Wayne and I snuck out of work at 1pm, backpacks in hand and walked ten minutes to Gare de Lyon in the southwestern corner of the city. It was glorious - all blue skies and warm breezes. This is the Paris summer you imagine but never get. We lunched at an Alsatian outdoor cafe that peered onto the gare's tower. The plan was to meet our captain, Henry, at the platform at 2:30.
It looked like the whole city had the same idea. The gare was full of people like us, waiting to board trains to even warmer climes. We were headed to Dijon on a TGV train where we'd switch to a slower regional to our destination, a small town named Chagny. The trip would take 3 hrs and lead us smack in the middle of Burgundy, better known in these parts as Borgoigne.
Henry laid out the plan in detail using a river guide, the likes of which I'd never seen before. It consisted of detailed maps that show everything you'd ever want to know about a stretch of canal or river such as number and location of locks, mooring points, compass direction, elevation changes and a short history of each town you pass through. Our goal for Saturday morning was to navigate 13 locks to a town named Chalon-sur-Saône. There the canal empties into the Saône, a large river that hosts commercial traffic and ultimately joins with the Rhone river further south. We'd head south down the river until dusk and then dock at the nearest small town.
Everyone was excited and chatty. We ordered beers and peppered Henry with all sorts of questions, nautical and otherwise. Then we mostly napped. First out was Wayne.
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