Sorry no pictures.
The Avignon quay wall was weed-strewn (shrub-strewn really), the few bollards were too far apart for us (so we tied up to the service-point rails), the electricity was off, the water outlet was non-standard (deliberately as it turned out), the fuel pumps hadn’t been used for several years and the capitainery (aka marina office and showers) was nowhere to be seen. We spent ages walking up and down trying to find the office, without avail – it certainly wasn’t where the large old sign was pointing, which was a builders yard. And they weren’t answering their phone.
So we reconciled ourselves to a second night with no fuel, no water and no electricity (meaning no hot water on board in the morning, a real pain). Not a major disaster as we had planned for such a contingency, but disappointing on our first night on the Rhone. Little did we know, but this sort of thing was to become something of a theme as the voyage progressed.
The next step, in what was left of our evening, was to explore the town and select the best place to eat. But it was Monday and they were all closed. To be fair, it’s the same in Teignmouth. Richard persevered and discovered that the Mercure Hotel restaurant was open and, after a worrying hesitation, they agreed to give us a table. A nice meal, then back to the fridge, sorry, boat.
In the morning, with help from a guy on a barge near us, we discovered that the office was now a room at the far end of another barge, with an A4 page of service hours taped to its locked door. The young woman inside reacted to the door-rattling by coming outside, explaining that her phone was out of order and hinting that we might have got some services the previous evening if we’d have let them know we were there! A deposit would also have secured the water connector we’d have needed. Rather than the expected apology, she smiled sweetly and shrugged. Our first example of French insouciance but sadly not the last.