All the books we've read about boating in France mention it, and now we know why; it was a dreadful night.

The drama of the previous evening should have warned us, plus in the Kanalfuherer it clearly says that lock operations geneally cease by 9pm, except by special arrangement for commercial traffic. Which meant that at least four large commercial barges had made "special arrangements" for night travel, and bulldozed their way past at staggered intervals all night, viciously rocking Liberty, with the wake legacy continuing after each passing for up to 20 minutes.

We got no sleep, and now we know why the wash from a boat is called "a wake".

In the morning two zombies staggered out in deck, vowing that this would be our last day moored on the river at Vienne, and if possible the last time we would moor on the river at all. From here on it would be sheltered marinas for us, even if we did have to pay.

But the walking dead decided to explore more of old Vienne before leaving, so we hopped on the bikes (becoming the cycling dead) and headed into town.

Vienne has no shortage of quaintness and Roman antiquities. We watched amused as school students ate their lunches (and smoked their cigarettes) among the 2000-year-old ruins of the Roman theatre, oblivious to the surrounding majesty, and outside the seemingly complete Temple of Augustus and Livia.

Liz was in charge of the map, but being Liz if it looks like there might be something interesting just off it she will want to go there. On the edge a cemetery was marked, but looking up she could see an old church on the hill beside it, so off she set at a pace. I followed, but I always take longer to look at things, especially Roman stuff, which Liz overdosed on when she lived for a while in Rome as a child. At the Lyon Roman museum a few days back I would come to each new area of exhibits to find Liz sitting on a seat waiting patiently for me. She's good like that, and deserves a place up there with Mercury, Hercules and the others.

But her instincts usually prove right and we reached the top of the hill, and the ancient Chapel du Pipet, to find a fantastic panorama of Vienne below, with the Rhone curving its way through the landscape, and a toy Liberty at a model mooring in the distance.

On the way back down we noticed how some Roman demolition material had been re-used to build or repair a wall... a piece of slim ochre brick here and there, and even part of a frieze. It seems sacriligous that old Roman buildings were looted for their materials after the empire, but it was a common practice, and the fantastic twin amphitheatres in Lyon actually became a quarry after Roman rule ended.

I'm keen to find a bit of Roman brick to use as a paperweight on the boat, but a part of me is also reluctant as it seems like stealing. I will just have to hope Liz's exploratory instincts lead to such a find one day.