On Thursday (10 October) we met Monsieur Decibel. Sorry, Monsieur DECIBEL. We arrived at Valence, reportedly the biggest, bestest, finest marina this side of Mars, and moored at one of the few available spaces, at the end of Pontoon F.

As usual after tying up we went to the Capitanerie (yes, that's really what marina offices are called. A Capitanerie is where you would expect to find the CapItain, just as in an inventory you would expect to see inventions...)

Anyway, we broke into our best non-fluent French to announce our humble arrival, only to be shouted at by the office manager - the said Capitain - who seemed to have turned the tables on us Brits by deciding that the best way to communicate with foreigners is to SHOUT. He told us, in upper case, where to plug in for shore power, what the code was for the loos and showers, and then bellowed questions, but we weren't sure what about. After asking for him to speak more slowly - plus lentement (and in hindsight we should also have requested more quietly) - it turned out he was enquiring about our length and width. Well, not ours, the boat's.

So, details taken care of we retreated to the peace and quiet of Liberty, only to find that the on-shore electricity allocated to us didn't work, but, dommage, it was too late as the Capitanerie had closed for the evening. Perhaps he had left to shout his friends some drinks.

Luckily, Liberty has a bank of batteries, and since we'd been running the engine for some hours getting here everything was fully charged, so we didn't suffer. But next morning Liz and I went back to Monsieur Decibel and whispered about l'electricity not working. He looked grumpy, checked paperwork and bellowed at us THAT WE NEEDED TO MOVE OUR BATEAU TO ANOTHER PONTOON, where we would be able to PLUG IN TO THE CORRECT POWER. He slapped a two Euro coin on the counter by way of COMPENSATION, but only after Liz had requested it.

So we moved pontoons, and all was good. Up to a point. The marina at Valence didn't, for us, live up to its reputation as being the finest in France, and Liz in particular rued the decision to leave La Roche de Glun so soon. We bickered about it for a short while (it was my fault) but also decided that M. Decibel didn't deserve any more of our patronage than necessary and that we would move on soonest.

The highlight of being there was that I was able to take a photo of Liberty in the Valence Marina, thereby becoming - in the words of the 1960s Gene Pitney hit - "The Man Who Shot Liberty, Valence." Thank you. (Apologies to anyone of Liz's age or younger, this will be meaningless, but go Google...)

So we left, and after an uneventful three hours or so drifting south came in to the tiny marina of Cruas, which had been recommended by Richard and Sophie a couple of days previously, along with a warning that the entrance was tricky.

It certainly was, because not only do you have to do a 180-degree turn midstream to head back into the marina entrance, you also have to finely tune your arrival between two marker posts. Ordinarily and on a nice day this wouldn't have been too challenging, but by the time we arrived there was a howling southerly, it was cold, and the current at the narrow entrance was formidable. But much turning of the wheel and gunning of the engine, and we were greeted by Monsieur Didier - the Capitaine of the Cruas Marina, who not only helped us tie up but was voluminous - in his quiet way - in welcoming us to his port. He almost danced for joy as he told us that his boat was the same make as Liberty, and next thing we are voluntarily comparing lengths, instead of him shouting at us to know ours.

Monsieur Didier's marina fees were almost half that of Valence's, the electricity worked, there was no code for the loos or showers, and we were made to feel very welcome. He explained, malhereusement, that most of the town would be closed the next day as it was Dimanche, Sunday, but that the boulangerie would be open. Magnifique.

All this made up for the fact that we are parked beneath power pylons, just upstream from a nuclear power plant, and within sight of a quarry and cement factory. But Cruas is far from crass, as we were to discover. It actually has something to shout about...