reply was that it is too busy at 7:00.

Need I say more? Well of course – but on another day.

A beintot!

Grey Poupon, of Course!

I was walking around the basin the other day, surveying my domain, and stopped at the lock (ecluse) where barges enter the Canal du Bourgogne from the Saone River.

A large commercial peniche was entering the lock and two more were waiting to get through and head north on the canal. As there is rarely any commercial traffic through here, I asked what was the occasion. The lock keeper (eclusier - see how easy this French is) said the barges were heading for Dijon carrying mustard seed from Canada.



I guess there is nothing sacred in this world anymore. France importing mustard seed to produce the famous Dijon mustards while the seeds are Canadian grown seems a bit, shall we say, hypocritical. French grape vines imported from America, french fries that aren't even French, and now mustard made in France but with foreign seed. What is a person to believe? The Canadians now have a feather to add to their bonnet besides the RIM BlackBerry.

It seems that the reason Dijon mustard became so famous was not because of the mustard seed grown locally (although the local soil did produce good mustard seed), but the availability of grape juice from the vineyards of Burgundy. Dijon mustard gets its smooth taste because the ground seeds are mixed with grape juice, wine and wine vinegar! Mr. Grey, of the Poupon Grey's, invented a way to process the seeds and was instrumental in putting Dijon on the mustard map of the world. But, Dijon-style mustard can be made anywhere, by anyone, with a handful of mustard seed and some grape squeezings.

So, the next time you are tooling down the freeway and a Rolls Royce pulls up next to you with a guy offering you a jar of Grey Poupon, smile knowingly and pull out your jar of French's mustard, because it's made in -- you guessed it -- Rochester, NY by a British owned company!

Come Shopping With Us

Perhaps I should have entitled this "This little piggy went to market" - that is just how I feel when I go to the markets in France - I want to buy everything - well - ok, not the dried fish, or the dead bunnies, or the funky shoes; but all the breads, a thousand or so cheeses would fit nicely into my shopping suitcase along with the hand-milled soaps, etc. While I am back in the States struggling to lose ten pounds before I get back to France, I am dreaming of the markets there. Breads, cheeses, dried fruits that taste like candy, exotic mushrooms, meat from animals that I would never consider eating, chickens – dead with heads on, and alive with exotic feathers. There is clothing – all sorts of clothing from the sublime to the ridiculous, shoes, suits, blankets, cloth, curtains, and always the unusual find – bathroom cups made out of animal horn from Africa, handmade quilts, art, and occasionally antiques. There are specific markets – the chicken market in Louhans, the cattle market near Chablis; the Captain won’t take me to the cattle market because he realized the very real danger that I would try to sneak a baby cow back to the boat. But perhaps the most fun at the market is the people watching – vendors and shoppers alike.

Of these photos, one of my favorites is the two ladies, all dressed up at the market in Chalon-sur-Saone, who look like they are enjoying a bit of gossip or perhaps a recipe. Don't be confused by the man and the boar as to which is which; the flowers in the photo are all fake; and at every market there should be a happy ending!

Back in the USA, artfully

While Captain Dave is painting the decks and handrails on the Shenandoah, with, I am quite sure, great artistic flair; I enjoyed a different artistic experience in South Carolina. While his now includes his new fascination with the pirate world, and approbation by the Bourgogne Yacht and Grumpy Old Mens' Club members, mine is of the girlfriend get-together over coffee and muffins variety.

My friends, Susan on the left, and Diane on the right are both wonderful artists.

Susan Molada Madison is both an artist and author of a collection of essays and poems entitled “if i can’t sing the blues”. I love her visual art which is a combination of painting with fiber; her stories about hair, menopause, funerals, her family, and her friends; make me laugh, make me cry, and give me insight into the vision of an incredibly talented woman.

Diane Britton Dunham designed the cover of Susan’s book. I met Diane when I purchased one of her paintings – actually the one you will see first when you go to her website: www.dianesart.com. It is Beach Blues and if you go into her gallery you will see that you can only buy the reproduction because I have the original!!

The image of the girl with red hair is a “painting in progress” by Benton Lutz. You can see his art at: www.freewebs.com/bentonlutz. Go to “work in progress” on the site and see the evolution of this yet to be completed painting.

I met Benton at a gallery opening of his artwork and the painting I loved most – was already sold. So I commissioned him to do this and two others for me. Communicating with him about this art is a joyful and lighthearted experience – he conveys such fun and humor.

Wherever we go, there is always art in our heart!

Decorating the Captain's Cabin

It’s finally finished! This is the quilt for the captain’s cabin – pieced together by M.E. and quilted by Sue Lambrecht. The front (top photo) was actually cut, pieced and sewn aboard the Shenandoah and then brought back to PA to be quilted. I designed the back (middle photo) with a large patchwork pattern so the quilt can be reversed and still have some interest and different colors on the other side.

The headboard above the bed is actually a removable panel that is attached to the bulkhead, and will be upholstered with quilted fabric.

The aft head (bottom photo) stencil design is enhanced with marigold accent paint below, and coordinates with the curtains in the captain’s cabin.

(The forward stateroom is decorated in English country garden fabrics; and the double stateroom is done in French provencal, complete with a small painting created by a painter aptly named Provencal.)

French Beauty

It’s been two weeks that I have been trying to buy an iMac here in France.

With the availability of high speed Internet now on the basin, coupled with my cantankerous Dell laptop, the frustration levels had reached epic proportions. Just waiting ten minutes for the damn thing to boot up was frustrating enough. When I finally got connected to the net I made the dumb decision to upgrade Windows with the SP2. That was the start of a long series of wasted hours and days trying to get the Dell, and its drivers, etc. working again. A sixty-five year old man should not have to put up with that stuff! …nor, anyone else for that matter. This is retirement; a time for relaxation, low levels of anxiety, calm, peacefulness, an iMac!

Well, the initial attempt was through the Apple Store, France, online. “Ahh, mais Monsieur, il n’est pas possible!” You see, it is impossible to order something in France, online, with a credit card that has a billing address outside of France. Since I hadn’t tried to do that sort of thing before, I didn’t know. Guess we’ll have to get a credit card with a billing address inside France.

Then I tried the Apple Store, UK! “No problem, Sir, what do you want and what is your credit card number?” Great, now I was getting somewhere. “Now, what was that shipping address? Where? France, you say?” “Ahh, mais Monsieur, il n’est pas possible!” This guy was bilingual. You see, it is impossible to buy something online in the UK and have it shipped to France. He suggested that I buy it online in France. Duh!!

So, I called the Apple Store in the good old US of A. I explained my problem to a nice young lady who said that I would have to deal with their international department and could I hold the line for a minute. A minute later (I love American efficiency) a guy came on the line and said he was the representative for these sorts of transactions in France. He also said his name was Elvis! Well, at least that mystery has been solved!

I placed the order, got an order number, checked it online and, sure enough, an order existed and a delivery date was scheduled – in France.

The next day, Elvis called. “Sir, it looks like the order is not going through. I don’t know what has happened, but maybe you should go to an Apple Store in France.”

GRRRRRR!

I picked up my cell phone to make a call and noticed a voice mail message waiting for me. Calling the service, the message was from MasterCard, and asking if I would call their fraud department as soon as possible.

OK, I can take a hint.

I called them and they informed me that there had been an attempt to buy a computer in the USA for shipment to France. This constituted “unusual activity” and they canceled the purchase!

Never mind that I had called MasterCard to tell them that I would be in France for an extended period of time and would be using the card here as well as the rest of the freakin’ world. This had been duly noted on my account but no one noticed.

So, I called my French buddy, Jean-Luc. Jean-Luc is my “landlord,” so to speak, here on the canal and a charter member of the BYGOMC (Bourgogne Yacht and Grumpy Old Man Club). I told him my problem and he said, “Pas Problem!” No problem? I told Jean-Luc that I had done just about everything short of crawling on bended knees through broken glass to buy an iMac. He said, “There’s an Apple Store in Dijon, half hour away. I need to get a new one too, as well as Adam, so we’ll drive up there and get all three.”

He called the store in Dijon and asked them if they had the computers. They said they had them so Jean-Luc told them we were coming up to pick up three of them. That is when he found out that, “having them” didn’t actually mean that they had them. It meant that they could get them! Because, you see, no one really stocks anything here in France, but they can get it for you. It also meant that they really weren’t an Apple Store, but a computer store that handles Apple products and is authorized to do repairs.

We placed the order for three computers and some other things.

Yesterday, Jean-Luc and I drove to pick up the computers. Sure enough, the computers were there. But, the “other things” were not. The lady was very nice. She accepted my MasterCard, the same one that the Apple Store, France would not accept, and we drove home with our new computers.

Two weeks of frustration (actually, years of PC frustrations), but I have my new iMac. What a beauty she is! Slim lines, easy to manipulate, sexy French keyboard…err, I think Mary Ellen needs to get back from the States.

Next on the agenda, get a French credit card!

Juanny Graine de Pomme

I am here to tell you that the jalapeno pepper addiction is real and can control your life!

If you are from the States and were brought up on some of the finer ethnic cuisines, such as Mexican food, you are in for a world of disappointment in France. As a rule, Mexican food in France is rarer than hens’ teeth which, by the way, you can get anytime at the local market. We’re not just talkin’ normal hens’ teeth, but appellation controlee hens’ teeth!

France is THE country of fabulous food, culinary masterpieces and epicurean delights. No one disputes that fact. Here, where everything is edible; songbirds, snails, unmentionable animal parts, prepared in such exquisite manner that it all tastes like it should be eaten, parsley, sage, rosemary and thyme growing like weeds, wild along the side of the road…and not one damn jalapeno pepper.

A couple of weeks ago, Mary Ellen and I were in Paris and stumbled upon a Mexican restaurant near the Place du Bastille, the El Chihuahua. Por moi, it was like dying and going to heaven. We had eaten in other so-called Mexican restaurants when we could find them here, but this place was about as close to Tex Mex as one can get.

I actually had a plate of nachos, with jalapenos, covered with cheese that looked and tasted like it had just been melted from a brick of Kraft Velveeta. Not the kind of stuff you get here, aged for years, daily wiped down with special cloths soaked in secret solutions by cloistered monks, veins of fungal stuff racing through the middle. No, this was the real, heart-stopping, nacho cheese that we have all grown to love!

And the dinner, chicken enchiladas, with all the accoutrements, like rice and refried beans, guacamole and chips with real hot sauce that tasted like real hot sauce, Pico De Gallo, Corona beer with a slice of lime. We’re talkin’ down home A-mer-kin food here.

When I was back in the States over the winter, I ordered a bunch of packages of Burpee’s jalapeno and habanero pepper seeds to plant and raise on the Shenandoah. I would like to announce that the first crop of seedlings has taken root and we are the proud parents of a number of baby pepper plants that will be nurtured, groomed and cared for in planter boxes on the decks.



…and, who knows, someday those peppers’ offspring might be growing, wild, along the country roads of France. The jalapeno pepper addiction can control your life.

Back Afloat - Tomorrow!

Well, here it is Sunday and still in dry dock. The bottom is finished, new propeller installed and ready to go.

Was informed by Jean-Luc this morning that I would have to remain in dry dock till Wednesday because Tuesday is a holiday...and...Monday is a holiday warm-up. I didn't think anybody had more holidays than the British, where every week there is some feeble excuse not to work. They have "bank holidays" there. God, bank holidays! Give me a break!

This holiday stuff is getting out of hand here too! I asked Jean-Luc what the holiday was and he said "to celebrate the French defeating the Germans in WWII!" Well now, it didn't take me long to jump on that one. They do have a unique slant on history in this country.

Anyway, as it turns out, I get to leave the dry dock tomorrow. The "Monday warm-up" has been canceled for lack of interest. Back to the other side of the canal tomorrow where it is quieter, and more peaceful.

Of course, it is election day here and, depending on the outcome, there may be some bad hangovers in the morning.

Lola, La, La, La, La, Lola!

The other day, an old Dutch barge came into port flying the Stars and Stripes. Turns out they are a couple, Jerry and Suzanne, from the US who have been cruising the canals for a few years.

They were here to have some work done on their boat and, while the Shenandoah is in dry dock, are neighbors of ours.

Unbeknown to me, they are three! The third being a huge, beautiful Boxer named Luca. Luca is five and a retired show dog. ...and you can tell!

So, this is a little cheesecake for my granddog, Lola, Sharon and Pete's female Boxer in Virginia. Lola, have I got a guy for you.

High and Dry!

Well, after a beautiful month of sunny Spring in France, the weather has turned COLD! Burrrrr, had to break out the fleece jacket and will definitely have to start wearing underwear again.

Yesterday, May 1st. was a holiday here, "fete" as they say, in honor of the workers of France - Labor Day!

The guys from the Bourgogne Yacht and Grumpy Old Mens' Club (BYGOMC) had an evening BBQ. With two roaring canal side fires and a couple of gallons of cheap wine we listened to selections played by Bruce a neighboring GOM from the ONYX across the canal. Bruce is from Rehoboth, DE and has been here for about a year, kicking back and tweaking his boat load of computers. He is solely instrumental in my ability to access high speed Internet stuff now as he has provided his services, free of charge, to the whole basin. There were five Americans, five Brits and a couple of French guys rounding out the group (added for local color).

Anyway, the boys from the dry dock came and collected the Shenandoah this morning hauling her across the canal and south a couple hundred yards into Atelier Fluvial for her new bottom paint and prop. Should be here for a week or so if all goes well. Surprising how much crud has accumulated over the past three years. ...and very surprising to see that the anodes have very little wear. That shows that the sophisticated electrical protection system I had installed is doing its job. Stand by for updates.

Bee a little Crazee...

We all have our favorite sayings; some are regional, some are trite, some are witty and some are not. For instance, perhaps particularly in the South, we may grow accustomed to hearing, “Hey Sugah”, or “Bless her heart”, or the more familiar “Well, I’ll be a…” The latter is sometimes followed by quaint phrases such as “ monkey’s uncle”. Now why anyone would want to be a monkey’s uncle is beyond me – it does seem to cast certain aspersions upon the rest of the family. Perhaps those words are uttered by the same person who actually wears the t-shirt that proclaims “I’m Stupid” for all the world to see – yes, if you wear that shirt, you most certainly are stupid and I don’t care if your uncle gave it to you.

France does have its share of monkeys, uncles, t-shirts and phrases. Our particular favorite is a simple one, “Merde!!” We don’t care to use that one when we visit the market however, because the possibility exists, almost certainly, that we will come home with some in a bag. Fortunately, we have learned to identify what is pate, and what is not – even when they try to pretend it is laced with dark, earthy, rare mushrooms – don’t believe a word of it even if you do speak French! Just avoid that word at the market even if someone trods on your toe or you get stung by a bee. (Bees are popular in France.)

If you go to the Saturday market in Beaune, and you are musing aloud at all the interesting stuff they sell there and you should to happen to unconsciously utter “I’ll be a…” it may be confused for the French word “abeille” especially if you have a Southern accent. As we again stress: Be Careful what you ask for in the market; or this darling, colorful creature may fly home with you. You would then have your very own abeille. You might have to, then, ask yourself the confusing question: "to bee or not to bee ?".

Suit yourself and have a good day!
p.s. the artichokes are amazing!

Crabs for Dinner

The other evening, just about dinner time, we set out to harvest the past three days of crab hunting. I say “we,” when in reality it was Mary Ellen who did the harvesting, while J and I did the heavy work – lifting the crab pots out of the water.

Mary Ellen, armed with nothing more than a pink, rubber kitchen glove, fearlessly attacked the vicious blue crab infestation. Braving the slashing claws of the hoard of crabs, Mary Ellen fought a mighty battle. Try as they might, the crabs were no match for her cunning and speed.

One by one, the crabs succumbed to her onslaught and, in no time at all, were adorning the dinner table – all three dozen of them. Crabs, corn-on-the-cob, cole slaw and a fine wine…

There is nothing in the world that is better than eating something you have caught, or grown, or for that matter…purchased!!! Life is good!

New Dinghy?

…and, err, well, Mary Ellen and I were sitting around thinking about buying a dinghy for the Shenandoah. I mean, we have a 6-man inflatable raft that lives in a plastic box behind the sofa, uninflated, until someone throws it overboard.

But, we were thinking of something a little sportier, something we could jump in for a quick spin to the 7-11 for a bottle of wine. Then we remembered there are no 7-11’s in France, but there are McDonalds! The trouble is they are only in major population centers and sometimes it is miles to get to one. So speed would be an issue.

Sooooo, I did a little research on the net and I think I have found something that might work. There are a couple of hurdles, however, such as the width of the proposed dinghy. The canals are wide enough, but the locks are only 5.10 meters in width. I figure that if we could get this thing going fast enough when we hit the entrance to a lock the sides would bend up and we would slip right in. Then, when we wanted to get out of the lock, just push up the throttles – all eight of them – voila! Power is everything!

There might be a couple of other things that would have to be worked out, such as the European price of a liter of gas, or the noise, or…

We will let you know how we do!

Blue Crabs

One might wonder what a barge Captain does with an adventuress woman in South Carolina when not plying the waterways of France. Well, many things!

Why, just the past two days, we have been stalking the vicious and ever-elusive blue crab of the tidal flats of the Beaufort River.

We went to the local meat market (that would be a real meat market/butcher shop, not a place to pick up chicks) and got some “cheecken” necks and other sundry “cheecken” parts to load into the two crab pots that every God-fearing, South Carolina resident is allowed to own.

Then we placed the two pots in the deepest part of Cowen Creek and laid in wait.

Checking the pots this afternoon, we had cornered 24 of the little buggers trapped in those pots just waitin’ for the steamer. We figure by tomorrow there will be enough of those things to make for some mighty fine eatin’.

Record Snow Falls

Reports of record snow falls in Burgundy do not hinder the average bargeman from that early morning "walk" to the bakery for a freshly baked baguette!

Winter home of the Shenandoah

St. Jean de Losne is this years' winter home for the Shenandoah. St. Jean, or more precisely, St. Usage and the basin where the boat is located, is about thirty miles south of Dijon. The blue arrow points to the exact location at the south end of the Canal du Bourgogne as it empties into the Saone river.

This area is called the "barge capital" of France, mostly because there are two major canals and the Saone river that winds its way south to join the Rhone river and the Mediterranean. In years gone by, it was the mooring place that the commercial barges used while waiting for loads. Due to its' location, they were close to most of central France and the waterways therein. Now days, most of the commercial barges have gone to rust or have been cut up for scrap steel/iron and the area, at least boating wise, is more of a pleasure boating center than anything else. There are four areas nearby where boats of almost any size can be accommodated.

The Shenandoah will stay here until the first week of May due to being hauled out for bottom painting and fitting a new propeller on April 30th. Currently I am in Beaufort, SC enjoying Mary Ellens' company and the warm South Carolina days. We plan to return to France the first week of April.