On a barge tour in France, I learned to go with the flow | Canada Voices

By the time we boarded our boat in Burgundy, we were four hours behind schedule. The Paris Marathon had snarled our transfer from the city, and when we finally reached the Canal de Bourgogne, we were chasing it lock to lock.

I’d signed on to explore Southern Burgundy’s Ouche Valley from the decks of a historic barge – one that no longer ferries cargo but takes visitors longing for a luxurious and gentle way to see the French countryside.

If we could catch it. A barge, unlike a taxi, can’t simply pull over anywhere and wait. Ours had to keep moving in order to get through the necessary locks before the lockkeepers ended their shift at 7 p.m. We listened as the captain kept updating our driver on speakerphone as they approached and then had to move on to next lock. (My high-school French somehow impressed the other passengers when I could say it’s not lock 51, but 52 now.)

When we eventually scrambled aboard the 12-passenger L’Impressionniste, somewhere near Dijon, the crew greeted us with chilled Champagne and hors d’oeuvres as if nothing unusual had happened.

By the end of our voyage, I would understand why.

The 38-metre-long L’Impressionniste was roomier than it first looked. Below deck are cabins and suites; above are an airy dining area and lounge with a fully stocked bar and two outdoor decks for watching Burgundy drift by.

Originally built to carry cargo (everything from coal and grain to wine), barges have been winding through France’s canals since the 18th century. Drifting along aboard one in early spring amid birdsong in lilac-infused air, it wasn’t hard to feel transported back in time. We rarely saw a car or any sign of commercial life as we floated past stone houses – some with chickens in the yard – yellow fields of mustard, Charolais cattle, wisteria climbing among the poplars and mistletoe invading trees, looking like a ball of weeds in a distinctly un-Yuletide manner.

With just six passengers, we quickly got to know one another over breakfasts of pastries and bread collected from village bakeries each morning, made-to-order eggs, fruit, yogurt and local cheeses. By the end of the voyage we were swapping cat photos with the crew, learning Australian slang from a fellow passenger and hearing about divorces, children and even the results of two recent colonoscopies.

One of our hosts happened to mention his parents had met “barging.” It wasn’t a verb I’d ever heard, but it came to make perfect sense. Today’s luxury barges may carry travellers instead of freight, but they still sustain a close community of captains, chefs, guides and crew who work from boat to boat as the seasons allow. It is a modern echo of the days when barging was a family trade. The Rolling Stones’ Ronnie Wood has said he was the first in his family’s long line of barge workers to be born on dry land.

On our modern hotel barge, we floated down the middle of the canal as if on a one-way street. It wasn’t until we passed another hotel barge we could barely squeeze by that I noticed the canals weren’t as wide as they first appeared. Often the bank was just a few metres away, close enough to exchange a Bonjour! and waves with walkers or cyclists on the towpath that runs alongside the canal.

We could also step ashore to walk or bike the towpaths and catch up with the barge at the next lock. A couple of times I chose to walk just to get some steps in. Outpacing a luxury cruise is satisfying until you remember that, not so very long ago, men walked these same paths hauling the barge’s heavy loads by rope.

The days effortlessly settled into a rhythm of cruising and excursions. One day we wandered the cobbled streets of Dijon, sampled mustards and visited the market. Another took us to vineyards and châteaux. And then there was the wine.

I arrived knowing embarrassingly little about Burgundy’s grapes. I left knowing so much more.

Although the region’s wines were introduced in detail at lunch and dinner and we attended tastings, the most compelling lessons came from our guide, Claire Garner. Driving through the Côte de Beaune, she would point to a hillside full of UNESCO-listed vineyards and explain why one section, sitting 250-300 metres up the slope and facing southeast, was in the “sweet spot” for sun and drainage.

It all came together at Clos de Vougeot, where Cistercian monks tended the vineyards from the 12th to the 14th century and helped put Burgundy wine on the map.

As we approached the château, Garner pulled us aside to show us the emerging vines, explaining how they would grow and be pruned. Candles stood ready to protect the vines from spring frost. Tiny dispensers released pheromones to sexually confuse male grapevine moths before they could reproduce. Who ever gave much thought to a moth’s romantic proclivities?

Garner also explained how phylloxera, a tiny aphid accidentally introduced from North America in the 19th century, devastated Europe’s vineyards. The solution was equally unexpected: grafting European vines onto resistant American rootstock, a practice that, as she showed us in the vineyard, remains standard today.

But her most astonishing fact was delivered almost as an aside: It is illegal to water the vineyards in Burgundy. If it rains, the vines get wet. If not, they don’t. It seemed extraordinary that some of the world’s greatest wines are produced under a rule that simply accepts whatever nature provides.

I eventually clued in that the canals had a similar bargain with nature.

That bargain was severely tested during this summer’s droughts. But canals have one advantage over free-flowing rivers: Their locks, reservoirs and other water-control systems allow more flexibility.

We already had a glimpse of what that flexibility looks like. Just before our trip, we’d received a note from the tour company calmly mentioning the route would be slightly varied. I didn’t pay it much attention at the time. On-board, I forgot about it entirely; each morning brought a fresh itinerary, and it unfolded flawlessly – from the aforementioned fresh baking to cocktails and snacks waiting on our return before a gourmet dinner and turndown service at night.

As luxurious as things were inside, our small group began to learn of the challenges outside. A section of the Canal de Bourgogne, closed the previous year for repairs and reopened just two weeks before our trip, had sprung another leak, flooding nearby basements. With only a week’s notice, the crew had devised an alternative journey that included stretches of river we had never expected to see and parts of the area the crew had not yet travelled.

One morning we learned we would attempt what would be the final passage through the damaged section before it closed again. Water levels were so low that a sister barge ahead of us had taken hours to travel a stretch that should have taken minutes. Heavy pig-iron ballast had already been removed from L’Impressionniste to lighten her load. But would that make the boat sit so high it couldn’t clear the bridge at the lock?

As we slowly made our way through the low water, we occasionally stopped and reversed, stirring up mud before easing ahead again. At one point the Australian passenger and I wandered to the back where the pilot and deckhand were working. We fell into conversation about barges, the history of the canals and the challenges of navigating them. As we talked, the pilot casually mentioned that barges don’t steer in a straight line. Instead, he was constantly working the wheel back and forth, making endless corrections while quietly reading the water ahead.

Like everything else we experienced on-board, it was calm, patient, deeply skilled work. And if Mother Nature hadn’t changed the plans, causing the crew to pivot and improvise behind the scenes, we wouldn’t have had the opportunity to notice.

Before we disembarked, Garner spread out a map and traced the route we had actually travelled. Instead of the planned 37 kilometres, we had covered 127.

I had no idea we had done anything that remarkable.

By then, I understood why.

If you go

European Waterways’ Southern Burgundy trip on L’Impressionniste starts at US$7,090 (based on double occupancy). Exclusive-use charters are also available. The company also offers barge trips in the Netherlands, Italy, Scotland and Belgium. All meals, drinks and excursions are included.

As this year’s drought affected some trips, always confirm conditions with tour company before booking.

The writer was a guest of European Waterways, which did not review or approve this article. Stories are based on merit; The Globe does not guarantee coverage.