Just recovering from the first Kingskerswell Summer Moon Festival, where we played a lunchtime spot in the blazing sunshine.  We took the credit for the sunshine.  Good to see so many familiar faces.

Well done to the team who made the entire weekend such a successful event.  long may it flourish.

Now planning our exit strategies for sailing to Britany in early July.  Rounding up crew, getting the boat ready and making  final arrangements.  We plan to be blogging our progress and publishing our plans on this site, so please kep watching.

over and out

Survived the fog coming into St Malo on Tuesday.  Also a tangle with a fishing buoy, which we had to cut free from.

Then through the barrage' at the mouth of the Rance river, and upstream, passing exquisite scenery, towards Dinan.  We moored here for one night, expecting to be able to get the mast down the next day to pass under the low bridges.   but they were 'désolés' that the mast man would not be here and anyway there is a huge festival happening so we will just have to stay.  It could be a lot worse.

Celebrated Simon's birthday yesterday, and there was a gypsy swing session happening on the pavement tables. Superb. After our meal, we stumbled upon a band playing in the square.  they were 'formidable'.

Today we will explore the medieval city, and if we can be bothered to schlepp the instruments up the precipitous route to the cité, then we may play some music.

We cannot get the mast down until Monday unless we go all the way back to S Malo;  boff.

Still imprisoned in the delightful port of Dinan, upriver form St.MAlo.  The medieval festival kicks off today, and people are wandering up the hill dressed in fanciful costumes.

There will be jousting, Viking longboat building and general roistering.

We will no doubt be lugging the instruments up to town later, to see what happens.  we are, as i type, being bombarded by bombards....the Breton secret weapon.  Every 600 years it seems, the English invade... this time in their boats.  Then it is necessary to repel them with bombards and other unfair forms of warfare. (A bombard is i primitive and highly effective sonic weapon resembling a clarinet. It is beloved of the Bretons)

The man with the crane can get our mast down on Monday, so we can proceed thru the canals to the South.  The crane is blocked by two hideous gin-places from Jersey. 

The mast is down.  highly stressful, as we were totally unprepared......no bits of wood for supports, no saw; and no idea what to do;  The capitainerie were most helpful, and provided us with wood, saw, expertise etc.  there was a hideous moment when the mast was dangling mid-air.  It looked very very heavy and unwieldy; while the crane suddenly looked very flimsy indeed.  were it not for the confidence of the Capitaine, and the fact of his imminent lunch, I was all for calling it all off and heading for the open sea. far less complicated.

We were delayed by lots of niggly little things getting  in the way of the job, and the Monsieur was very patient as we found the right spanner and fiddled with the radar reflector..   But it was nearly lunchtime, and nobody gets between a Frenchman and his lunch, so we hurried.  at least we provided entertainment, although unwittingly for the spectators on the quay.

Last night's costumed parade through the streets of Dinan was spectcular.  By complete accident, we chose  to have supper in a creperie situated right on the route.  There was an exotic caravanserai of camels; armoured fighting men; lords and ladies; revolting peasants whose appearance owed a lot to Terry Gilliam of Python film set fame. .... as they seemed to be covered in 7 types of sh...    My favourites were the heathen barbarian celts from the North.  Who said Scots?  They seemed to be having some sport with what appeared to be a severed head.

And so this afternoon we embark on the journey of 180Km and 67 or so locks.  i thought one lock was traumatic enough.  there is a stretch of canal with  11 locks within several hundred metres.  Aaaaargh.  better get good with the ropes.

Next instalment uncertain, as internet access is patchy.

over and out;

Now at Redon.  This is the place to get the mast back up, so that we can sail again.  hooray!

Blissful progress down the Vilaine River [literally the Naughty River....used to be full of rocks ] , stopping off at obcure little places.  trying to co-ordinate our overnight stops with a convenient cafe for the morning 'rowing ashore' requirements.  [see under Cafe-Caca ]  Sometimes very shallow, and we did touch bottom a few times.  Triumph only draws one metre, so she's ok mostly.

Have enjoyed the company of various jewelled dragonflies, disdainful swans - who sneer at our english oatcakes and prefer croissants for breakfast - the ducks are less choosy. 

met with an extraordinary character called Alain, who is 85, sharp as mustard, and sailing his own little cataman, made by himself.  We met him in Rennes, sheltered him from the rain, and engaged in a long conversation in torrential Parisian French, over a 'sea-stew' of various cans of fish and odds and ends.  He has been in the french military, translated novels from Vietnamese, been an engineer and is now an adventuring sailor.  The little cat is a Wareham design, and is minute.  it leaks a bit, so when the rain comes down, it gets in.... a bit. mais c'est pas grave, he has a dustbin liner for his duvet.

While tied up to the quay at Guipry, just after the penultimate lock, we downed a few cold beers and ate moules-frites.  then a spot of accordion practise on deck as the sun went down.  The lock-keeper from 4 KM downstream told us the next day that they had heard me playing.  Blimey.  But it turns out that it was not the mighty sound of the old squeezebox that had travelled so far.... just that they had been having a beer on the quay too.

now all but one of the 62 locks are behind us, and we can make progress to the sea.  it has really been a dreamlike experience drifting along the canals and rivers of central Brittany.  Some days we would only see one other boat.  and this is high season.  it is a well-kept secret.

Whilst taking an evening stroll through the tiny hamlet of Port de Roche, which boasts a Gallo-Roman chapel  [very well-concealed].... we were overtaken at the level crossing by a farmer running at full tilt down the road.  Bizarre, we thought.  must be late for his tea.   Seconds later, we heard cantering hooves from behind.  A very young, and very naughty little white and black calf was charging down a path and straight onto the railway line.  Merde alors!  the farmer had gone off in another direction and not seen where the littleblighter had gone to.  It was long-gone....Simon used the telephoto on his camera to ascertain that it was still on the tracks, although now just a speck in the distance.  we had no idea whether a train would come along.  it could be potentially disastsrous.  Shortly, another monsieur came along and we prepared to herd the little calf away from the  tracks as she returned, with the farmer in hot pursuit, shouting 'Avance! Avance!'  Luckily, she saw sense and cantered back up the path she had emerged from.  Our first taste of cattle-herding in France.  It nearly compared with Simon's time as a goat-herder in Southern France in his youth.  Goats, it seems, will not be herded, but you had to lead them..... away from the neighbour's vineyards.... shoung 'Allez allez allez'.

Time spent cruising the rivers has yielded one or two new tunes.... the catchiest being a Cajun-inspired little number....'La Belle Eclusiere'

We made our presence felt in Dinan, and have a gig anytime we return to Dinan at the bar 'Le Blason Noir'.  But we seem to have largely been playing music to please ourselves,as the place is deserted.

No sign of a chandlery or any form of Butane gas. Three different places were 'desoles'that they couldn't sell us a gas bottle and adaptor. And as for nav. charts.....We weren't expecting to tackle Morbihan , so we don't have the charts for that area.  Holding out in the hope that La Roche Bernard may have charts of the region's waters.  quite a dire shortage of chandleries in France, Alain tells us.

Another 40Km or so to the sea and the barrage at Arzal.  Then we can have fun calculating the huge tides and rocky coastline.  Hoping still to get to the Interceltique Festival at Lorient, which starts on the 2nd August.

Now writing this in an Irish bar in Redon, trying to come to terms with the fact that Kate [ the daughter] will be 21 tomorrow.  That must mean that we are officially Old Gits.  Happy Birthday Kate, if you're reading this.

Over and out  for now..... internet access is sketchy, to say the least.

La Roche Bernard.

Arrived 1st August.  The pontoons were all full, after the stormy night before.  Boats were running in from the sea for shelter.  We lurked on the vistor's pontoon right by a floating restaurant.  Simon helped the guy heave a few metal poles on board, and we were invited in for a drink.  The  patron knows Poland well, as he used to be  truck driver and went there often.

We played some music on the deck in the afernoon sunshine, after the stress of a picnicy lunch of baguettes, very runny cheese and huge juicy tomatoes.... all with loads of garlic.  the garlic is to avert any future onset of the Napoleon's Revenge which afflicted Lynn on Wednesday.  It was the day assigned for re-masting the boat at Redon, but Lynn was unable to move far from a toillette.  Next day, all was fine, and slowly and gently we engaged in the 3D jigsaw / cats cradle of  raising the mast and re-rigging the boat.  Another horrific moment when the mast was dangling mid-air.  but, trusting to Simon's knot in the rope holding the lot aloft, we were able to control the 'Self-Service' crane and all is  now well.

We reached the swinging bridge at Cran in time for the 1730 ouverture.  But there was nobody there.  Or at 1800.Nor at 1900.  Boff, we said, and turned back to sail up the river to a small halte nautique.  It was grand to feel the boat rise to the wind again.  this part of the river is not tidal, due to the huge hyro-electric Barrage at Arzal, downstream.  It is rather like stretches of the Dart, between Totnes and the sea, with its steep wooded valleys and rocky outcrops.

We just about managed to tie up to a big strong steel boat before we were hit by a terrific wind howling upriver.  Rain with it, of course.  We were just in time to help another yacht to tie up; a single-hander having troube in the stormy conditions.  It turned out to be Francis.  He was the person alongside our berth in Dinan;   at the time we had forced him into sharing a tot of Laphroig to toast Simon's birthday.  We invited him to supper, and in revenge, he brought us some Breton Whisky.... actually it's not too bad.  Although Francis, a Parisian, commented that it's as though the scots were trying to make wine, how the Bretons make whisky.  Strangely, he left the bottle with us rather than return to Paris with it.  He also gave us two charts of the next waters we would encounter and a thorough run-down of the best places to stop, the currents to watch out for etc.etc.  He also gave us his almanac for the local waters, with tide predictions etc.  Highly useful.  Maybe we wont make it to Lorient, as the Morbihan Sea is en route, and that is one of our objectives.... to mooch around there and find some little places.

La Roche Bernard is a tiny port dominated by a huge rock..... named after one Bernard... a viking who took a shine to the place some 1200 years ago.  one hates to think what happened to the people who lived here before him.  the marina was totally full, so we lurked on the visitor pontoon.  I am writing this in a very Totnes-y cafe-bar  called La Roche Sarah Bernhardt.  It is a theatre some of the time, and also does concerts.  We will inveigle a booking no doubt.  maybe not this time though.  There are wonderful and bizarre artworks around the place and tiered seating for its theatre incarnation.  La Roche is in fact a bit like Totnes.... a bit of an artist colony, with intriguing sculptures around every corner and a picturebook prettiness.  It manages to retain its integrity as a small working town however, despite the tourism associated with the ever-growing marina and the camp site.  every trader here is complaining what a quiet year it's been.  Indeed, there were days on the canals when we would only see one other boat moving.

We now need to get the charts out and plan our next move, probably towards the Morbihan [The little sea].  We'll need to know our stuff, as the currents   and rocksare insane there.  Lots of islands chocka with ancient fogous and places that look a bit like Newgrange in Ireland.  Queer places altogether. Worth a look at those.

Expecting the odd friend to descend on us at the end of the month.  Weather orecast looks better for Sunday, so maybe the open sea at last.  Triumph has been straining to get under sail again, and we can finally let her go.  What a grand little ship she is!

We are now equipped with a French gaz bottle.  The whle drama took up the morning, and would have taken several days had we not been given generous assisatnce nad transport [in the rain] by Alec.  Alec is a charming gentleman of Anglo-French extraction.  he and his wife live on their boat, and he saved our bacon with his local knowledge and chauffeuring.

Must write some emailsnow.  Over and out.

Le Golfe de Morbihan

Here we are  in Vannes, at the top of the Morbihan sea. We emerged into the Golfe de Gascogne at the mouth of the Vilaine on Monday at about 5pm.  it was then a fairly hectic beat down the coast to Piriac-sur-mer, our most southerly point in the voyage.  It was good to feel the wind freshen, and she heeled over well as we sailed into the evening light.  We had become lazy about tatting all the things down, and as soon as the wind took her, there was stuff scattered all over the cabin.  Another lovely reach up towards Morbihan on Tuesday.  It has been overcast, but warm... not the biting cold of last summer on the water in Cornwall.

At Vannes, the port de plaisance extends right into the heart of the town, so it is really easy to stroll into town and explore the medieval city.  It was market day when we arrived.  there is nothing to compare with French markets, and this one was no disappointment, taking over much of the old part of the town, within the walls. 

After buying the veg and a pair of mackerel for supper; Lynn crept off to a tiny bar behind les Halles de Poissonerie, and secretly guzzled a half-dozen oysters and a little glass of slightly lively white wine.  This was done in secret to avoid Simon's expression as the slimy, slightly ghastly-looking things slither down the gullet. Simon suffers a lot from nasal congestion anyway, so the sight of Lynn gargling oysters is distressing to him! He also maintrains that they are still alive, after an upsetting experience with shellfish in the south of  France a few years back.

We arrived here on Weds morning, after a quiet night at anchor in a little harbour near the island of Gavrinis.  The mouth of the Morbihan sea has currents which are truly mental..... it was a veritable boiling cauldron of whirlpools and monstrous currents; and Triumph was being carried along at 9 knots..... a whole lotta knots in a small boat.  Once out of the current, peace resumed, and we were able to take in the loveliness of the place.  Tiny tiny wooded islands dotted around the inland sea; some uninhabited.  Time to get the dinghy pumped up and explore.   

There is an Irish bar right on the quay at Vannes, so last night we played a few tunes.  It was nice to let rip again, always being aware on the boat of how sound carries across water, and careful to preserve the peace of the places we visit.  The right place for a few blindingly fast reels is a lively bar full of people. Seems strange that we haven't met any other musicians yet (apart from a lock-keeper who announced his muso status just as we were sailing out of his lock)  Perhaps all the musicians are at the festivals we have missed, due to going the wrong way around Brittany. In Paddy O'Dowd's bar ...managed by a charming frenchman, name of Sylvain,  an artist, name of Hervé, was busily scribbling as we played.  As we left, he presented us with a really fantastic pen and ink drawing of the pair of us in full  flow.  Thank you Hervé. 

I am in the cafe above the Capitainerie in Vannes writing this.  the lock and swinging bridge will be open soon, so we will dawdle downstream and find a quiet ( and free ) anchorage to mess about in. 

 If any of our catfeeding team is reading this, thanks again.

over and out for now

Auray, near Golfe du Morbihan

Spent several days in Vannes, including a bit of playing in the Irish bar, and a spot of busking on market day.    

Then caught the tide down to the islands and anchored off an unihabited [we thought] island near Ile aux Moines. The fierce wind dropped, and we spent a pleasant evening on the boat.  The peace was slightly ruptured by the stereo of the Dutch cruiser next to us, who treated us to his rock n roll selection.  MMM.  Just what you want.  Sadly, he needed to run his engines, to keep the battery charged so he could play his stereo.   Never heard of iPods?

      Next day we rowed over to the deserted island and clambered around the perimeter.  Found oysters and all manner of shellfish.  On the last stretch, we had to pass through what seemed to be some sort of shelter made of branches across an overhanging rock, with a cafe table and chair.  From this edifice emerged a tall, gaunt figure sporting a turban and sunglasses and, fortunately, trousers.  Without uttering a word, he gestured to where we could pass through, and then shook his finger in prohibition of something.  No idea what he meant.  So we smiled and bon-journeed him, and left. We had left the dinghy tied to a blue rope on shore.  it was now neatly re-tied to a rock.  there are obviously rules to be observed even on an uninhabited island and by a recluse on a vow of silence. 

        Then rowed over to the main island in search of fuel.  the advert painted onto a sail attached to a tiny boat proved to be not an advert for fuel, but a protest against the cost of diesel.  A protest boat.  Greenpeace take heed. We ran the gauntlet of a surly madame in a bistrot, but were heartened by the presence of a little fisherman's chapel, where i lit a candle to the parents.        

  Back at the dingy, Lynn gathered some winkles for supper.  Simon's attitude to shellfish is well-known, so they were quietly murdered in a pan and enjoyed with some bread and butter.  However, they were from pristine, Atlantic-washed shores, and lacked something of the flavour remembered from childhood; the winkles gathered by us mudlarks at Tipner, on the muddy, sewage-kissed shores of Portsmouth Harbour had a certain something.   

      We were glad to have moved the boat  that evening to a  more sheltered anchorage when the winds got up at night.  The boat thrashed around on her borrowed mooring.  We were due to leave to catch the tide for Auray, so as to make market day on Monday, but the visibility was so poor and the weather so foul that we had to wait an hour or so.  then it was all brilliant sunshine.  So changeable here.        

 St Goustan is the port for the town of Auray, and is very picturesque.  We idled in the sun on the boat all afternoon, trying to ignore the fact that there were thousands of visitors along the quay, all photographing the boats.               

 Tuesday and Wednesday have been spent in pursuit of a place which would agree to print out a document from my solicitor.  Unbelievably difficult, as there is either a shut facility in the public library [holiday season], [desole].  Or the local businesses will not co-operate for fear of viruses.  A kindly 'informatique' shop helped us out in return for a pourboire.  thanks mate.  Still, the exercise of walking all over town.... twice.... did us no harm after all those croissants

When the very high winds die down, we will head for the megaliths at Gavrinis and Loqmariaquer.  Meanwhile, we'll stay put and maybe bother the locals with some music.

In Dinan again, raising mast.  Then to the coast to await tides and winds favourable to carry us homewards.

Busy with gigs throughout June, too busy in fact to remember to update gig list on the site.

Off to Poland again on 3rd July, ostensibly to attend a 6 nations twinning event hosted by the town of Bytow.  They are embarking on an official twinning between Totnes and Bytow. which has been brokered by Jarek Schroeder and Lynn.  this twinning is a little different form the usual civic affairs involving only  civic dignitaries and  town worthies.  this has been set up by the artistic communities of both towns [i.e.  Jarek and Lynn] with the aim of strengthening and encouraging artistic exchanges between the two nations.... the terms dignitary and worthy need not apply here, then.

As ever, Jarek has done most of the intermediary work with the Mayor's office. We have met several times with the charming Mayor, Ryszard Sylka, who attends our gigs. Jarek has once again set up some gigs for us.  the most exciting of which promises be a concert in the square of the magnificent Bytow castle, attended by Lech Walensa and the Polish President.  My mission is to teach the great man to play the spoons.... Lech, not the President.

Signs of Life will be travelling with three people from the town council, and Sam Yeboa, African drummer extraordinaire, and a dancer friend of his.

Twinned countries are Sweden, Germany, Lithuania, Minnesota US, and Gdansk [just up the road, really... odd] as well as Totnes from the UK.  Still find ourselves curiously unable to speak more than a few words of pidgen Polish. humiliating really, as this is our 4th tour there as a band.  The Poles are a very forgiving people however, and seem to put up with a lot from the silly angielskis. 

 We are looking forward to all of it except the Ryanair parts.  Somehow we have to smuggle an accordion on board as hand baggage.  it usually works fine, but they keep introducing new rules and restrictions, so they can whack on yet another charge.  but this is not a rant about budget airlines.... on with the music!  we're keen to wheel out some of our new material.  and equally keen to meet up with all our lovely Polish and English friends once again.

Na Zdrovie!!!