We set off the following morning towards St Gilles. At the junction with the bypass canal Louise
suddenly spotted a commercial approaching from our left. Oh Hell, brakes on, come to an almost-halt
and let it proceed in front of us – at 5kmh.
Oh well, we are rarely in a hurry, but after a while a small
hire boat came up behind us. We
motioned it to overtake us and indicated that they could overtake the
commercial even if we couldn’t. They
passed us, then proceeded to sit between us and the commercial going even
slower than the big boy! What is going
on? A couple of hours later we were at
Gallician passing a rather smart looking motor yacht when we spotted a vacant
hotel boat mooring. We jammed on the
brakes to stop for lunch and the lady from the yacht WARRIOR kindly came along
to take our ropes. We learned that
WARRIOR was built 100 years ago in 1912 and had been one of the ‘Little Ships’
to help evacuate Dunkirk. Alex had a
chat with David and Fiona who explained that they had bought the boat about 18
months before as a sunken wreck and hard worked night and day to refit
her. They were on their way to Spain,
but had cooling problems on one of the twin engines so needed a lift-out, but
what a beautiful looking boat!
By the time we set off again the commercial was well away
and we got to St Gilles lock in good time.
We told the eclusier that we hoped to moor about 2k
upstream of the Petit Rhone at the tiny mooring we had used on the way down,
and that if it wasn’t vacant he would see us again shortly! He seemed quite happy with that.
It was empty so we gratefully moored up and noticed
that the entirely decrepit wooden steps which we had climbed gingerly 2 years
ago had been replaced with a brand new set of steel steps.
The next day we had a leisurely breakfast on deck in
beautiful balmy weather and were interested to see a helicopter flying pretty
low over us. The helicopter was so
close that that we could see the pilot.
We waved enthusiastically and he waved to us and did the helicopter
equivalent of dipping his wings in greeting!
(He turned briefly right then briefly left to give the impression of a
gesture.) Our next short cruise got us
to a similar tiny mooring under the Fourques suspension bridge near Arles
(which by some miracle was also vacant).
AURIGNY had moored here 2 years ago and recommended it, apart from the
clunk, clunk, clunk of the bridge overhead.
And by jove, was he right!!
It took a bit of work with extra ropes to shore before we
felt we were moored well enough, then we man and woman-handled the bikes off
the boat, but as it had to be from near the front to reach onto the pontoon it
was no easy task, and cycled into Arles.
We had missed Arles on the way down the Rhone 2 years ago,
and didn’t at that stage realise what we were missing. We had since learned that Arles, of course,
has an amphitheatre that is rated one of the top 20 in Europe so we were keen
to see it. It did not disappoint! The French have done quite a lot of refurbishment
here, but we thought it was justified and well worth it. There is a great deal of ancient building
still in existence in the old quarter of Arles and well worth a wander through
on our trusty bikes. We got back to the
boat at about 5pm. And the main downside of this mooring became truly apparent
at rush hour! The noise from the bridge
as cars went over the separate plates that make up the road surface was a bit
like a train going over joints in the rails but 10 times worse.
We were glad to be moving on the next day, but also amazed
that overnight the river level had dropped by at least 2ft (60cms).
We decided to give Avignon a miss and instead moored on the
plaisance pontoon at Avignon écluse.
In the morning it was very windy and Alex woke with a slight
queasiness in his stomach. He put it
down to anxiety due to the strong winds we would have to put up with on the
Rhone – 40kph gusting to 60kph.
And indeed it was pretty bad. The north wind was whipping up small waves of about 30cm which were
crashing into our bluff bow and the spray was being carried the length of the
boat. As we hit each wavelet, the boat
slowed momentarily making us move forward in a series of jerks.
Eventually, after a couple of hours of this we made a joint
decision to put into Port 2 at l’Ardoise if there was room. A quick call to Ariane and yes, the visitor
quay was empty and we were welcome.
An hour later we were moored up in the same place as we had
been on the way south in this pleasant sheltered port away from the bustle of
the Rhone itself but with a few dumb barges being loaded up with gravel ever
day to give some interest.
Alex:-
I woke up on the Sunday morning and I felt as though I had
enough wind in my stomach to fill a hot air balloon! Louise offered to massage my tummy to see if it could be moved on
– and out. After a few minutes her
gentle massage moved to my right side and I nearly jumped off the bed. Youch!
So now we started to worry as we both realised these were the text-book
symptoms of appendicitis. Louise talked
to Ariane the port Capitaine and together they decided to call an
ambulance. I gave it about 15 minutes
and then started to slowly dress.
Ariane appeared on the walkway beside the boat as I lowered myself down
gingerly. She looked aghast as
ambulances are, we discovered later, for those unable to walk. She had thought I was totally
incapacitated and the ambulance crew were going to carry me the 50 metres along
the walkway and 15m up the steps to the car park. That would have been very difficult and I could still walk, so
very carefully I made my way to the car park under my own steam.
Meanwhile, Louise
was collecting together everything I might need in hospital – just in
case. The ambulance arrived and put me
into the back on a stretcher and off we went
Frankly the journey
to the ‘Urgences’ department (our A & E) going over all the bumps and speed
humps was far worse than getting off the boat and up to the car park!
We arrived at
‘Urgences’, I was signed in and we settled down for the inevitable wait. A couple of hours later (no triage in this
French hospital) I was wheeled into a treatment room and bloods were
taken. An hour later (after the result
of the blood tests) I was wheeled off to the CRT scanner. An hour later the on-call surgeon came to
see me to tell me he would operate shortly.
I said, “But it is Sunday and your day off: don’t you want to wait till
tomorrow?” He said, “But it is my job
and I have one other operation to do first, more serious than you. Do you want to die?” We all laughed and I said No I didn’t.
A bit later the
Chef de Service (whatever that is) popped his head round the door. He was on his mobile in the middle of a
conversation and without a pause in what he was saying and with his free hand,
he prodded my stomach: I yelped: he walked out! What sort of diagnosis was that?
In due course, I
was taken up to the ward, had a disinfectant shower and donned the universal
hospital shift. By this time it was
about 7pm and I told Louise to go back to the boat by taxi: there was no point
in her waiting around for hours, and I would text her when I could, or she
could ring in later to see how I was doing.
Then I was wheeled
up to the operating theatre on a gurney.
After getting all
their gear together the anaesthetist said, “Right we are ready to go.” I said, “Just a minute: I am not asleep
yet!” He just laughed and said, “Don’t
worry: we don’t usually start the operation until after we have put the
patient to sleep!” After about 10
minutes the surgeon reappeared and they put me under.
I came to in my
3-bedded ward a couple of hours later and sent a text to Louise to say I was
back in the land of the living. I had a
morphine and a saline drip and things were not too bad.
Breakfast the
following morning was apple puree (yuk) and/or natural yoghurt (even more
yuk!) I couldn’t face either. Lunch was the same with the added delight of
a bouillon soup, what I guess would have been called beef tea once upon a time,
but in this case it tasted like as I magine dish-water would taste! Supper the same, and breakfast, lunch and
supper on Tuesday, Wednesday and Thursday.
Thus I wasn’t eating much!
The climb down on
Monday when they stopped the morphine was awful. I was hallucinating for two days with nausea thrown in at
intervals. Every time I closed my eyes
I had images of a different room floating around with brightly coloured beasts
and such like inhabiting it. And when
my eyes were open the edges of all the door frames and tables had little waving
hairs all over them. And when I was
staggering to the loo in the semi-dark I kept having to wade through
non-existent furniture made out of knitted string or wire!
By Tuesday my guts
were beginning to produce wind which cheered the nurses and doctors up a bit
but in the early hours of Thursday morning I stopped passing the wind but was
still madly producing it. I called the
nurse who set up a paracetamol drip and said that was the best they could do
for me. Meanwhile my gut was expanding
by the minute and I had visions of myself exploding all over the ward like
something out of Monty Python!
I sent a desperate
text to Alice asking for advice. No
immediate reply. Unfortunately, after a
double shift at work (no doubt anaesthetising other unfortunates) she was
completely zonked out and eventually replied to me at about 9am in the morning,
but nevertheless a most informative reply.
Then half an hour
later a different nurse appeared to remove the empty sachet of paracetamol and
feeling my swollen tummy announced, “C’est normale. Pas de problem”. Well,
why didn’t they say that before? Then
things started to move again later in the morning. Trouble is when you don’t speak the language very well and you
don’t understand what is going on you do tend to panic. Well, I do anyway! And Louise couldn’t be with me 24 hours a day to help with all
this.
So the surgeon said
on his round later, “You don’t seem to be eating very much” and I replied that
I hadn’t been offered anything very tempting!
He gave a sympathetic look and said that I could have something better
that night. This turned out to be the
usual yoghurt and apple puree (believe it or not) but with a starter of noodle
soup (at least it had no taste) then Lo and Behold! creamed potato with
a slice of excellent ham. Food,
glorious food!
A good last night,
a proper French breakfast then my release papers, my get-out-of-jail card.
Meanwhile during
all this Louise had been out hiring cars, keeping Riccall going, and most
important of all, sitting with me for hours keeping me company, maintaining my
spirits and lending a sympathetic ear to all my moans – a tour de force!
So endeth my first
introduction to the French health system.”
Now Alex is out,
and we have been to the chemist to pick up 8 syringes of anti-coagulant which
has to have to have, one a day for 8 days.
We mis-interpreted the prescription for the anticoagulant thinking that
we had to attend a pharmacy where the pharmacist would be doing the injections
each day, so we had booked the car for an extra week in order to be able to get
to the nearest pharmacy. Of course as
soon as we got there the pharmacist handed over the syringes explaining we had
to do it ourselves! I believe the
current expression is OMG!!!
We decided to keep
the car anyway for a few days and use it to visit some of the historic sights
and sites nearby. First off was the
Pont du Gard (a Roman aqueduct) which entirely lived up to expectations. The second was the Théatre Antique at Orange
which we felt price-wise was a bit of a rip-off. We decided not to pay the €8.50 each but instead climbed the
rough path at the back of the site, at the top of which was a perfect view of
the whole thing. (Louise – and this just two days after getting out of
hospital! Well you all know Alex!)
In some ways Alex
felt it was less impressive than the one at Vienne and certainly not a patch on
the Amphitheatre at Arles.
One of the other
missions, while having the car, has been to buy a replacement camera as the
2-year-old one from Aldi has finally stopped working altogether. One year of its guarantee still to run, but
no way of sending it off AND getting it back while we are on the move. You’ll be pleased to hear that the old one
finally died just before Alex went into hospital, so no dreaded snaps of
him suffering in his hospital bed!
Fortunately
Carrefour had a Nikon L25 10.1 m.pixels for a very reasonable €69, which we
bought, and we hope the pictures turn out to be as good or better than those
hitherto.
So all-in-all a
pretty exciting first 50kms of the Rhone – but not for the reasons we had
expected!
