Amazing asnieres (but actually, it was Neuilly that was amazing... we just stayed in Asnieres)

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After a lovely lock-free river trip in the sunshine, and the company of some of the most bizarre barges we’ve seen yet, we arrived at Port van Gogh in Asnieres. It is a huge marina with massive barges, motor cruisers and yachts moored and what looks like several businesses aboard the barges. We paid for 2 nights at the Capitaniere then took our bikes off in search of a new laptop charger. Asnieres itself looked a bit scummy, but across the river were several tall office blocks which gave us hope of a proper town. That town turned out to be Neuilly, but, as it was 6 pm in August, and during the week, a lot of places were closed on the outskirts. We reached the tourist info as they were closing and the lady there kindly delayed shutting to give us a map of the area and the names and locations of a few places that may be able to help us with a charger. She added that they may be closed for the holidays though. Armed with our map and hope, we set off in search of a charger. We hit the jackpot soon enough with a shop selling loads of electrical - the kind owner, who spoke great English had a universal charger for just 45 Euros. However, it looked as though it may not fit our laptop. He said to us to come back tomorrow and bring the laptop so we could try it out. We asked what time he opened in the morning. ‘It’s different each day,’ he replied, ‘sometime 9 or 10, but is the summer so maybe not. Come around midi I will be here for sure then.’ We thanked him and headed up the high street a little further. On the corner was a Monoprix and the chap who I had asked for help in my dodgy French back in Rueils had said I would find everything in Monoprix so in we went. Here too was a universal charger that looked as though it would definitely fit and listed HP as one of its compatible models. Job done, we’d come back tomorrow and try out the one from the chap in the electrical shop and if that didn’t fit we’d buy this one in Monoprix.
We left and cycled around the town some more, stopping at a budget shop to buy Ricard and chocolate fondant for dinner. I’d made veal escalope with ratatouille and potato at lunch so we didn’t want anything big. We went back to the boat and drank Ricard and lemonade as the sun set, deciding to go for a big bike ride once we’d bought our charger the following day. On the map was the Bois de Boulougne which looked huge so we resolved to head there then emptied the Ricard as we chatted and played cards.
The next day we left at 11 and rode back to Neuilly. I made chicken and salad baguettes to take with us and we planned a picnic in the Bois de Boulougne. On the way out of the marina I noticed an ornate archway and building I hadn’t spotted the day before. Carved into the arch were the words ‘Cimitiere du Chien’. Dog cemetery? Was my translation right? A whole cemetery just for dogs? I stopped my bike and cycled closer. Just inside the gates was a bronze statue of a St Bernard - yep, it was a dog cemetery. Bizarre. ‘That can’t be right’, said Mike ‘Why would there be a dog cemetery?’ ‘It’s not unknown,’ I replied ‘Stephen King wrote a whole book about a Pet Cemetery where they came back as zombie pets at night. It was a film too.’ ‘Yeah, but that was for all pets, this is just dogs. It seems weird to have a whole cemetery just for dogs. And that sign next to it said you had to pay to go in, you don’t have to pay for normal cemeteries’ ‘ Maybe this is a cemetery for famous dogs.’ I replied. ‘What famous dogs?’ he asked. ‘Beethoven, errr, the ones off of those North Pole films, Bouncer from Neighbours, Lassie.’ He laughed. ‘What, they just fly them here when they die? There aren’t enough famous dogs to fill a cemetery’ ‘ Maybe people just really like dogs over here. And they might fly all the famous ones in, you never know’. As if to prove my point about the French liking dogs and dogs being famous, we then cycled past a poster for a play, featuring a dark haired man and a dog. A bus came around the corner with an advert for Marmaduke emblazoned along the side. ‘See’, I said ‘2 famous dogs and we haven’t even got to the end of the road yet.’
The guy in the electrical shop looked devastated. His ‘Universal’ charger wasn’t universal at all and didn’t fit our laptop. We went and bought the more expensive one in Monoprix, safe in the knowledge we could charge our laptop when we returned later. Off we went to the Bois de Boulougne. We cycled around for a bit then found a lovely little clearing to have our picnic. We enjoyed our dinner and set off again. ‘I need the loo,’ I said. I had had a dodgy tummy for a few days now and had several kamikaze farts...you know, when just allowing them out is a massive risk with possibly devastating consequences. ‘You go ahead and find one, I’ll catch you up’ said Mike. I could see no sign of a toilet. A rotund bleached blond woman with tan leather skin and bright pink lips was leasing bikes up ahead ‘Ou est les toilettes s’il vous plait?’ I asked. She shook her chins and frowned, ‘Non. N’est pas toilettes ici.’ I looked around, feeling Vesuvius bubbling away in my stomach, I spotted a friendly looking place called ‘Jardin L’Acclimatation’ across the road. I pointed, ‘Dans le jardin?’ I asked. She shrugged her expansive shoulders and pouted ‘Peut-etre,’ and turned away. Mike had caught me up by this point. ‘She thinks there may be toilets in there’, I said, ‘ It looks nice, let’s visit.’ It was 3 euro’s each to go in and yes, there were toilets. I left Mike to lock up our bikes and hurried off to the loos.
Stomach situation handled, we went off to explore the Jardins - for somewhere we’d found by accident (or kamikaze fart) they were absolutely gorgeous. Full of plants, flowers, statues, gardens, animals and rides we spent a good couple of hours walking around and looking at everything. There was a really unusual long haired donkey chap that Mike reckoned was a mule. He was in pen with a normal haired donkey chap (or mule, whatever) and they were gripping each other by the neck, nipping at each other’s legs and chasing each other around. We weren’t sure whether they were fighting or going through foreplay. If it was the latter then mules are definitely gay.
Next we moved on to the Llamas. As I took a picture, Mike turned to me and said, in all seriousness and with a thoughtful expression on his face ‘Llamas always look arrogant to me.’ I laughed so much it physically hurt. ‘You know what I mean though,’ he said ‘They look really stuck up.’ I had another look and yes, I could see what he meant, but I still carried on laughing.
There was an oriental garden in the Jardin too and in it were stone sculptures that I swear were modelled on us. One was bald with round eyes and a chilled expression and soft smile on his face. The other had wide eyes and a big, almost insane, grin. ‘That is definitely you,’ said Mike ‘A proper goober.’ We took pics next to our stone doppelgangers and carried on walking. By the water was a pea hen and it’s chick. As we came out of the oriental garden we saw more pea hens and more chicks. ‘Where are the cocks?’ I asked ‘ Do you want a serious answer?’ grinned Mike. ‘The peacocks, I mean; you can’t have all these chicks and their Mums running around without a dad around’ ‘ maybe he’s done a runner,’ said Mike. Soon enough we saw a beautiful peacock on the grass, but without his huge trail of feathers. I felt a bit sorry for him and hoped he hadn’t seen other peacocks with their feet of plumage behind them. ‘There can’t just be one,’ I said ‘We’ve seen loads of hens and chicks, he can’t be expected to service all of them, that’s mental.’ Mike just laughed. We walked round to look at the goats and when we’d done so I spotted another peacock. ‘Ooh there’s another one,’ I said. Mike looked a bit stunned. ‘It’s the same one, Carly, we’ve just walked in a circle.’ Sure enough, he was right, it was even stood by the same statue.
There was also a fairground in the jardins. I tried to persuade Mike to go on one of the rides swith me. It cost 4 Euros each. He wasn’t having any of it. ‘Oh come on,’ I said ‘ Why won’t you go on? Are you scared?’ I was trying to appeal to his macho side. ‘No, Carly, I’m not scared, fairground rides just make me be sick. If I wanted to pay 4 Euros to be sick, I’d buy a couple shots.’ For the second time that day I cried laughing.
There was a shower of rain as we were about to leave, and I was wearing my cotton dress. It had gone completely see through in the rain in Torquay when we left the boat after our leaving do to get KFC. I didn’t want that to happen again, so I suggested we go to the cafe and wait out the shower. I ordered and brought my Orangina and Mike’s coffee back to the table. He looked at his coffee, then looked back at me. ‘Didn’t realise I’d ordered the kids portion,’ he deadpanned as he took the tiny espresso in his big hands. The sun came back out and we carried on our bike ride round the woods.
As we exited the first section of woods we saw a group of women in little skirts smoking fags and hanging around, a few sitting down and one standing up, weight rested on one hip, hands on hips, puffing away on her ciggy. ‘That’s a strange place to chill out on a sunny afternoon, right next to the main road when there’s that lovely wood behind.’ I commented. Mike looked at me like I was mad. ‘They’re prostitutes,’ he said. ‘Oh,’ I replied ‘well, they’re not working very hard then are they? Two of them were just sitting there on the grass.’ Now it was Mike’s turn to crack up laughing. ‘You are in the wrong profession Car, you should be a pimp. First your comments about that woman in the Indian, and now you’re saying these ones aren’t working hard enough.’
After another big cycle around the next section of woods we came to several lakes, one with a gorgeous waterfall. A bit further on we passed a racetrack and an old windmill then came into another section of woods with a lovely lake. Through the trees I spotted the unmistakable sight of the Eiffel Tower. I nearly had kittens, I was so excited. ‘Oh my god, Mike, look how close we are to Paris!’ I squeaked. ‘We can cycle up there if you like, it’s not far’ ‘No,’ I said ‘we crossed the channel on our boat and I want the first foray into central Paris to be by boat too’. So, off we went back in the direction (vaguely) that we’d come from.
Before long the cycle path took us along another main road, even bigger than the first. Along this road were lots of vans and people carriers with blacked out windows, just parked there. Some had red feather boas tied to the wing mirrors. In the shrubbery lurked sweaty little bald men in cotton shirts, smoking cigarettes and looking shifty. By the roadside stood more of the lazy looking women we’d seen earlier, some old, some young, some pretty, some not so much. It seemed the Bois de Boulougne was a popular area for prostitutes. Mike guessed that the red boa marked ‘a mobile knocking shop’. I reckon he was right. We cycled on and crossed the road, almost running into a huge woman dressed in a black dress, holding bag and looking miserable as sin. I turned to Mike once we were past her ‘I hope she isn’t one,’ I said ‘She’ll have a hard time getting work.’ ‘I was just about to say the same thing,’ Mike replied with a laugh ‘She’d have to pay me.’
We finished our day with red wine in a typically French cafe then rode most of the way back to the boat and had a delicious Chinese with more wine before finishing our bike ride and turning in. Tomorrow we were taking the boat into Paris. I couldn’t wait.

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