Hello 59

                 
Not Your Typical French Cruise

Set your own pace, stop in towns that catch your interest, pilot your own boat, and enjoy life on the water. My daughter, Meg, her friend, Becca, and I rented a boat for a week on the Loire Valley Canal.

It wasn’t supposed to be like this. There were supposed to be six of us—including Meg’s boyfriend, who had boating experience—but she broke up with him before the trip. I had separated from my husband, the other boater, so he didn’t come either. My younger daughter decided that drifting along a canal for a week, enjoying nature, would be boring, so she bailed. That left us with three: Meg and Becca, both 28, and me, 60, none of us with boating experience. 

France was calling us to explore the Loire Valley Canal, which stretches eighty miles from Decize to Briare. Meg, Becca, and I figured we could handle it on our own. We were celebrating Meg, who had just finished the bar exam! I knew she would pass. 

We flew into Charles de Gaulle Airport in Paris and took a train north to Decize. After walking what felt like miles, we arrived at the boat company’s service area, where we met Pepe, who would help us settle in. We were excited to finally board what would be our home for the next seven days. The boat had three bedrooms, a bathroom, a compact galley, and an open upper deck. Three collapsible bikes were securely strapped to the stern. They had small wheels and reminded me of the kind circus clowns ride. 

Pepe’s first question was, “Who’s the captain?” My companions immediately pointed at me. I tried not to show my misgivings about the assignment. Pepe asked, “Are you familiar with boats?” I said, “No.” He said it was okay because this boat was easy to operate. He pointed to the gearshift next to the steering wheel and pushed the lever forward, back, left, and right. “Easy as that,” he said, then turned to leave. Surprised, I said, “Wait, aren’t you going to show us how it works? Are we pointed in the right direction?” 
“Ahhh, of course,” he said. At his instruction, I used the lever to turn the boat around so it faced north toward Briare. Pepe was off, leaving the boat in our care.  
  
We cruised for an hour before tying up at the canal's edge to enjoy our dinner of baguettes, cheese, fruit, and wine. Exhausted from the long day's travel, we decided to spend the night there. The towpath along the canal was open to anyone who wanted to go for a run or visit a nearby boat, which seemed a bit unsafe to me. It kept me up all night because I felt responsible for the three of us. I proposed that we stay in well-lit, crowded towns for the rest of the trip. All agreed. Becca named our boat Chere Blanche, our White Lady.
The next day, the beauty of the sun, trees, and wildflowers along the canal hypnotized us as we moved slowly onward. The breeze was silent, and the sun shone softly, like a dream. I sat back and thought, yup, we can do this.
Then we reached the first lock. I vaguely remembered reading about locks, but that was before we lost the experienced boaters. My two companions closely observed the lock keeper, who operated the gates and sometimes lived there. It helped that the lock keepers were often well-built young men. Without hesitation, Meg and Becca jumped off the boat and offered to help turn the manual gears that operated the locks while I guided the boat through. 

France began building canals in the early 1600s to connect waterways and make it easier to move goods to Paris. Their main purpose was transportation: moving food, coal, building stone, and other heavy cargo. This boosted trade and avoided the need to cross dangerous rivers and oceans. The purpose of the locks is to raise or lower the boat between two gates as the water level changes. Briare, our destination, is at a lower elevation than Decize, so all of our locks lowered the boat. 
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Our boat was in front of the lock gate as the lock keeper and helpers operated the gears while water filled the lock chamber. Once the chamber was full, I gently guided the boat into the lock. They turned the gears again, allowing water to flow into the lower canal chamber. After a few minutes, the lock chamber drained, lowering the boat to the canal’s lower level. I steered the boat out of the lock, and we continued our journey. Maneuvering wasn’t difficult. 
I'll admit, my first lock was thrilling. It worked exactly as I expected. I’d watched large ships pass through the Panama Canal, but I never imagined I’d be the one navigating a boat. Seeing this incredible engineering up close and knowing we could handle it was something else. I also loved that Meg and Becca jumped down to operate the hand-cranked gears. 

We had twenty-two locks to go. Each had its own style. It was as if they were competing for the best flowers, the cleanest lock, and the most welcoming spirit. 

Navigating low bridges along the canal was tricky. Most were arched, so the middle was the safest point to pass under. The boat’s upper deck had a steering wheel, a table, chairs, and an umbrella. We had to stay seated while passing under the bridges, with the umbrella closed and laid flat on the deck. Our umbrella was often knocked over. We tried to watch for the bridges, but some appeared suddenly. By the next service area, the umbrella was badly damaged. I planned to rent a new one, but Becca jumped down from the boat, said, “I’ll take care of it," and ran off. She returned with a free replacement umbrella. Clearly, other boats had broken their umbrellas as well. 

On our third day, excited to visit Apremont-sur-Allier, a charming village, Becca was on the upper deck steering the boat. It was another peaceful, beautiful day until she suddenly called out, “Elizabeth, come up here now!” I hurried up the steps and saw the elevated canal lifting us over the Allier River. The height looked alarming, and what lay ahead seemed even more intimidating. The canal appeared to drop into a void, like a waterfall. I knew I needed to stay calm and thought, “It’s probably another lock.” Still, my mind flashed to Thelma and Louise driving off the cliff. I wasn’t entirely sure, but there was a blinking light at the canal’s end, possibly indicating a lock. That seemed logical. I took the wheel and guided us toward the end of the canal. All we saw ahead was the light. The upstream gates must be there, though we couldn’t see them — they could have been the gates of heaven for all I knew! 
But the gates were there, and the canal water filled the empty lock ahead, matching our boat's water level. The canal was very high, and it didn’t seem a single lock would be enough to get us to the lower canal. I cautiously guided the boat in. The lower gate slowly released water, revealing another gate ahead! There were two locks. We needed both to lower the boat enough to reach the canal below. It took us a moment to realize this. We waited for the final lock to fill and the boat to be lowered again. As we left that lock, we felt grateful to be back on ground level. We looked at each other, tense and struggling to process what had just happened. We needed a break, so we tied up the boat and took a walk along the tow path. Later, we learned that this aqueduct-type structure was called a Pont-canal, or bridge canal, because it spanned a body of water, in this case, the Allier River.

After our walk, we were ready to move forward with our plan to visit Apremont-sur-Allier, known for its flower-dressed houses. We took the clown bikes. I had hoped they would remain unused, but I joined in happily. The park featured more than 1,500 plant species across 7,000 acres, including a village, a castle, and plenty of open space—all designed to complement one another. The dahlias were brilliant in their yellows, oranges, and red-and-white flair! We strolled through the English garden, around connecting ponds, and past a waterfall. A bridge-pagoda and Asian-style trimmed trees enhanced the Anglo-Chinese ambiance. The scent of freshly cut lawns invited us to sit for a while and enjoy the silence and tranquility. A beautiful gray cat appeared in the grass, and my companions had a fine time playing with it while I rested. We had lunch at the Brasserie du Lavoie, each trying a different dish. Mine was a cordon bleu with aged Comté cheese, served with homemade mashed potatoes. That evening, we relaxed on the boat with baguettes, cheese, fruit, and wine. 

Meg planned our “floating itinerary” along the eighty-mile canal. On another lovely day, we walked three miles through the vineyards to Sancerre, a picturesque rural French village. As we wandered its quaint cobblestone streets, we found wineries on every corner, a Café Library, La Boheme for artisan fabrics and jewelry, and eateries. Becca surprised us with a special lunch. We descended a terraced hill and sat with a view of the beautiful landscape and canal, enjoying glazed duck filet with mashed potatoes and piperade. After so many flavorful dishes, we were ready for wine tastings. 

Winemaking is the primary industry in Sancerre. It produces the classic French Sauvignon Blanc, known for its signature minerality and “distinct tasting notes of citrus, flint, white flowers, and freshly cut grass” (that’s wine talk). We spent the afternoon visiting several tasting rooms, from a storefront with a table to a wine cellar with a stone-arched ceiling, filled with bottles and barrels of wine, and learned a few things along the way. There is a 20-minute rule for serving wine: Take white and rosé wines out of the refrigerator 20 minutes before serving; if served too cold, aromas are suppressed and acidity is accentuated. Put red wines into the refrigerator 20 minutes before serving; if served too warm, they become jammy and overly alcoholic tasting.

While my companions enjoyed the afternoon tastings, I grew lightheaded and had to walk carefully back to the boat. I also bought two bottles of Sancerre and wrapped them securely for the flight home. The intense heat and steep hill slowed our return. 

We guided Chere Blanche smoothly along the canal past tall poplar trees standing at attention, a seemingly misplaced nuclear power plant, a bright sunflower field, and the towpath where Meg and Becca ran alongside the boat. In this comforting setting, I read about Pip’s difficulties in Great Expectations, occasionally smiling at our own minor setbacks.

Other boats lined the canal, including wooden barges that floated low and served as homes. These barges carried plants, small trees, furniture, large grills, and often a kitten or two. Becca was especially drawn to the cats, befriending and photographing them. 

On a bright, scorching day, we sought refuge beneath wet towels draped over our heads and shoulders, searching for shade that was nowhere to be found. We passed the 12th-century Château de Rosemont. This stone fortress, with walls a meter and a half thick, was built to protect the feudal lord and his territory. During the Thirty Years’ War in the 1600s, the Swedish army shelled the castle with cannonballs. Only a few walls remain amid a heap of stones.

On our last night on the canal, we stopped at a restaurant in the medieval town of Chatillon-sur-Loire, where an outdoor dinner celebration was underway. The menu featured baked chicken, mussels, frites, wine, and beer. Even though the event was sold out, the owner kindly served each of us a glass of wine, and we enjoyed watching the festivities from an open window. In European countries, American songs are often played on the radio. That evening, a band performed music by Elvis Presley, Simon and Garfunkel, the Beatles, and other American artists. The guests danced and sang their hearts out.

Briare, our final stop, is home to the oldest and most popular Pont-canal. Built in 1896 to help boats avoid the treacherous currents of the Loire River below, the canal bridge was designed by Gustave Eiffel, and it was constructed of metal and stone, a highly impressive feat of engineering. The bridge is almost half a mile long and carries 13,000 tons of water. You can boat, walk, or bike across it. Briare greeted us with tall, white, regal monuments lining both sides of the waterway. People waved to us as children cheered from the canal walkway. We disembarked in Briare, grateful to the boat for an amazing adventure that far surpassed our expectations. After a leisurely lunch of Chicken ballotine stuffed with porcini mushrooms and forest mushroom sauce, artisanal pasta, Crottin de Chavignol cheese, salad, and Berry Pear Dessert with Bourbon vanilla whipped cream, we boarded the train back to Paris. 
Thanks for reading. Leave me a comment so I know you're out there. 
EKilcoyne.com, 8/2/2026