Saint Diziers to Chaumont

A beer really goes a long way when you combine it with fatigue.  This mix took me over last night and I simply had to go to bed right after dinner and just could not get to the blog, so I will try to do two posts this evening.  Clearly I haven't had any beer yet...

Super cute little Lock Keepers Houses are every km or so on the Canal

Bernadette takes a break on the bridge

I had the teeniest bit of challenge getting myself set off from Saint Diziers in the right direction yesterday, but once I got underway, there was almost nothing stopping me.  And it was a fine day aside from a mildly annoying headwind, but I suppose something has to compensate for the lack of hills when cycling on a canal, right?

The day passed quite peaceably.  I stopped to talk to various people and while you might wonder what it was I could converse about with my limited French, it's amazing how much one can glean from a conversation, especially when you add a few hand gestures and facial expressions.  For instance, a couple of ladies I encountered not far from the bridge you see above starting talk to me about 'les immigrants'.  The one I will call Marie Antoinette, suggested that it was a money grab - I knew this by the way she rubbed her fingers together and narrowed her eyes - who exactly would benefit I'm not sure but I just nodded in agreement, especially since she kept using the guillotine gesture - finger across the throat and a corresponding 'keek' noise - when describing the situation.  She asked if Ireland was accepting 'les immigrants' and I said very few.  Marie nodded with the kind of look that says - yes, I know exactly what's going on there - but I didn't dare try to explain further.  I just nodded in the same way, shrugged my shoulders because I know the French like to do this, said 'let them eat cake' in English, wished them a cheery bonjour and rode on.   Ok, just kidding about that cake eating part - I only thought that.  Really.

The Tunnel at Condes, long and kind of spooky

At Chaumont I got advice from an elderly man about the *** hotel I was planning to stay in - he said it was too expensive and suggested I should try to find something cheaper - thanks Pops.  I explained that I had cycled nearly 80 km and felt that I deserved a nice place for the night.  He rolled his eyes, shrugged his shoulders, wished me luck and moved on.  In the end he may have been right.  The room was fine, but I had the most terrible poncey kind of service in the restaurant - I think the maitre d' snubbed me because I was wearing sandals, ordered off the light menu and drank beer instead of wine.  The garçon, a dutiful but seemingly dull young man, just could not grasp the concept of what I wanted when I asked for 'un peau du beurre' for my bread roll.  He brought me another roll... And despite my effort to ensure they were aware that 'je suis tres allergique a farine de mais' they managed to squeak some cornstarch in somewhere - I went to bed exhausted but with my heart pounding.  Ok Pops, you win.

C'est la vie...