Aigues-Mortes to Port 2, l’Ardoise

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!