Day 7 Su10 (First Part) – Opéra, Paix, Vendôme    I'd allowed far too much time for the morning to do what I wanted to do before meeting in the early afternoon for the transfer to the hotel barge in Burgundy. For the trip, I'd changed from my usual night owl status to that of an early bird, largely due to the time zone change, and so I had the usual early breakfast and set out on my way. I should have spent more time in my room writing, and checked out of the hotel some time later, but I was also eager to get going, and so I took the 9 from La Muette to Chausée d'Antin-La Fayette, and then changed to the 7 for one short stop to Opéra. See map below.

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Place de l'Opéra    We know that three Métro lines merge under Place de la Bastille with interconnected stations, and that's not unusual-- three lines also merge under the Place de l'Opéra, whose stations also interconnect, as this c1900 engineering map shows. The opera house is in the upper left, and the large rectangle in the center is an extra-large Métro exit. Line 8 runs between the 7:00 and 2:00 positions, 3 runs between 3:00 and 9:00, and 7 runs between 11:00 and 4:00, with us arriving from the 11:00 position. This 1913 sketch shows the same intersection, but seems much more confusing. Note the two large exits at street level. Imagine planning all this.

http://www.jll.com/Documents/Hotel-Migration/banner_new/InterContinental%20Paris%20Le%20Grand.jpg

Once again we'll show this spectacular picture. After the Opéra de la Bastille was built, the older "Opéra" was renamed Opéra Garnier after its architect, Charles Garnier (gar.NYÉ). On the left is the former Grand Hotel, now the Intercontinental Paris Le Grand, where I stayed twice (all details in 2017/17). In the lower left, you see the Boulevard des Capucines, a portion of the First Ring of the Grands Boulevards (2017/17). https://www.gralon.net/plan-ville/cartes/planr-place-de-l--opera-paris-3988.jpg

Though we've seen this map before, we're actually walking it now. We exit in medias res, right in the middle of the Place de l'Opéra, where the dotted Métro lines converge. (The RER A passes nearby, but does not stop here.) From this centerpoint we can admire the 19C splendor of the Place de l'Opéra, as in the picture.

It's always struck me as odd that the world-famous Café de la Paix in the Grand Hotel is not actually on the Rue de la Paix. Instead we cross the wide boulevard des Capucines and another short block et voilà, there it finally leaves the Place de l'Opéra at an odd southwest angle. Though we've also seen this map before (Map by MOSSOT), it does illustrate the two major street changes in the neighborhood, the later Avenue de l'Opéra (1876) and the earlier Rue de la Paix (1806). Though a bit hard to see here, do note that Paix leads directly into the Place Vendôme. Finally, we'll use this grand-scale map (click) to reorient us further (Map by OpenStreetMap contributors). Place de l'Opéra is in the upper center. Haussmann's Avenue de l'Opéra runs off to the Louvre at the 5:00 position and the Grands Boulevards cross between 8:00 and 2:00. Here it's perfectly clear (click) that Paix runs into Vendôme, and that another street exits Vendôme on the way to the Rue de Rivoli and the Tuileries Garden.

Rue de la Paix    On the orders of Napoléon I, the street now known as Rue de la Paix was opened in 1806 to give northern access to and from Place Vendôme, which previously had been a dead end for traffic, having access only from the south (confirm on previous map). It was then called Rue Napoléon (little surprise there). The name was changed in 1814 after the Bourbon Restoration (1814-1830; see 2017/18), to celebrate the newly-arranged peace in the Treaties of Paris of 1814 & 1815 following the defeat of Napoléon. In French, paix (pronounced PÉ) is "peace" and so Rue de la Paix is Peace Street. Knowing that it doesn't refer to peace in general but specifically to a restoration of peace after Napoléon (call it "anti-Napoléon") gives it just that much more significance as a total flip-flop from it having been called Rue Napoléon.

The original 1806 decree specified that the new street was to be the prettiest in Paris (!) and that, visible down its length, a column should be erected in Place Vendôme, modeled after Trajan's column in Rome, made of the bronze from the cannons taken at Austerlitz. While it turned out to be attractive enough, its great success is in having becoming world-famous as arguably the most fashionable and most luxurious shopping street in Paris. It's best known for its jewelers, such as the shop opened by Cartier in 1898, and other luxury shops. Charles Frederick Worth was the first to open a couture house here, in 1885. That Paix is adjacent to Vendôme has attracted the fashionable building styles of Vendôme onto Paix.

In 1907, a certain Jean Béraud painted this apparently moonlit view called La Rue de la Paix, looking south at the column in Place Vendôme. Note the large building on the left. The following picture shows close to that same view today (click), showing that same large building on the left (Photo by Mbzt). Time seems to change little here.

Here's the reverse view, looking from Vendôme up the full length of Rue de la Paix toward Place de l'Opéra (Photo by Mbzt). Click to see that that building, now on the right, houses Boucheron, a French house selling jewelry, watches, and perfumes located at 26 Place Vendôme. The House of Boucheron is a French family dynasty founded in 1858. In 1893, Frédéric Boucheron became the first jeweler to move to Place Vendôme. It's said that he chose this location where Boucheron remains to this day, because it was the sunniest corner of the square, and so the diamonds in his windows would sparkle more brilliantly.

On that same picture, check out who's occupying the opposite corner. It's a newly opened branch of Louis Vuitton, the fashion house and luxury retail company founded in 1854 at its original boutique around the corner at 4 Rue des Capucines, facing the back of the present building and also directly opposite the Hôtel Mansart, at 5 Rue des Capucines (see below). [This is not to be confused with the nearby Boulevard des Capucines, though they do intersect.]

A bit of background: In 1858, with the revolutionary transportation changes in trains and ships during the 19C steam era and the development of the leisure classes, Louis Vuitton quickly realized the need for new, high-quality luggage. At this point, he introduced his flat-bottom trunks. Before that, rounded-top trunks were used, primarily to promote water runoff, but these couldn't be stacked, while Vuitton's gray canvas flat trunks could be, and were widely imitated. In 1896, the company created its famous monogram, LV, and placed it right on its products in plain view, which was an industry first. But it was done simply to overcome the fact that imitators were copying his products, and to show this was the real thing.

In 2012, wishing to diversify, the brand planned an outlet in Place Vendôme for jewelry and watches called Louis Vuitton Haute Joallerie ("High-Style Jewelry") with its own workshop on the floor above. It's also known as Maison Louis Vuitton Vendôme.

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Vuitton is taking over the Hôtel de Boullogne (above), built during he first quarter of the 18C, on the corner at 23 Place Vendôme (although LV keeps insisting in its ads that it's 2 Place Vendôme). Over a four-year period, the façade designed by the architect of Versailles, Jules Hardouin-Mansart, has been restored. The opening took place on 2 October 2017, just 32 days after our visit. To the right on the picture is the Rue des Capucines. The first three window bays are LV, the next three, Bulgari. Immediately after that is the Hôtel Mansart at #5. Facing the hotel across the street at #4 was the original boutique of LV, mentioned above.

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As for the Hôtel Mansart (above), it's in its lobby (windows right) that passengers are supposed to meet in the early afternoon today for transport to the Hotel Barge Luciole in Auxerre. For now, we can leave our luggage and continue seeing the Place Vendôme, the second of our two large "V-Squares" after Place des Vosges yesterday.

Place Vendôme    The site of the square had once been the vast mansion of the Duke of Vendôme, hence the name. Several owners bought the land planning to replace the house with their own newer mansions around a square, modeled on the successful Place des Vosges of the previous century. They were unsuccessful, and instead, the king purchased the land, then commissioned Jules Hardouin-Mansart to design a house front that the buyers of plots around the square would agree to adhere to. A financier backed the plan, and the square was completed by 1720, just as finances ran out.

We've seen some fashionable glitz at the north entrance to the square. Let's look further:

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This view is totally anachronistic. It shows a period picture of Place Vendôme, even with the king's statue in the center from before the column was erected, yet it shows the modern fashion houses around the square with contemporary dates of establishment. Vuitton and Boucheron are still there where we left them; also Van Cleef & Arpels, founded in 1896, moved to Vendôme in 1906. Some other big names, left to right, are Rolex, Cartier, Chanel, Piaget, Swatch, Philippe Patek, Dior, and others.

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We can see more the geography of Vendôme here. When it was accessible by that single entrance from the south, an aristocratic quiet must have prevailed over the square. Napoléon's opening the Rue de la Paix from the north filled Vendôme with traffic, especially after the Opéra, the Palais Garnier, opened in 1875, at which point the center of Parisian fashionable life started gravitating into Rue de la Paix and Place Vendôme. Note that Place Vendôme physically extends one block into each entry street, so Rue de la Paix doesn't start until beyond that traffic light, and on the other end, the same goes for Rue de Castiglione (not named here). This is further corroborated by the house numbers shown on the map, where the odd numbers run up the west side to 25 and evens on the east side to 28. Through traffic runs around the column in the center, while local traffic uses the perimeter. The two sets of pink dots lead to underground parking. Métro line 14 (black dashes) passes below, but does not stop here. (We'll come back to this map with some addresses.)

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This aerial view brings the map to life. You can see from the wear and tear in the pavement how traffic goes either around the column or around the perimeter. Napoléon I had the Vendôme Column in the center erected to commemorate the Battle of Austerlitz, just as the Gare, Viaduc, and Pont d'Austerlitz do.

Back to the column. It's obvious that Vendôme has no trace of parkland, but is all paved over, whereas Vosges thrives on its parkland. Also we can see why Vendôme is technically an octagon, not a "square square", because Hardouin-Mansart established on all four corners oblique "screens" with pediments above. Otherwise, these corners blend in perfectly with the mansard style on all sides.

Down on ground level, we already showed in 2017/18 this wide-angle view (click) of Place Vendôme (Photo by Giorgio Galeotti). Again, don't be misled—it really is square-shaped, but distorted in this view, pried open like a ripe peach. The Rue de la Paix, entering it from the north (on the right) is directly opposite the other entrance on the left.

A Walk Around Place Vendôme    We have plenty of time before we have to meet with other barge passengers, so we can walk around the Place, and we do it counterclockwise (use Vendôme map for addresses). As we do so, admire the uniform mansard roofs on all the hôtels around the square, which retain their traditional names. We start with the northwest corner (Photo by Yair Haklai). Click to inspect the column more closely. To its right you'll see the entrance that leads up to the Rue de la Paix, framed by some old friends, Boucheron at 26 on the right in the Hôtel de Noce and Louis Vuitton at 23 on the left in the Hôtel de Boullogne.

Immediately to the left of the column are 21-19-17, the Hôtels de Fontpertuis, d'Évereux, & de Crozat. They're at an angle, located in what would have been the NW corner of Vendôme, making the square-shape into an octagon. As you reach the four round awnings on 15, the Hôtel de Gramont, you'll find we've reached one of the most famous hotels in the world, the Ritz. Its restaurant, l'Espadon (the Swordfish), is indicated on the map.

The Hôtel Ritz Paris, known for its luxury, was founded in 1898 by the Swiss hotelier, César Ritz, in collaboration with the French chef, Auguste Escoffier. Famous guests of the hotel include Coco Chanel and Ernest Hemingway, who lived at the hotel for years. However, the Ritz was in decline, but was rescued in 1979 by the Egyptian businessman, Mohamed Al-Fayed. On 31 August 1997, Diana, Princess of Wales and Al-Fayed's son Dodi Al-Fayed dined at the Ritz, after which they had their fatal car accident in the Pont de l'Alma underpass. The most I can say is that Beverly and I once sat in the lobby lounge of the Ritz watching the world go by, though we never stayed there.

Before we leave this picture, note to the left of the Ritz the building with a pediment and flag on top. This is 13 on our map, the Hôtel de Bourvallais, which, since 1718 has contained (click) the Ministère de Justice (Ministry of Justice) (Photo by Chabe01). But the point of interest here is just to the left of the entry, below the window, but above the grill. This is a closeup (Photo by Ordifana75) of one of the remaining standard meter markers in France. It appears that the metal bar has been vandalized, but the marking in the marble is quite visible. In 1796 and 1797, sixteen such standard meter markers were erected in Paris and its surroundings to help spread the understanding of the new metric system developed as part of the Revolution. Today, only four remain, and only two of those are in Paris, this being one.

We continue around the square, but we don't come across another plaque of particular interest until reaching the east side, at 12, the Hôtel Baudard de Saint-James, where Chopin died in 1849. We end up in the northeast corner (Photo by Mbzt) showing, from the right, 18-20-22-24-26, which are the Hôtels Duché des Tournelles, de Parabère, de Ségur, de Boffrand, & de Noce, the home of Boucheron. From here, we're right around the corner from 5 Rue des Capucines (shown on Vendôme map, where the street is misnamed) and the Hotel Mansart, where we'll sit down in the lobby and wait until it's time for the group to gather.

Day 7 Su10 (Second Part) – Transfer to Luciole    While waiting, we finally have time to discuss how this entire trip came about, which was backwards—this cruise being planned first, with Paris as a beforehand add-on. I'd been taking more in the way of mid-sized to smaller ships on inland waterways lately, such as on the Juno on the Göta Canal (2006/8), on the Kawartha Voyageur on the Rideau Canal (2014/16 ff), on the American Star up the US East Coast (2016/18 ff), or on the Grande Mariner on the Erie Canal (2017/3 ff), and felt it was finally time to do something similar in Europe.

Also I was quite impressed to note how much smaller the older canals were, most of which were later either expanded or abandoned. They also had mules on mule paths along the canal to pull the canal boats. I refer in particular to the original Erie Canal, whose remnants are now abandoned, which was so petite that passengers were regularly told at what points to duck for low bridges. You'll recall that the best-known song about a canal is the one we discussed in 2017/3, pertaining to mules pulling boats on the original narrow Erie Canal. The 1905 song, often called the "Erie Canal Song" or "Mule Named Sal" was actually named, as we said at the time: "Low Bridge, Everybody Down", as this 1915 cover of the sheet music indicates. But the illustration is misleading. It shows a boy on a mule on the towpath ducking to go under a bridge, and the boat they are towing has no passengers. But in reality, as the word "everybody" implies, the phrase was a standard warning given to all the passengers that typically rode on top of a boat; THEY are the ones, plural, who are supposed to be ducking. I also had in mind the original, narrow Chesapeake & Delaware (C&D) canal cutting along the top of the Delmarva Peninsula (2016/11), as well as the original, narrow Chesapeake & Ohio (C&O) canal along the Potomac, now abandoned and almost completely dried out, that we managed to follow on land (2016/13). Wouldn't it be fun to be on a canal boat in a canal that were both so petite that, to this day, you STILL had to duck down for low bridges? Of course boats today are motorized so mules are a thing of the past, though the mule paths are still there, used for walking or bicycling.

Europe was calling. The last time I'd been in Europe was 2012 during the Atlantic Isles trip I'd put together, when there was a major connection I had to make in Germany, arriving in Hamburg by air from the Canaries, then by train the short distance to Travemünde, to sail on the Deutschland. The ship later made a stop in Stavanger, Norway, which was the last time I'd set food on the Continent until the current trip.

I knew many countries advertised their canals, but I decided to concentrate on France, since I'd heard so much more about the canals there, of which there are more, and more being used today. An internet search found several possibilities, but I was looking for a boat that had single cabins, to avoid paying the single supplement. One was highly recommended, which I looked into further. I must say, if I hadn't liked the looks of ▪ the boat, ▪ the canal, or ▪ the region, just it having a single cabin available wouldn't have been enough to convince me. But all three were of interest, plus a lot more. The boat was a péniche hôtel, which sounds better than its translation "hotel barge", but that's just what it is, a former barge upgraded to hotel status. I decided to go right ahead and book a single on the Luciole ("Firefly") on the Canal du Nivernais (Nivernais Canal; ni.ver.NÉ) in Bourgogne (Burgundy). This is the Luciole on the canal, in a woodsy area:

https://www.bargeluciole.com/assets/images/gallery-luciole/hotel-barge-luciole-nivernais-mooring.jpg

On their website there were a number of weeks available from spring to fall. I decided on a date in October, since the off-season rates were lower and booked it online. I then decided that, since I was going to be picked up and dropped off in Paris, I'd spend the previous week there. Searching booking.com found me the Aéro in Passy. Other than the flight, I was all set. Or so I thought.

I have over the years on occasion spoken transatlantic to Europe. Once I had to call Italy, and a couple of times Germany. Friends in Germany have also called me 2-3 times. But it's VERY rare. Shortly after I booked my October week, the phone rang, and caller ID told me it's from the UK. What could it be? Not the Luciole—she's in France!

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The caller identified herself as Penny Liley (above), who I took to be the booking agent, calling from her UK location in Bollington, Cheshire, southeast of Manchester. She hadn't gotten back to her other home near the canal in France, but was calling to tell me that the week I'd chosen wasn't filling up sufficiently. Wouldn't I care to take a week in early September. I said I would—it's just the price difference, but she moved my reservation earlier at the same lower price. I wasn't until I was actually on the Luciole that I realized that Penny (and her family) were the owners of the company that owned the Luciole. I pointed that out to her, and now the website makes it clear.

I told Penny on that call that I'd booked the Aéro for October, and she called them and adjusted the date for me. When I paid my balance on the website, the phone rang again from Bollington. Penny found that the payment didn't clear properly, so I called the credit card company and straightened it out. But rarely does one find such friendly service when making a booking, including two transatlantic phone calls.

Péniches    Although I didn't do much further research at the time, I've since learned a lot about the history behind the subject, and would like to begin there. Let's start with the type of boat in question. Péniches started out in the 19C purely as workboats. They originated in Belgium, as wooden vessels for inland navigation. This painting is called simply Les Péniches. It's an oil on panel done by one Charles-François Daubigny in 1865 and today hangs in the Louvre.

In time, wood construction was replaced by steel, and the péniche became a "dumb" barge that had to be towed by a towboat. By the 1910s, though, péniches were being motorized and became self-sustaining. Standard dimensions were determined for post-1880s péniches by a law passed in 1879 to cover Belgian and French locks. It was passed under the tenure of Charles de Freycinet as minister of public works in France and is known as the Freycinet gauge. The law required that the size of lock chambers be increased to:
►39 m (128 ft) in length, ►5.2 m (17 ft) in width, and a minimum water depth of ►2.2 m (7.2 ft).
Because of that lock standard, boats and barges, including the péniches, couldn't exceed:
►38.5 m (126 ft) in length, ►5.05 m (16.6 ft) in width, and have a draft of ►1.8 m (5.9 ft).
The Luciole, which has been stretched in length (more later), has these dimensions:
►34.75m (114 ft) in length, ►5.05 m (16.6 ft) in width, with a draft of ►1.07 m (3.5 ft).
Bridges built across the canals are required to provide:
►3.7 m (12 ft) of clearance, and the Luciole is ►2.95 m (9.7 ft) in height. You can already hear the shout of "Low bridge!"

Early on, many French canal locks were upgraded to these dimensions, but perhaps fewer than you'd think. By 2001, 5,800 km (3,604 mi) of navigable waterways in France corresponded to the Freycinet gauge, but that accounted for only 23% of waterborne traffic. In any case, you can see that the péniches were shaped by the locks—you don't put round pegs, but square pegs into a square hole, so the péniches tend to be boxy and flat-sided, with short, rounded bows and sterns.

Before motorization, when péniches still had to be towed by animal power, they had no superstructures, although midships there might have been a stall on those that carried their own mule or horse. Once motorized, péniches in the 1920s started having, near the stern, a low, small living space, and in front of it a slightly higher steering area. These low superstructures gave the boxy péniches an even stockier look, emphasized by the use of dark color schemes.

I found a picture of a péniche that still carries freight, that shows just what we've been talking about (Photo by Remi Jouan/CaptainHaddock). Don't be confused by the glass-and-brick tower on the right. Click to see the tiny living quarters in the back and the enclosed pilot house in front of it (on the Luciole, the captain has quarters in the back but the steering area is open-air). Note the narrow side walkway (the one on the Luciole is crew-only and surrounds the lounge, where in the picture the cargo is located). Note the barely-rounded bow. Curiously, this péniche is shown on the Canal Saint-Denis in Paris, which connects to the Canal de l'Ourcq (2018/7).

Péniche-Hôtels    As the 20C progressed, so did the decline in commercial and freight use of the canals of Europe, and many former freight péniches were converted into living, pleasure, or hotel craft. The trend to hotel barges began in the 1960s, which the older version of the Luciole being the very first, in 1966. The concept has now grown into a network of hotel barges operating on the canals and rivers of France, Belgium, the Netherlands, Germany, and the UK. The majority operate in France, where their economic importance has been estimated at €50 million of local income. The busiest areas are the Loire Valley, the Canal du Midi, and Burgundy, the latter being the location of the Canal du Nivernais. Hotel barges are of necessity small, and accommodate 4-24 passengers, with the Luciole taking 12.

We'll continue with additional information on the Luciole shortly, but first we should understand the area we'll be visiting. I should also remind now that passage on the Luciole includes a free shuttle transfer from Paris to the boat, and a return shuttle to Paris afterward, so no train or rental car is necessary between them.

Burgundy    Burgundy (Bourgogne) takes its name from the Burgundians, who were a Germanic people that settled in what is today east-central France.

You'll recall from 2017/17 that the region that Paris is located in is Île-de-France (map by Jome). As we said, Paris is a département surrounded by an inner ring of three other départements, and an outer ring of four others. Our drive will leave Paris from the south on the Autoroute du Soleil toll road and cross Essonne and Seine-et-Marne, passing by Évry and Melun, as well as Fontainebleau, after which we'll enter modern Burgundy (Map by LeMorvandiau), which is also a region with an historical background. You can see how Burgundy abuts Île-de-France.

On the Burgundy map, you see how we'll pass near Sens (you'll recall the story in 2018/9 of the Hôtel de Sens in the Marais) and arrive at the canal in Auxerre. The boat trip will be quite petite in length, running only to Clamecy (across the dashed gray line indicating the departmental border). Also note Vézelay, one of our stops, and Le Morvan (in brown) the smallest mountain range in France. You'll find that our canal runs within or near the Yonne River. The Yonne is the principal tributary of the Seine joining it from the left (the Marne, as we saw in Paris, joins in from the right). You can see that the Yonne starts in Le Morvan, and after passing through the region we'll be spending time in, enters Île-de-France and joins the Seine at a point just west of Fontainebleau (Photo by Tcherome). Click on this rather dark picture to see the smallish Seine entering at the left, where only two arches are needed on the bridge to cross it, and the Yonne entering on the right, which is wide enough to require a three-arch bridge.

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Take a look at this map of the Seine River watershed. At the southernmost point, you can see the Yonne starting up in the mountains of Le Morvan, passing the strip we'll be touring between Clamecy and Auxerre, then passing Sens, to join the Seine from the left, which up to the confluence is called the Petite Seine. The Marne joins from the right on the edge of Paris. Despite the thickness of the blue lines on this map, it's been said that the Yonne is in reality the principal watercourse of the "Seine" Basin—the picture showed it's bigger than the Petite Seine—and that, geographically speaking, it's really the Yonne that flows through Paris. In a sense, then, going from Paris to the boat, we'll just be going upstream from Seine to Yonne (or, if you accept the geographic argument), we'll be driving right up along the Yonne! (On this map, note the Serein River right to the east of the Yonne, which we'll also visit on a day trip.)

Départements    Since Burgundy is a historic region, it's the départements of France that actually take on legal significance (Map by Nilstilar). Click to see that once we leave the Île-de-France départments of Paris, Essonne, and Seine-et-Marne, we enter the Burgundy départments of Yonne (yellow), named after the river, and where we'll spend most of the trip, starting in Auxerre, and Nièvre (green), the location of our last canal stop, Clamecy, plus the last of our day trips, in Bazoches. (While we're here, note the four départments traditionally making up Burgundy [black border] extended by several départments in Franche-Comté to the east, up to the Swiss border, the totality forming BFC.)

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Our first map above is of the Yonne département. The black dotted line is modernity impinging on history and serene geography, since it's the route through this area of the TGV Sud-Est, the high-speed train leading southeast. You also see the Canal de Bourgogne, connecting the Yonne with the Saône River and the Mediterranean. You again see Sens on the Yonne, and our highway to its west. East of Auxerre, our boarding point and also the goal of a day trip, we see the destinations of two of our other day trips, both on the Serein River, Chablis and Noyers. In the south we again see Vézelay, another day trip, just as the Yonne and the Canal du Nivernais leave the département.

Move to the second map of the Nièvre département, with our final stop, Clamecy, just south of the border. Our fifth and final day trip will be to Bazoches (not named here), which literally lies on the border, east of Tannay and north of Lormes. You can see approximately where the Yonne has its source in Le Morvan, near Château-Chinon. Once the young Yonne is too small for a canal, the white line shows where the Canal du Nivernais cuts across to eventually connect to the young Loire, connecting to the Bay of Biscay and the Atlantic.

Canal du Nivernais    We've been adding more and more to our knowledge of the area, so now it's time to get down to the canal itself. I'd long wondered about its name. I had no idea about it until now, a year later, when I had a brow-slapping moment and realized what was in front of me all along. If the Yonne River is associated with the Yonne département, could the Nivernais Canal be associated with the Nièvre département? And maybe even distantly with the departmental seat, the city of Nevers? Of course! I looked it up and it works this way.

It all starts with the Nièvre River, seen on the west side of the above map of the Nièvre département, flowing into Nevers (ne.VÈR, rhymes with "air"). The département is named after the river, just as with the Yonne. The adjectival form of Nièvre is nivernais, but the canal goes nowhere near this river! Once it leaves the upper Yonne, it cuts overland to the Loire at the bottom of the map. The explanation is more precisely that there had been a former province called Le Nivernais (referred to on the map), and the modern département was carved out of much of that. And while the canal starts in Auxerre in Yonne, it actually makes the link between the Yonne and Loire Rivers within Nièvre, so it's the Canal du Nivernais.

Now let's consolidate the bits and pieces we know about the canal, and expand on that. The canal starts at Auxerre, where we'll also start, and works its way uphill, past Clamecy, where our trip will end. But then the canal goes on to connect the Seine Basin with the Loire Basin.

https://about-france.com/photos/maps/france-rivers-map.jpg

The extensive connectivity of the rivers of France via canals really should be appreciated. Find the Yonne as part of the Seine Basin leading northwest, and imagine the canal connecting it to the Loire and its basin, leading west. We showed above the Canal de Bourgogne connecting the Yonne with the Saône going south to the Rhone and the Mediterranean. And there are many more canals. (Saône would be better spelled the way it's pronounced, as Sône, rhyming with English "zone".)

The entire Canal du Nivernais is 180 km (110 mi) long and comprises 110 locks, though our trip will barely cover a third of that, 59 km (37 mi). Construction of the canal began in 1784, initially to aid the floating of timber from upland forests to Paris, via Clamecy and Auxerre, but it quickly expanded to carrying building stone, grain, and wine out of the region, and bringing in coal (the Luciole had been a coal barge). But just like everywhere else, the arrival of the railroads in the 19C caused the decline of this and other canals, so that today, the canal is used exclusively for pleasure craft. Check the Nièvre map again to see where the Canal du Nivernais ends, near Decize.

Luciole    It's pleasant to note how the Luciole story followed the traditional path of the péniches. She was built in 1926, which means that within this current running decade, she'll have her centennial. As I told Penny, history like this is essential to me, since the Luciole is the second-oldest ship I've overnighted on (there were some other ships I took day trips on in Sweden and Switzerland that were also quite venerable). The oldest ship—what a thrill—was the Juno on the Göta Canal in Sweden (2006/8), which, amazingly, dates from 1874. As the summary in 2013/7 shows (where the Juno is also discussed), the Juno was my 36th voyage. The Luciole was my 56th, and has been posted there as such.

But the Juno was always a passenger vessel, while the Luciole evolved. When built in 1926, her first iteration was as a mule-drawn vessel, so she's seen it all. Her original name was the Ponctuel, so presumably it was felt she'd always be on time. She was later equipped with an engine, the usual next step, and was then able to carry a heavier cargo of 180 metric tons (198 US tons) of cargo.

As the decades passed and freight activity waned, it was time for her second iteration. In 1966, Richard Parsons from England bought her and converted her into the first hotel barge on the French canal system. She carried 22 passengers in bunk beds, with two bathrooms to serve all and operated here in the Burgundy region as well as in the south of France, on the combined Canal du Midi & Canal Latéral à la Garonne (Map by Pinpin). At this time she was named the Palinurus.

The third and present iteration happened when, in 1985, she was purchased by the British company Inland Voyages Ltd, owned by the Lileys, and brought to Burgundy. She was rebuilt: a raised superstructure (as we saw above) was added, which included the lounge roof, and the interior was remodeled to carry 14 passengers in larger cabins--six double or twin-bedded cabins and two single cabins, all with air-conditioning and en-suite bathrooms. However, on the front deck, the curved cargo hatch cover was retained to reflect the past cargo-carrying days. As mentioned earlier, at this point she was renamed the Luciole, or Firefly.

In 2010, the Luciole went through a "stretch-limo" experience in a Paris shipyard, when it was cut in two, and a new midsection was welded in the center. This lengthened the Luciole from the previous 30.75 m (101 ft) to the present 34.75 m (114 ft) mentioned above.

For now, let's take a look at a couple of distance views of the Luciole. We'll get some closer shots later.

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https://www.bargeluciole.com/assets/images/gallery-nivernais/luciole-cruising-vaux.jpg

The first is the Luciole on the Yonne in Auxerre, with a nice riverside view of its Gothic cathedral in the background (click). You can see all the sections of the boat on this view, but you can see them better on the second picture alongside a local village. The bikes for the towpaths are upfront, though they got little to no use from our group. The crew's quarters are below this area. Then comes the open deck, with its seating, flowers, and railing. The following narrow space is where the gangway goes for boarding and deboarding. The gangway lies flat as the floor in that space and is extended to the shore in that open area, with railings added. In the roofed area, the three large windows are in the lounge/dining room, and the last two are the galley. Behind that, the captain stands at the wheel at the piloting area, a "houseless pilot house", and the captain's quarters are behind him. (Andy, the tour guide, lived with his family on shore, and would arrive every day with the tour bus for the excursions.) Note that the roof of the lounge is pretty much the highest area on the boat, so you can see how a call of "low bridge" would require ducking down on the sundeck. The captain ducks down as well. What happens with the wheel is a story in itself (see below). The passenger cabins are on the lower deck. Those below the sundeck have larger windows than those below the lounge/galley, with portholes. You have now seen the Luciole to its fullest extent—though stretched, still petite.

Boarding the Luciole    We can start the narrative now, but we'll do it a little differently from the usual. The two outstanding traits of the trip on the Luciole are (1) the onboard life on the canal and (2) the outstanding daily excursions, varying between morning and afternoon. To my mind they are perhaps the best organized excursions I've taken that I didn't plan myself, so I enjoyed every one. The excursions we'll talk about later on a day-by-day basis, but first let's talk about life on board, which I enjoyed just as much.

We left off waiting in the lobby of the Hôtel Mansart in Paris, where we'd arrived too early. Also waiting in the lobby were two ladies, N. and M. We got to talking, and they turned out to be the more interesting of the group. They always traveled together as solos, as their husbands didn't enjoy traveling. They particularly enjoyed France, and I was glad to find out that N. said she spoke "a little French". Nonsense. Though we just spoke English, she spoke French quite well, and we could talk about things like signs we saw written in French. The two ladies had been executives in New York, rather high-placed as far as I could tell, and were now retired, and lived elsewhere.

When others arrived, they turned out to be three US couples (MA, NE, AZ), one New Zealand couple, and one solo NZ lady. At the appointed time, Andy Carter from England, who was to be our excellent tour guide during the week, met us and showed us to the van. On the way, he mentioned he'd looked at my website, which Penny had shown him. (On the return to Paris the following weekend, Captain Francisco Madrid, originally from Chile, now from France, would drive us back to Paris.)

The route, described earlier, took two hours to Auxerre, including a short rest stop. It was mostly a route de péage (toll road). Auxerre is where the beginning of the canal is, and where the Luciole was docked in the center of town (map and tour with pictures later). We settled in, and between 5 and 6 Penny hosted a Kir Royal-and-canapé reception on deck. She also stayed for dinner that first night, by candlelight. After that, we saw her frequently, as her French home was nearby, where we were even invited for drinks one afternoon, under the guise of "afternoon tea". Because of Penny's frequent involvement, this was surely the most intime cruise I've had.

At the reception, we also met Captain Francisco and the four others on the staff: Luke was the deckhand, Jade was the chef, and Kim and Noémi were the waitstaff and did the housekeeping. However, I was surprised to find recently on their website that there is an entirely new staff, except for Captain Francisco. I wrote Penny, and she said:

At one point that first evening it was time to go to our cabins. Every time I'm on a ship, since I always will have familiarized myself with the deck plan, and will have gotten the room number along with the booking, I always show myself to my cabin directly and very early on, to get settled in promptly. If help is offered, I refuse, since I know perfectly well where I'm going. There are still some individualists left in this world.

But to my chagrin, that apparently isn't how things work on the Luciole, where some special protocol causes efficiency to fall victim to undue graciousness. It would have been SO much easier and efficient to just hand out the keys (with the cabin numbers, which had not been pre-announced) and let the handful of guests easily find the handful of cabins. Instead, we were required to bide our time--wasting it--in the lounge, and were then graciously brought down to our cabins one-by-one by a staff member, like ladies and gentlemen performing a stately gavotte. I didn't care for this practice at all. Contrary to my usual preference of getting to my cabin early, I was the very last one brought downstairs, and only then did I learn which cabin I'd been assigned, which, as it turns out, was one I did not want. If I'd been given the cabin number when booking, as is usual practice, I could have contested the cabin much earlier. I did solve this potential kerfuffle, in spite of it all. But let's first look at the deck plan.

https://www.bargesinfrance.com/luciole_deckplan.jpg

We already have seen preliminary pictures of the parts of the péniche, so this should be simple. We see the bicycles, the Sun Deck, the three steps down to the Lounge, the Galley, and the piloting area. Not shown are the stairs down to the lower deck, which are to the right of the steps up to the Sun Deck.

As for the lower deck, I'll first give the explanation, then present the kerfuffle that resulted when I was belatedly brought downstairs, which I resolved immediately, without need of any assistance.

Sometimes, ships purposely keep some cabins empty. I first learned this on the Explorer II in Antarctica in 2006. The Explorer II could accommodate 398 passengers, but was listed as "sold out" with only 199, half that total, and I finally found out why. Having up to 199 passengers makes it a Category 1 ship, which is allowed to make all landings anywhere in Antarctica. Ships in higher categories have restrictions.

Penny later explained that the Luciole in actuality has accommodations for 14 passengers, but French government regulations first cover ships for up to 12, while a ship with more than that has additional restrictions. Therefore, two beds are kept empty on each trip of the Luciole. That can be done, according to need, by closing off a double room, or by making two doubles into singles. That's what was done on this trip, despite it having been advertised as having "two singles", which is what first attracted me to it. I pointed this confusion out to Penny, and now her website says the Luciole offers double, twin, or up to 4 single cabins, which is much clearer.

https://www.bargeluciole.com/assets/images/gallery-interior/luciole-twin-cabin.jpg

Still, you probably wouldn't have felt or acted as I did. As the last one to be brought downstairs, I was shown a double-used-as-a-single as shown above (the mirrored door is the entrance, bath is behind the camera). On the deck plan, it was the second twin cabin from the right at the top, with large, though high-up, windows. Noémi had brought me downstairs, and I told her on the spot that this was NOT what I'd booked. I like cozy accommodations, such as my little room in the Aéro, and I did not want to rattle around in this two-bed room (speculation: maybe Penny gave it to me because I'd booked early and she thought I'd like it, but I do not like being second-guessed). But the matter resolved itself on the spot.

Of the two executive ladies, N. was given the same sort of twin cabin opposite me, while her friend, M. was in the single just aft of these. M. came right over to us wondering why she didn't have the same thing as her friend, and on the spot, I asked M. if she wanted to swap. So mere seconds after M. and I had been shown our cabins, the potential tempest in a teapot (British: tempest in a teacup) we each could have had was very amicably resolved to everyone's pleasure. M. was happy to have the larger room directly opposite N. and I had the single cabin I'd been expecting for months. Of course, all this could have been avoided if cabin numbers had been included with the original booking, as is otherwise customary. (The other single went to the solo NZ lady.)

http://www.canalbargecruises.com/s/zsgp-4n6TEGMNaS8AWAqgQ/Luciole-single-300.jpg

https://www.bargeluciole.com/assets/images/gallery-interior/luciole-ensuite-cabin-bathroom.jpg

So as in the Aéro, I had my cozy single, as shown in the first picture. The entry door you see on the left, and the en-suite bathroom is ahead. Instead of high windows there were high portholes—no matter. The second picture shows not my bath, but a similar one. Of note is the corner shower, with a triangular base. However, it's a bit hard to see here just how the doors very nicely close from each side to complete the triangle.

So all this was after arrival in Auxerre, but the visit to Auxerre was a little odd. The day was over, so we wouldn't be visiting it now, or even in the morning, when we'd be off to our next destination. Odd as it may seem, we'd drive back on the second full day to visit Auxerre—that's how close to each other locations are on this trip. But this first evening, we did go back out on the deck, where the stars were out against a blue sky, and the city was illuminated. Since this was the major city on the trip, it was just as well we got to see its night views, as well as have our day visit later on.

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The first picture, at twilight, shows the illuminated Saint-Germain Abbey and its Romanesque bell tower with reflections in the Yonne. We were docked for the night pretty much where that longish boat is on the townside shore. The second picture, more at night, also shows the above, but adds to the left the Gothic Auxerre cathedral we'd seen in a day view in an earlier picture.

We've seen a number of pictures of the Luciole, so let's see some more. My favorite portrait of the boat is this one, where she is moored at Mailly-le-Château, where we'll be later on. We've already said we'll have a story about the exposed ship's wheel (click), but also note the flag on the bow in Francisco's line of sight that he uses to help him steer. Remember the flat grassy bank you see that's often found along the canal and river, which we'll have another story about later. That grassy bank story also connects to the white pole you see along the side, between the handrail and narrow for-crew-only walkway. I liked this picture so much that it was the one I emailed home during the trip to some friends.

This is at the same mooring, but from the shore side. Click to see how the slender gangway has been pulled out to the bank, with railings then attached. And here's a bit more action (but not much more) as the Luciole exits a lock. Tight fit. (All three photos by HectorDavie).

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The interior is very comfortable, and these are views in both directions. The first view is in the lounge (saloon?) looking back, toward the door to the galley, with the tables set for lunch or dinner. The cabinet in the back left is the drinks cabinet, should someone (me) go searching for cordials after dinner. It's also where the buffet breakfast is served from. The second view is in the same room, but looking forward from the galley. This is the setup for other than lunch and dinner. For breakfast, passengers dine at the tables in this position. Beyond the couches to the right is the staircase down to the cabins, and straight ahead are the few steps up to the Sun Deck beyond.

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https://www.bargeluciole.com/assets/images/gallery-friends/sun-deck-passengers-auxerre-2.jpg

Outside we also have views in both directions. The first is of the Sun Deck, and the bridge up ahead is nowhere near the lowest one we'll be meeting. The second shows the height of the Sun Deck above the lounge. Click to see again under the handrail on the side that white pole (there's another on the other side), and to see Captain Francisco at the wheel. By now you should recognize Auxerre Cathedral in the background.

Onboard Life on the Canal    I think the defining word describing this trip is "petite". The petite péniche is the smallest I've ever overnighted on, the section of the canal we'll cover is petite in length, and indeed, the canal is petite in size in the first place. A fair comparison with roads is considering the Nivernais a quiet, narrow, back road to a superhighway. Do recall our discussions in the past of how the original Erie canal in NY was small and narrow, and required ducking under bridges, but the later (current) one is much, much larger. We visited the Chesapeake & Delaware Canal in MD & DE and compared the remnants of its original small size with the present much larger size. We talked about the former narrow Chesapeake & Ohio canal running from Georgetown in DC to Cumberland MD. Not only was it never replaced by a bigger one, it was never even completed to Pittsburgh.

Keep in mind that construction of the Nivernais Canal began in 1784, and, despite adjustments over the years, it hasn't been replaced with any supercanal. This is a lock on the Nivernais (Photo by Benchaum) located in La Collancelle, way south of our final destination of Clamecy, but it does show the small canal and lock size, the grassy banks, and the former towpath, now paved over for walking and biking.

WEEPING WILLOWS: With the diminutive sizes in mind, you can imagine relaxing on the Sun Deck, either mornings or afternoons, depending when the excursion would fall that day. In the morning you might enjoy a rising autumnal mist of the canal (or of the Yonne, since they intertwined, as did the Oswego Canal and River). Trees are close to the canal (Photo by Benchaum), and might even overhang it as here in Marigny sur Yonne (also south of our route). Usually you'd dodge any branches ahead, but there was one sweet exception I recall. We glided under a weeping willow, and I just sat there and let its vine-like branchlets glide gently over my head (Photo by Fanghong). Wonderful feeling; wonderful memory.

LA SAUTERELLE: The last thing I expected to see on the canal was a "circus act", but that's the only way I can describe it. It's something that can happen only on a small canal such as this. I didn't expect to see it, saw it with others by chance since it wasn't pre-announced, and don't see how I'll ever see the likes of it again.

To visualize what I'm talking about, you have to picture a fold-out towel rack, attached at only one end, which stays parallel to the wall, but can be pulled out perpendicular to the wall. Now picture one such mechanism on either side of the Luciole, the white bar, or pole, or boom we mentioned in two pictures earlier. (The pictures show them pointing forward, but I have a clear mental picture of this event with the bar pointing to the stern of the ship, and being longer, but no matter.)

We were moving along at our usual slow pace, and apparently there was an issue with the lock we were approaching. Either the lockmaster was absent, or needed help. In any case, Luke, the deckhand, was to go ashore and get involved with opening the lock gate for when we arrived. But how do you do that from a moving boat?

A few others and I happened to be on the starboard (right-hand) side of the lounge, and, looking out of the windows, saw Luke work his way along that little ledge, holding on to the handrail. He then unsnapped the white bar (pole, boom) and proceeded to hang himself over it. Now you must picture "Luke hung out to dry" like a wet towel. Luke is a tall, robust Englishman. His head was pointing way down on one side of the boom, his feet down on the other, leaving him butt-high. He then kicked off from the boat, and the "towel rack" easily swung outward from a parallel to a perpendicular position. That placed Luke above the grassy shoreline we've seen in pictures, where he dropped off and landed, rolling in the grass. He shoved the boom back, and it returned to the boat. Luke then trotted ahead to the lock to do what needed to be done. Later, when we were in the lock, Luke reboarded normally. But this de-boarding event seemed like in a dream.

So now months later, I needed to research just what was what, but for something so quintessentially French like a péniche you HAVE TO research it in French. I entered a few words in my browser in French, which led me to what was a new word for me. I'll now explain what I found in my own way. In French, sauter is "to jump" (when you sauté something in a frying pan, you make it "jump"), and a sauterelle is a "grasshopper". Looking sauterelle up in French Wikipedia, once it talked about grasshoppers, it gave a list of exaggerated uses for the word, including this one:

So Luke "hanging himself out to dry" like that goes back to a long canal tradition, but one that I suspect only occurs rarely today. I knew I had to show a picture of this, and they are hard to find. The usually excellent search service I now prefer, bing.com, couldn't find what I wanted, so I went back to Google Search, which did find something for me, but which unfortunately nowadays shows the picture along with a lot of clutter on the right, so disregard that:

https://goo.gl/images/Sz2DW7

I have no idea of the date of this picture or any other details about this freight-carrying péniche. But we do see a marinier>/i> out on a sauterelle going for the shore. This one is quite a bit higher on the péniche than the one(s) on the Luciole, and seems to come off a vertical bar. Also, this guy is just leaning on it as you would lean on a fence—perhaps Luke felt safer bending way over. But where else could you expect a sight such as this?

LOW BRIDGE!: I've been talking a lot about how the original Erie Canal had low bridges where passengers had to duck down, and that the song often called the Erie Canal Song is actually named "Low Bridge, Everybody Down". The Nivernais is the same. This is a typical low stone bridge (Photo by bernard figuiere) over the Nivernais, though again, this one is at Champvert, much further south than we're going. You can imagine that, when Francisco at the wheel calls out the warning, you'd better duck, especially if you're at the lower part of the arch. But we were moving slowly enough so you could tell as you approached it if you needed to duck, and if so, just how much. Actually, it was a lot of fun when you could reach up and trail your fingers along the stone underside of the bridge, as though you were experiencing a tactile expression of history.

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This picture shows the Luciole, though not our group, under a bridge near the end of the trip in Clamecy. It's actually titled "Cheese in Clamecy". You can see that no one is standing, and several are crouching over to the left, at the low side.

STEERING; SHIP'S WHEEL; SPANISH: There was one more enjoyable onboard event to tell about that had these three parts to it:
1) Francisco had offered to let any passenger have a go at steering the boat, and one guy took him up on it. On another day, it struck me that it was a unique opportunity, so I spoke up as well. In the end, several more did, and it wasn't just a "guy thing", since some women tried it, too.
2) When I booked months earlier, I was surprised that the passengers would all be English-speaking, but Penny pointed out that, if I wanted a language experience, since Francisco was from Chile, I might want to have a talk with him in Spanish. I mentioned it in passing to him one day (in Spanish), and he agreed.
3) You've seen in pictures how almost half the ship's wheel protrudes above the roof line of the galley/lounge. What happens when there's a really, really low bridge that the roof itself barely clears? I found out once watching at a distance from the Sun Deck, but the next time it happened, I was right there with Francisco observing how the matter was resolved.

https://www.bargeluciole.com/assets/images/gallery-friends/sun-deck-passengers-auxerre-2.jpg

This is the SAME picture we saw earlier, repeated to remind everyone how the wheel (and captain) protrude above the roof. The day I decided on this adventure, I signaled Francisco from the Sun Deck that I wanted to come back, and he waved me over. I had to go through the lounge, enter the galley (to the surprise of the staff) leave via the back of the galley, and scramble with difficulty up what in my mind were piles of boxes (they weren't really) to get to the piloting area. (Scrambling back down afterward was even clumsier, and Luke had to lend a hand.)

As soon as I got there, Francisco handed me the wheel, and I was absolutely rubbish at steering the Luciole—though it was fun trying. It's so hard to judge how much you turn the wheel (a lot) to make a mild difference in the rudder. And worse, he handed me the wheel just as we were coming into a curve. He had to keep on correcting what I wasn't doing right. Later on, I tried it again on a straightaway and was really no better at it. However, there's a sense of power looking ahead up the canal from that high point over the length of the boat, and trying to use the flag on the bow to judge your position.

In between, while he was steering, we had a conversation in Spanish for maybe a quarter-hour. I told about having visited Chile in the past, and visiting Peru and Bolivia earlier in the year, while he gave me some biographical information. When I spoke to Penny later on, she reported that Francisco had complimented my Spanish. At least this trip I'd gotten to use some French in Paris, and now some Spanish.

And it was almost amusing, though very logical, what happened to the wheel when we came to a super-low bridge. As usual, Francisco called out in advance a "low bridge" warning to the Sun Deck. Then, while we were chatting, he very casually took out a lug wrench and loosened, then removed the lug nut holding the wheel to its axle. Though no longer held tight, it still functioned with no trouble. Then, when the low bridge was almost upon us, with the greatest sang-froid he pulled off the wheel entirely and set it down at an angle so that it no long protruded above the roof. He and I then did some super-low crouching ourselves below roof level until we'd cleared the bridge. Then we stood up, and again very casually while continuing to chat, he replaced the wheel, and refastened the lug nut holding it. Piece 'o cake for him. But this whole adventure at the wheel is something unlikely to happen elsewhere.

Videos    We have two videos of interest. This one is called 50 Years of Hotel Barging (1966-2016) and features Penny and Francisco (3:11). At 0:52 watch Francisco steer and judge if you could spin that wheel properly. Son Will (1:32) is also involved in the operation, though I never met him, nor have I met her husband John.

You might also enjoy this video showing maneuvering for the Basseville Lock, just north of our last stop of Clamecy (2:22). You'll experience the slow pace we move, judge how many turns of the wheel are incredibly required to make slight change in direction, and see the view ahead along the length of the boat. What I've read about Basseville Lock is that it's the hardest lock on the canal to maneuver. Apparently the river current runs perpendicular, and there's only 5cm (2 in) to spare on each side. In order to enter the lock you have to head upstream, which gives you room to drift as you cross the current. However, once the bow reaches calm water the stern remains in the current.

Passenger Compatibility    You must keep in mind that the trip on the Luciole was one of the best I've had. That covers life on the canal as just discussed, and the marvelous excursions we'll talk about in the next posting, which might possibly be THE best excursions that I didn't plan myself. But nothing is perfect, and these postings are a description of my experiences as I see them, for better or for worse. If I'm not happy with the CDG airport experience, I'll say so (it was worse going home), and when I think room assignment could have been done better, I mentioned that, too. This is not an advertisement for the Aéro, the Luciole, or for any venue used on this or any other trip, but a description and critique of the experience, "warts and all". I have several issues with my otherwise wonderful experience, but I'll discuss just one now, leaving others, notably the food experience, for later.

While the staff was wonderful, I felt an undercurrent of tension among the passengers, which is possibly due to there being so few. I think solo travel is by far the best, as in Paris earlier. I plan it, research it, do excursions I want, stay where I want, eat what I want. I tolerate group travel, but the more people the better, so you can make adjustments for compatibility. With a smaller group, should friction arise, there's no way out of the enclosed environment. At the end of the Rovos Rail trip in 2008, group of only seven took part in the add-on trip to the Ngorongoro Crater and Serengeti Plains (2008/12), and in 2014 in China it was again only seven who signed up for the add-on trip to Tibet (2014/9), and in both cases, I sensed a bit of friction I hadn't noticed earlier before these small groups went off on their own. Yet in my enthusiasm, it hadn't occurred to me that having only 12 on a boat might go the same way.

I thought at first the tension was universal among the passengers, but in the months following the trip, I've rethought it, and have gotten the feeling that the minor tensions were between me and others. This is very unusual, because I usually get along with most people I meet, and a number of them become followers of this website. Perhaps I was showing some attitude vis-à-vis some of the other passengers, and it reflected back, I don't know.

I first need to restate the obvious, that language for me is part of travel. That would include variations in English, languages I know, and languages I don't know, but that I dig up some appropriate interesting information on. I used as much Spanish in Peru and Bolivia as I could, and French in Paris. When on the Deutschland to Greenland, German was the ship's language, and I used it as often as I could (though all announcements and menus were also in English). But I know from experience that there's a lot of people, conservative in nature (shall I say populist?), who are wary of not understanding a language they come across and wary of having language experiences abroad. English speakers are notorious for this. For that reason, some tour operators (for trains, tours, boats) cater specifically to the English-speaking market as a known quantity. That can be a problem for language lovers.

I have a theory. Though it might be wrong, it also can be right. When a trip is advertised as being English-only, as the operator gleans English-speakers, he or she also filters in a language-hostile element who doesn't want to be confronted with those "nasty foreign languages" and who just wants to bring a little bit of home with them abroad. Penny feels she has to cater to English-speakers on her website where she assures potential passengers that there's an "English-speaking crew of 6". This despite the fact that Penny and every member of the crew also speak French!

When I booked, I assumed that, since the Luciole operates in France, there could very likely be a French speaker or two on board (this is when she told me I could speak Spanish with Francisco). Yet I don't believe that Penny advertises in the French market, for fear of alienating her passengers averse to other languages. I'm unaware of any other passenger with us on the trip that was bilingual other than French-speaking N. Even her friend M. indicated she was proud of her monolingualism and pooh-poohed bilingualism. (What would she have said about multilingualism?!) The crew told me that there were only two instances in memory where other languages were used on board the Luciole, and that was when a Ukrainian group, and also a Chinese group, chartered the Luciole in its entirety for private trips, and each group handled language matters internally.

But I haven't yet given any instances of incompatible rough spots. How's this? The very first day coming down from Paris, when the van stopped at the rest stop, some of us picked up some munchies. Back on the van, waiting for the others to arrive, I was sitting right behind Andy, who was driving, with the entrance door across the aisle from me. Right behind the entrance door was M. She wanted to share what she'd bought, and pointed her bag toward me and Andy, asking if anyone wanted some potato chips. As I took one, specifically knowing Andy was from England, I commented "Or, as the English call them, crisps." Isn't that innocuous? Isn't that a comment on language? I suppose I should have kept my mouth shut.

I still find it hard to believe what happened next. M. exploded: "WELL, I'M AN AMERICAN!!!" Then came an embarrassed silence. We hadn't even gotten to the boat yet, but I could already tell the direction this was going. Talk about "the Ugly American".

Another incident that also had a language theme occurred after dinner one evening on the boat. I thought it worth while commenting that it's always fun to have an intercultural experience, especially when traveling in a country that uses another language, and thought it odd that we should all be English speakers, culled from the US and NZ. I thought it would be nice if a French-speaking couple were part of the group (one that also spoke English). At that point, one American woman across from me, looking down at her plate, said "I'm sorry you're not happy traveling with us, Vince." Again, I should have sensed the tenor of this group and kept my mouth shut (as opposed to speaking freely). But it was becoming clear that it was wise to watch one's step with this group.

During the trip I had chats with everybody at one meal or another, or during excursions. Though everyone had interesting stories to tell, I must say, I liked the New Zealanders better than the Americans. Other than N. and M. I tended to find the three couples only occasionally talking about subjects I was interested in, which perhaps made me withdraw even more. And then the subject of kids and pets would come up, which is a minefield I don't recall having to walk through at all on other trips.

Over the years, I have very rarely been asked when traveling about having kids, which is fine, since Beverly and I have always been happily childfree, as are the majority of my friends today. (Those that do have kids have adult kids, so they're outside the drawings-on-the-refrigerator stage.) But on this trip I wasn't asked if I had kids. For the first time ever, I was asked, on two different occasions, if I had any grandkids! I could see I was surrounded by grammas and grampas ready to delve into matters in which I had no interest.

I am also not a pet person. I don't even have houseplants. But I was asked, again twice, if I had any pets, and on one occasion, a man started to poke a smartphone in my face—which is by itself already a big no-no—asking if I wanted to see his—and I quote verbatim—"poochy-woochy". I don't like being misread like that, and I declined, which I'm sure did not put me in his good stead, or in the good stead of any grammas and grampas listening.

Everyone got along more or less, but there was always this undertone, and I suppose it was mostly between me and the others. Over the week, unpleasant, pointed comments were made to me twice, which I just let go by. It didn't harm the trip, but things just weren't sweetness and light, either.

The next posting will discuss the delightful excursions we went on from the Luciole, which were really enjoyable and quite memorable. That will conclude the France trip of September 2017. Before we get on with the 2018 trips, there will be an intermediate posting, where we'll discuss palatability of foods in general but also relating to 2017's trips to Peru and France. We'll also discuss two other related matters.