Travelling south (again)

It’s a long way from Zurich to Port Napoleon, at the mouth of the Rhone.  Not so much physically, and certainly not so for an Australian, but when we think “Europe” we tend to forget that old borders have historical and cultural meanings which can’t be erased by Brussels edict (ah, the mess the Greeks have made…could have told you so, the northerners say with rueful hindsight). The Swiss and the French share a border, so they’re kind of cousins, but there’s a fair bit of variation in the DNA.

The Swiss sit all bright and shiny and prosperous in their mountain-bound fiefdom, apart from the embarrassment of the Eurozone. I liked Zurich, as a town.  Who couldn’t? It’s just the right size, not too big, not too small, and so very shipshape, with a particularly pleasing combination of colour and shape, old and new.  I don’t think I’ve ever been in a place where the citizenry, and even the tourists, are as elegant and well-groomed. The guy below with the tattoo was part of a quiet little Hare Krishna event happening near the town hall on a Sunday. Even the orange people behave in Zurich.  

Zurich makes me understand afresh how bourgeois I am. I do love a clean pavement, a beautiful shop window display, a tasteful hotel room – in short, a sense of order and harmony in my surroundings. It’s the bane of my life, this bourgeois business. My only hope is to go to sea….

Or to France. Yes, the French are bourgeois at heart too, but they play with, and around with it, laugh at themselves – and they get ugly from time to time. France has beggars, graffiti, flakey paint, bad smells, bad guys. It’s also much cheaper to eat and drink in than Switzerland, thankfully.

We caught the train from Zurich to Avignon, and landed ourselves in a town ready to party hard. Proximity to the Avignon theatre festival, which runs from July 6 to 27, makes my heart lurch and pulse race – “it’s like you at a boat show,” I say to Alex. Look at all the posters. So many shows (about 1300, performed in every available space, public and private, I learn from a doll of a dressmaker called Robert).  Can’t we stay, pleeeeeze?

We’ve got a date in Port Napoleon though, so here we are. In the next few days we expect to learn a) the condition of Enki’s hull and decks from the surveyor – those are the most important aspects of the survey for Alex and b) what French customs expect of us if we buy the boat. A lot hangs on both these things.  Christophe is driving a rented truck from Zurich to meet us.  Whatever happens, he plans to empty out Enki of the possessions he’s lived with for the past five years. Even if we don’t buy her, she’s still for sale. His voyaging days are over.

Christoph and Jeanette at home

We’ve parked ourselves above the Capitainerie in an “appartement” which gives us space to spread ourselves out (bliss) and a basic kitchen.  We have fruit bowls on the bench. Last night, for the first time in a month, I cooked dinner and Alex did the wash-up. This morning I picked up fresh bread from the restaurant down below, and did a load of washing. We may be here for a few weeks, all going well. The alternative isn’t worth considering.