Auxerre

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Later that night we received the phone call we'd been waiting for for the past week. Jade had had her second child, a little boy named Charlie. I spoke to her, my parents and texted my brother and sister. I was so pleased for her and proud of her, but suddenly felt very homesick. I won't lie to you, I had a little cry to Mike; I was happy for Jade and the tears were partly for that but I was also sad that I wasn't there with them. My family is really close and have always shared important moments like this. Speaking to them made me feel a lot better though, and I would have a new nephew to meet when we went home. I put the finishing touches to the card I'd made for them the previous week, got and got it all ready to be posted the next day.
When we awoke the following morning the rain was still falling heavily on the roof. We made breakfast and a cup of tea and settled dwon with our books. We had lots to do but neither of us wanted to venture out in the rain. Around 10am we heard a lot of noise – loudhailer announcemnts, music, chanting, the sound of thousands of pairs of feet hitting the pavement. 'What's that?' I said. We both put down the books and looked out of the back window. The street was filled with people carrying banners, placards and posters and wearing shirts and ponchos featuring the logo's of their workers union. The sea of people stretched back as far as the eye could see. We looked across the river and saw that side too, and the bridge connecting the two sides, were also filled with people. This must be the strike the lockeeper had told us about the previous day. We watched for half an hour as the crowds came through in their peaceful protest. TV cameras followed them and every 5 minutes or so a low loader equipped with PA equipment or a band would roll by, the band playing songs to keep the crowds of protesters entertained. Sometimes the PA equipment was being utilised by a union leader calling out what we presumed were rabble rousing phrases, whilst the crowds cheered, blew foghorns and repeated his phrases. ' Woah, the French really know how to organise a good strike.' I observed. 'I love their passion – if they believe something they certainly make it heard. In the UK a lot of these people would have just written a letter or had a good old whinge if they were unhappy with a government decision. We could learn a lot from these guys. Vive la revolution!' Mike looked at me like I was mental and chuckled. Then he got up and grabbed our foghorn. 'Let's show them some support,' he said and blew the horn. I imagined thousands of French people turning saluting and cheering us for understanding and sympathising with their plight. Instead a couple guys shot us a dirty look as the strikers marched by. I felt a little disappointed. 'well, that didn't go down well did it?' I said ' Do you think they didn't get that we were showing support?' 'Well, we're sitting in a boat with a British ensign, sipping tea and watching them as we shelter from the rain. Maybe that doesn't really sell solidarity and support.' Mike said. 'Nope, ' I replied 'That sells 'priveleged ignorant tourist.' Oh ,well, we tried.' And we settled back to our reading as we listened to the march go by.
At 11.45 the whole crowd had finally passed and the rain was subsiding. We decided to venture out and locate the Mr Bricollage where we had been advised we could buy an adapter for a french gas bottle. Our calor gas would not last forever and Mike had noticed that the French gas bottles were all differently shaped to our English one, meaning we'd need a new adaptor to fit one on our boat. The previous evening we'd spoken to a woman at the boatyard opposite who had given us directions to the Mr Briccolage. We got on our bikes and headed off in the direction she'd sent us, stopping to post Jade, Matt and Lillie's cards on the way. After a fairly uneventful bike ride – only one fall, me, into a thorn bush whilst dodging a plank of wood in my path, resulting in scratches for me and a good belly laugh for Mike – we arrived at a big industrial centre. We located Mr Briccolage and discovered it was shut for lunch from 12 til 2. Instead of cycling all the way back to Auxerre again, we went off to a bric a brac shop opposite that was open and bought some glasses, DVD's for 3 euro's each to keep us entertained in the rain and a foot file (my constant wearing of flip flops and sandals, or going completely barefoot, had resulted in some serious callouses!). Then we popped into the quickburger next door for a bite to eat. I called Jade for a quick chat and to see how her new arrival was doing. Mum and baby were home and well. By the time we'd done all of this, it was almost 2. We went over to the Mr Briccolage and purchased the gas adapter we'd need.
We spent the rest of the day exploring the town – another old character full French town that could have been lifeted straight from a fairytale. Wooden houses, multi coloured beams and bricks, cobbled streets, gothic cathedrals and churches, fountains, gilded clocks. It was all gorgeous, despite the drizzle and we even found a bookshop selling English language novels so we bought 'The Girl Who Played With Fire' and returned home for dinner.
The next day we spent the morning following the walking tour of the town with a little guide we bought in the tourist office, then ate a tasty ten euro lunch in the town square before departing to head onto the Nivernais and to the little village of Bailly. Auxere had been so pretty, it was a shame the weather was lousy!

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