Immediately after the exit, the skipper had a surprise in store: the Orb bridge-canal, overhanging the river. Behind us are the high Romanesque walls of Saint Jacques Church (907) and the crenellated towers of Saint-Nazaire Cathedral (13th century). It’s an impressive sight. On the other side, a small manor house with a turret is hidden in the trees.
At the end of the bridge, the landscape changes: the plane trees give way to cypress trees. A long moment sailing straight ahead followed by a bend takes us to one of the “attractions” of the cruise: the lock of Fonserannes.
Everything begins, opposite the bend, with a boat lift, unfortunately out of order. Such a shame, I would have loved to… What comes next is still quite extraordinary though: a seven-level lock (nine to be exact, but two aren’t working). Yes, you read correctly! Not everyone passes at the same time of course, and there’s always a crowd watching… Find out about the passage times as they are key and will determine your schedule. This is partly why we didn’t hang around in Béziers, but you can be sure we’ll be back though!
 

Fonserannes is run by just two lock keepers: Alain and Bob. With a smile, they’ll guide you throughout the ascent (or descent), make things easier for you and give you advice… The climb is turned miraculously into something fun. A game for adults. A height difference of 25 metres over a length of 315 metres. This masterpiece by Paul Riquet, constructed in his town of birth, is real staircase of giant steps, on which the boats embark one at a time.
It should be pointed out that you need to keep well hold of the hawser, as the current is strong inside the different egg-shaped basins!

Once the adventure is over, we stop near a field, get the posts out and take time out “in the wild”. This is what I like best. The only noise comes from the birds and the bees in symphony. The sun turns the countryside into a pure joy and calm descends, touching deep within us. It is midday and all is well.
But everything must come to an end, even the most enjoyable of moments. We set off again inside the Impressionist painting by Riquet. Ever-changing reflections, colours, from the brightest to the mellowest, lights and landscapes develop an endless film. A lone rider intersecting a surreal moment awakes us from our dream and the countryside spanning out below the canal looks much like a mountain valley.

After meandering lazily along, we arrive at the entrance of Souterrain de Malpas. Today is certainly brimming with adventures! This 170m tunnel, the first ever for a canal, was built a few months before Riquet’s death. It crosses the mountain of Ensérune and takes you as far as Argens without passing a single lock. A 54km reach right up to Béziers!
No one in front… we enter the tunnel, and for a few seconds feel a bit like we’re in the tunnel of love at the Neu-Neu funfair. No one seizes the moment, and soon the sun shines down again. The canal heaves about afterwards. Left, right… It’s some exercise for the helmsman! We leave Capestang on our left and its collegiate church of Saint-Etienne (14th century). I try to make out the outline of Capitan, but to no avail. Michel Zevaco certainly seems undisturbed in his purgatory…
The canal, on the hillside, seems to go mad. Relatively speaking you’d think you were on the Monaco F1 track… bend after bend and the sun, above us, creates pools of dazzling light and breaks through the plane tree leaves. The feeling is a bizarre one, as if we’re on a winding mountain road, and it seems as if the canal is sloping.

We soon have to stop. Even with a good pair of sunglasses, it becomes impossible to see anything in front. I sense the reproving look of a mother duck watching over her brood, I avoid a house-boat and at last bring the boat to a standstill in the shade of the plane trees. A tad weary after the last few kilometres, we have only thoughts of relaxing, and enjoy a final aperitif on the top bridge, watching the sunset and long pink rays. It is a beautiful night under a star-studded sky and a full moon that is reflected in the water of the canal.

The next day we wake up with the hens (moorhens, of course…). We have to be in Argens by late morning. We open the curtains of the square gently and see dawn creeping subtly upon us, with ever greater steps. At first, all we can see is a pinky orange glow on the edge of the banks, merging with the deep blue of the sky and canal. A mist materialises, floating in layers on the still waters. And then, all of a sudden, a burst of bright yellowy orange penetrates the horizon behind the vines. There’s not a cloud to be seen.
Glancing to the other side, the pink sky is rejoicing, daubing the trunks of the plane trees and painting the leaves, water and sky. The sun is back out to play.
Bowl in hand, we gaze, stunned, at the countryside where we have spent the night. We can see vines below the bank and, at the end of the field in front of a line of yew and pine trees there is a strange building resembling at once a typical house of the region and an Ottoman chapel. In the field, a large sheep dog makes his morning round.

Soundlessly, not wanting to disturb the perfect organisation of this impeccable nature, we set off gently, knowing full well we would break the perfect mirror of the water. A hundred metres or so further on, another perfect sight awaits us. It is called Pigasse Bridge. Wisteria and red tiles are reflected in the water. We pass quietly under the bridge. There’s nothing more to say.
On our left, the snow-capped Pyrenees stand out against the azure blue. We can see the Canigou in the distance. In front, there’s flock of strange big white birds: a wind farm topping the last hill of vines. We continue on our way, inside one of the most beautiful pictures we’ve yet been given to contemplate during our trip. Plane trees between sky and water, perfect reflections of each other, without being able to tell who is reflecting who.
In Argeliers, we are confronted with a strange situation: the canal makes a tight turn and for a split second we find ourselves side by side, separated by a few metres of bank only, with a boat that we have just met. Nothing can surprise us any more, not even when we see our Austrian friends leaning against a parapet on a bridge in the village of Somail, next to a palm tree.

It’s time to arrive. Too many emotions, it tires you out!… In Argens, Sabine is waiting for us. We had met her during our descent from Toulouse two years ago, and it’s a bit like we had never been apart. Nothing has changed. The welcome flags are still there, as is the smile, a banner and the stories. This time, they tell the tale of a lost dog who found his mistress in Germany. Didn’t I tell you that sailors are just one big happy family!