Ocean40

St Martin, Ile de Re

Well I’ve already written plenty about St Martin and this year it looks like the turning point of the journey again so I’ll write a bit more.

Already we are in Port Joinville, heading North. Dodging bad weather (again) so the 4 fine days Zoe was with us become a memory.

But First: And the crowd applauded

So we arrive in St Martin. A slightly longer journey via half way to St Dennis, Ile D’Oleron, re routed due to slightly tender nature of daughter’s stomach when subjected to windier than expected windy sailing.

The harbour is a bit full, but not full. The harbour master asks how long we want to stay: 1 semaine. Hmmm he goes. He wants us nicely parked and not having to move every day to let other boats out. He wants us alongside the pontoon and we want to be there as well.

He looks at the options: V1 has 3 boats rafted. V2 has 1 boat. V3 has 3 boats rafted. No other solutions. He parks us temporarily on raft V1, 4th out.

But V2 boat is leaving later and he tells them to shove off to another part of the marina, thereby creating the desired pontoon space.

Great, you might think. Except that the now ex V2 boat wasn’t that big and the space left doesn’t look Filibuster sized.

Harbour Master asks our size: 12.5m. He paces out the gap: 14 paces.  “Ici – c’est bon pour vous”. Glug thinks me on the basis that his measurement device isn’t very accurate and even if it was, that leaves me with placing Filibuster sideways into a canyon, 3 boats rafted either side.

Leaving 3/4 of a pace fore and aft. Did I mention it’s windy? Have I ever mentioned we don’t have a bow thruster? And I probably don’t need to remind anyone that sailing yachts can be particularly truculent beasts when made to go sideways slowly.

We get one chance at this. It’s High Noon at the OK Chapparal. The crews on the boats lining the canyon are armed and ready. We make ready. The wind blows. Tumbleweed rolls down the fairway. The wind whistles. etc.

All eyes on us because this could go so badly wrong. We commit.

Now before I come to the outcome let me tell you about a fantastic French word called “doucement”.  I learnt it in L’Aberwrach. It’s a lovely word and pertains to the art of doing things “lightly”. In L’Aberwrach it was used by a French lady against a gung ho incompetent trying to park his boat in a tight spot. He failed. Using everything his engine had he went backward and forward, crunching French lady’s boat and eventually running aground. He was not Mr Doucement.

We are committed. Filibuster is in the canyon. No way back now. With less than 2ft space either end to play with a lot of doucement is used. Forward a bit, backward a bit, let the wind take her in a bit. Repeat.

Then a line goes ashore and is made fast. We are in. Touchdown. A perfect landing: 10/10.

I really can’t remember much about it, except that at the end the crowd applauded. “Un belle manoeuvre” a new neighbour says.

Palps stop palpitating, Palms stop sweating. I take a bow. Brit Honour upheld.

The rest of the canyon filled so quickly I didn’t even get time to get a photo.

And the rest of the stay?

Was delightful.

We cycled up to the unfortunately named Ars. If someone were to ask where we were going I could have replied “the ars end of the island” and be perfectly correct.

We had a party with our new neighbours, one of whom owns his own vineyard and contributed wine from his special selection

Special Selection. See bottom right, reads limited release, bottle number is 5. mmm.

And on the final day we made Zoe eat Oysters in the afternoon, drink some fine wine and finish with Lobster Thermidor for dinner.

Zoe’s facebook compilation. A perfect day.

The lobster came from the market 200m away. He was hiding in the tank trying not to make eye contact….

A postcard from St Martin

It’s the 5th of September. The kids are back at school (well not my kids, who are respectively in Norwich, Spain and Ghana as I write), the weather is about to turn from one of the best summers to wet and windy. Autumn is coming.

And of course the postcard turns up, late.

your postcard: caption, please.

With a wry smile I bought this in St Martin, the most chi of the chi chi islands, that somehow has made the “trouser donkey” its chosen method of extracting even more tourist euros from tourists desperate to buy a rememinder. The stamp got hijacked for a condolences card and the post card is still with me for another year.

Caption Please

I had fully intended to embellish the postcard with an approporaite caption. After all, what rich material: donkey with trousers & big ears, local lass, possibly related, showing off to camera, caught in a field of hollyhocks. Rich material indeed methinks.

But it was never written. Perhaps you can do better? Reply to this post as a comment and a Bottle of bubbly for the best caption.

But back to St Martin, Ile de Re….

I was going to tell you about the wonderful ambience, cycling all around the island, shopping in the fresh fresh food & spice market, drinking big drinks, hiring a cat and on and on. But as I sit in my study in Broad Chalke it seems best to make this post into a photo postcard and leave you with a few pics.

Wish You were here

Wish I was there, wish you were there with us.

Filibuster is now resting for the winter. From November 18th to february 20th the Arzal Barrage is closed for repairs so only up river is a possibility during that time.

We might go across to collect the many things left on board, to stock up with French wine which is so much cheaper than in the UK. Let me know if you would like to join us. The boat has central heating and average temperatures since we left seem to be 4 or 5 degrees warmer than Salisbury and almost as much again than Pembrokeshire.

I’ll leave you with this final panorama – taken the day we left for the UK (28th August).

Arzal Marina, just after sunrise on the 28th August

And that really is it. No more posts or postcards for this season. Adieu, au revoir. Bye, until the next time 🙂

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St Martin, Ile D’Re

Downtown St Martin, taken from the top of the church tower (click for hi res image)

After the hurly burly of La Rochelle we headed to St Martin-en-Re, Ile D’Re.

Looking outward to the narrow entrance. Note lifeboat on mud

Arrival and departure fun:

Access is High water +/- 3 hours- plenty of time after we left La Rochelle at dawn just 12 miles away.

St Martin was a heavily fortified town whose sea access is narrow: just about enough for one boat in either direction. Access to the marina is controlled by a lock and overhead gate.

You arrive at the right sort of time to find:

a) all the boats who are leaving on that tide do so in a long procession – so it’s dodge the outgoing stream of boats as best you can: They have nowhere to go but out and that’s where they are going.

b) after passing through the narrow entrance into the avant (outer) port you find all your new mates hanging around waiting to go in – in our case about 6 or so other boats waiting for the green light.

c) the green light comes on: boats are directed to come in one at a time, unless you are Filibuster and not knowing the process –  we decided to make it happen and went in first.

d) you are told where to raft, because raft you will as there is little space left for any other form of parking. You will be put alongside something of around the same size.

And so the place starts to fill. And from nowhere another dozen boats appear. All wanting in.

But the Harbourmaster (AKA Master of Ceremonies) has seen it all before.

One at a time: you over there, next boat over here and so on. Everything neat and tidy until there’s no more room.

In our case we ended up 3rd out on raft v2. By the time it all finished we had another 3 boats attached.

4 new arrivals, 3 existing.About the same behind, about the same in front. So all in all say 20 boats in a space about 20 boats big.

rafted by moonlight

Getting Out Fun

So, the boats on our inside have clearly been in St Martin longer than we, and in all probability will depart soon than we do. And that’s just what happens on the next session.

With so many trog watchers (this is after all a spectator sport) no one wants to get it wrong. We all talk: English/English, French/French, Franglais/Franglais. And the Brits have a pre-match huddle: after all we are superior sailors and can’t let the side down on an away game.

We all work out the who’s who: who on the outside is going, who is staying. Who on the inside needs surrounding neighbours to move to enable their exit. By the time the lock gate opens everyone has a sort of game plan, temporary shore lines are made, Electricity disconnected. Exit ways primed.

And then it starts: boats peel off and leave, boats head townward and lurk until their space is re-created, boats go sideways to enter exit ways that have just appeared. It’s solitaire on a big scale.

Those with bow thrusters use them and superior sailors don’t.

And one by one the melee expands, inner boats leave, boats on the outside move inward to fill the space. Stayers settle back and await the new arrivals.

All done with the most convivial attitude: everyone helps to make space, tug, push and manoevure in the friendliest and most helpful way possible. A nudge here, rev of engine there.

 A perfect place?

This helps: arrive on the right. We parked on the longer raft of boats at the top. The lower right harbour dries.

Can’t be far off: very high on our rate-a-marina scale for:

– nice location, near town, interesting, good ambiance, peaceful at night
– good hospitality

– good facilities and not too expensive

– great food (both at restaurants and markets)

A must see place to go to and go back again too.

Enough of boaty stuff: you all want to know about St Martin don’t you? and that will indeed be the next installment.

Bourgenay (Dullsville)

Step forward anyone who remembers the cult drama “The Prisoner”. The one from the late 60s, so step back anyone younger than about 50.

For those younger than 50 let me set the scene:  The series follows a British former secret agent who is abducted and held prisoner in a mysterious but pretty coastal village resort where his captors try to find out why he abruptly resigned from his job (Wikipedia)

I think he just wanted to go sailing (Martin).

The Prisoner doesn’t have a name but instead is called No 6. Why they should name him after a particularly small and rough cigarette available at the time is still a mystery.

Also a mystery is why hold him in a nice coastal village when a smelly prison would do?

And how, even with the aid of large 6ft diameter self aware and self propelled white balloons, they could stop him escaping?

As noted above, this was the late 60s, an era well known for fanciful imagery and one can only assume the producers were “on something”.

So, Martin, I hear you ask: what has this got to do with Bourgenay? A mysterious but pretty coastal village resort.

Probably nothing.But indulge me and read on as you’ve got this far.

Bourgenay is an odd place.

As far as I can tell, in days yonder, there was nothing here except the HQ of SSST. A secret order of silent French Nuns.

HQ SSST

Holed up in their castle and not interfering much, Bourgenay was a very quiet place.

Well it would be wouldn’t it, with the only residents living a quite solitary quiet life.

And then some developer had the great idea to create a modern version of the very same holiday resort that was the unintended home to the Prisoner.

The Planning application was a doddle: no objections – not even from the resident nuns (well they couldn’t really object much, being quiet and solitary, could they?)

And so, all around them a whole new resort, golf complex, port and marina sprang up where before there was nothing. Except the silent nuns who as far as can be be found out are still there, doing their thing.

A Perfect place for prisoners

perfect apartments

It’s perfect: residents arrive, are processed, spend their money in one of several anonymous bars/restaurants and are subsequently allowed to leave all the poorer and none the wiser having enjoyed an “ooh that’s nice” sort of holiday..

more perfect apartments

an absolutely perfect lighthouse

But Bourgenay is dull

It’s all there, it all works. But it lacks any of the charm that the two nearest ports on our route have (Les Sables D’Olonne and St Martin de Re).

I can’t think why we stopped on the way back except that, just possibly, it was free to stay.

And I leave you with this observation about the almost perfect marina:

We escaped and Les Sables D’Olonne is where this post comes from. A full 6.6nm from Bourgenay but a world away (and also free to stay 🙂 )