NOT your Viking Riverboat Cruise! 11 days, 118 kms, 66 locks.

Castlenaudry, our favorite stop

                                      French Panhandlers

When my husband, Robert "Mad Dog" Schwartz, and I were looking for a special way to celebrate our twenty-fifth anniversary, we investigated European boat rentals. While we'd seen ads for those tempting riverboat cruises, elegance is not our style. After years of living part-time on our boat in Mexico's Sea of Cortez, we felt letting someone else drive was way too risky, so we chartered a 30' penichette (small barge) on the Canal du Midi, in the South of France.

Figuring the rental vessel was smaller than our own boat, we'd be on a protected canal with handy banks, and had booked a leisurely eleven-day cruise schedule perfect for meandering—which is our style—through the pastoral French countryside, it'd be a piece of gâteau. Also, I was fluent in French forty years ago; it'd come right back n'est-ce pas?

NO BOATING EXPERIENCE NECESSARY, touted the brochures. Photos 

of boats fortified with enough fenders to qualify them as aquatic bumper 

cars raised a soupçon of concern, but we booked our trip on the historic 

canal anyhow. 

Built as a trade route between 1666 and 1681, the 241 km Canal du Midi 

connects the Atlantic Ocean to the Mediterranean, and since it covers 

altitudes from sea level to 620 feet, there are locks. 

Lots of locks.  

This lock thing was the reason we opted on a one-way trip and added four

days to the charter company's suggested one-week agenda. As it turned out,

we were right to do so.

Day 1: There wasn't so much as a boulangerie near our departure base, 

but we had a rental car so we drove a few miles to a SuperU and loaded 

enough provisions for a cruise ship, so we were all set to enjoy our 

anniversary dinner in style. 

Day 2: Mad Dog, armed with a French/English translation program,  

and notes I'd written for taxi drivers and train station operators

(my French had indeed returned very quickly), dropped off the car

at our final port and successfully returned by rail. Our plan was to shove

off that afternoon, but a howling wind nixed that.  

Day 3. With only five kilometers to the first set of locks that opened at nine, 

there was no urgency to leave early. Besides, it was still blowing a good 

fifteen knots. We shoved off at nine.  

And again at 9:15. 

And again at 9:30. 

The boat simply refused to go where we wanted to; the minute we 

weren't headed with the wind, or into it, we turned sideways and sailed 

broadside down the canal. 

TIP: When driving a single-engine boat with lousy steering, ram the bank

(this where all those bumpers come in handy), put it into forward gear 

and give it gas. It will turn; maybe not the way you want to turn, but 

it will turn. We later learned those fenders were not so much because 

of Kamakazi drivers—although we encountered a few—but protection

from ancient stone walls lining locks, and bank-rammers like us.

Fortified with pain au chocolat and coffee, we steeled ourselves for 

those first locks, but a very friendly eclusier (lock keeper) helped with our lines 

while complaining about too many commercials on US television when 

he live-streamed NASCAR races. By the time we got through the next 

five locks, we were pros. We made a grand 15 kms that day to the 

modern facility at Port-Lauragais. We soon learned that this type of 

marina—one with water, electricity, nearby stores and restaurants—was 

a rarity. 

 


                                Bram: looked good, but no place to tie up.


                                Cassoulet: better than it looks

 Our first lock was a doozy.

Days 4/5: After nine fairly daunting locks, we arrived at what proved our

favorite stop on our route: Castelnaudary. Dating back to 1103, the 

self-proclaimed "World Capitol of Cassoulet"—a thick stew made with 

cannellini beans, duck, duck fat, salt pork, and garlic sausage that tastes 

much better that it sounds—is everything one expects while cruising a 

canal in France. 

  We walked the historic streets, stocked the larder with 

culinary delights, and enjoyed the dockside cafes. 

Mad Dog felt very French strolling the cobble stoned streets with our daily 

baguette in hand, but balked at the beret I suggested. 

Day 6: Reluctant to leave the charming Castlenaudry, we nevertheless

conquered 18 locks towards Bram, a village our rental agency literature said

was picturesque, with a great restaurant, docks, electricity and water. NOT! 

     Bram was pretty, with a restaurant we could only gaze at longingly as we

motored by; the place was chockablock with boats, some looking as though

they hadn't moved in years. 

We "dry camped" a couple of miles later; our boat had no generator, therefore

no electricity. No problem, except my aging laptop's battery wasn't ready for 

life off the grid. We ran the engine until after dinner to cut an early October

chill, and charged our iPhone (which we were using as a GPS), Kindles, and 

our rented Wi-Fi hotspot using a cigarette lighter DC plug adapter. 

Day 7:  Carcassone, a city first fortified by the Romans in 100BC, 

didn't hold our interest. After the seemingly deserted small villages 

we'd passed, seeing so many locals out on a Sunday (maybe because

all the grocery stores and shopping malls are closed?) was a treat, 

even though the main attraction seemed to be watching the bumper-boat 

foibles in the locks. This big-ish city wasn't really why we came to the Canal, 

so we opted to continue on to Trebes and dry camped again. 

Day 8: The further south we traveled, the busier the locks. After covering

46 kms and 22 locks in two days, we'd pulled over to await the opening of the 

double locks at Ecluse Saint Martin when we had a epiphany: 

we were tied to a perfectly good dock! No electricity, of course, but we had 

wine. We spent a lovely evening with nary another boat in sight.

 Walking into the small village the next morning, we scored coffee and

pain au chocolat at the local brasserie, picked up our baguette at the  

boulangrie, and then breezed through the two locks, all alone. 

Day 9:  La Redorte, the chart informed us, had full services (hope for my dead 

computer?) so we tied up in front of a café, where we spotted an electrical box! 

Now to find the Harbor Master. With a Gaelic shrug, a man sipping wine at 

the cafe told us the office was closed (as in permanently) but I should talk to 

someone at city hall. Walking into the quaint town a half-mile away, I found 

la Mairie was fermé.  We finally learned that yes, there was a possibility of 

electricity, but I had to go back into town, buy a token to make it work, and 

the charge was five bucks an hour. Who needs a computer, anyhow?

  La Rivessel, the dockside café, was miraculously open for dinner and we 

finally enjoyed a great French meal. We had been on the canal for an entire 

week and it was the first restaurant we found open outside of Castlenaudry.

TRIP NOTE: Fermé/Closed seems to be one of the most frequently used words

in France. We were surprised to find so many McDonalds in a country known

for its great food, but soon figured out why they are packed with locals: 

THEY. ARE. OPEN! 

Day 10: Our next stop was a marina at Homps, ¡et voila! there it was, just as 

we entered town. As soon as we tied up we were told it was a private marina 

and we couldn't stay. "Ces't tout! (That's it!)," we declared, and headed for 

our final port, where a slip and our car awaited. We were a day early, but we 

were beat and still facing a 600 mile drive through France to Germany: A 

whole 'nother story.

FINAL TRIP NOTES: 

Would we do it again? Yes, but in a boat with bow thrusters and a generator. 

What did we learn? Never count on anything being open. 

Best part of the trip? The sheer beauty of the French countryside, adorned 

with castles and ancient ramparts. And baguettes, cheese and wine. 

Worst part of the trip? Despite the Euro almost equal to the dollar, 

everything is very expensive. 

Except, of course, for baguettes, cheese and wine.