Moments to Savour Always

Few trips provide a whole cluster of memories to last a lifetime, but that’s what Harry Coen took from his voyage along the Rhône and Saône aboard MS Rembrandt

Any holiday that gives you a lasting memory of a perfect moment is one to treasure. To have three such unforgettable experiences in one 12-night river cruise seems like the purest indulgence — but they happened and I will always be grateful. MS Rembrandt and those great linked rivers, the Saône and the Rhône, have left an indelible mark on me.

The whole thing, in fact, was amazing — being able to float serenely from old-world Dijon in glorious Burgundy, deep in the centre of France, all the way to sun-soaked Arles, just a few miles from the Mediterranean, seemed like a miracle. It was 400 miles or so of unhurried relaxation as wonderful countryside slowly unfurled itself around us. Each day, enchanting towns welcomed us. We travelled north to south but the reverse is also an option. And if time is a factor, you can opt for a shorter journey. But the full deal is to be heartily recommended.

The most unexpected moment, in fact, happened in the heart of that great city, Lyon, renowned as the gastronomic capital of France. The Rembrandt was moored handily close to the city centre and we enjoyed a gentle stroll to the fascinating Old Town. As we returned to the welcoming vessel that had become our home for the duration, we found that other people were enjoying the late evening air along the embankment. We felt as if we had been allowed into a special slice of Lyon life.

Under floodlights, old and young were playing petanque amid cheers and groans as the metal boules clicked into each other. Couples canoodled discreetly, young people giggled in little knots of cheerful conspiracy, cyclists sedately and almost silently glided along clearly marked lanes. Fit young men and women moved gracefully through the flowing motions of tae kwan do.

Leaping athletes energetically contested a game of volleyball. A guitar strummed, a young woman sang softly, heads nodded in rhythm. Then, just by the gangplank leading to our comfortable floating hotel, a trio of supremely balletic gymnasts were going through impeccable programmes on rings, pommel horse and beam. We joined in the goodhumoured laughter when one of the Greek gods before us stumbled, grinned ruefully and started all over again. Drinks in hand — the service on board the MS Rembrandt was impeccable — we watched from the top deck as a troupe of young people twirled burning ropes that made intricate fiery patterns among the shadows beneath the majestic trees. Pure magic. It was unlike anything you’d experience in inner-city England.

The atmosphere of goodwill and gentle enjoyment was contagious. This, we felt as we went below to our comfortable cabin, had been a unique glimpse of authentic French life that filled us with enormous content.

But that is simply part of the magic of river cruising, especially aboard a small ship like the Rembrandt, which carries up to around 80 passengers. It can take you into the heart of things, whether the great city of Lyon or a series of tiny, exquisite towns where visitors are treated as travellers to be welcomed and not just tourist fodder.

The rivers, however, are the true stars. First we floated northwards on the Saône from Chalon, our embarkation point, as far as St Jean de Losne, a sleepy Burgundian town, from where we visited the Gothic beauties of Dijon and its splendid Old Town, with its remnants of the glory days of the medieval Great dukes of the West. Then we moored at Seurre, and visited the compact town of Beaune, the wine capital of Burgundy and home to the jawdropping jewel of the Hôtel Dieu, a 15th-century “Palace of the Poor” crowned by a roof of multi-coloured tiles that look as if they were hand-embroidered by generations of dedicated nuns. A brief wine-tasting gave us a basic introduction to Burgundy’s wines — and everywhere you look in this town, shops offer some of the best wine in the world.

But beautiful as all this was, it was cast in the shade by the most idyllic morning gently gliding towards Tournus along the smooth waters of the Saône between sinuous wooded banks of extreme beauty and teeming with wildlife.

The day had started perfectly. Rising untypically early, I decided to walk off a hearty breakfast on the sun deck — and in the early morning sunlight came one of those once-in-a-lifetime moments that you treasure for ever. A trill of birdsong rang out, and fellow passengers Ken and Shirley stopped in their tracks. It’s a nightingale, they whispered. And it came again. Followed by a cuckoo’s call, just as in the Handel masterpiece, The Cuckoo and The Nightingale, one of their favourite pieces of music. We were transfixed.

And so the morning went. I always thought the plain of the Saône was dull and devoid of scenic interest. Wrong— from the river itself, its banks lined with a never-ending variety of trees, this is a land of enchantment. Herons stood sentry above their nests, swans glided majestically as their cygnets paddled comically to catch up.

The sun shone, the river unwound through spellbinding new vistas as the Rembrandt gently and virtually soundlessly went with the current. Passengers took light exercise or stretched out contentedly on deckchairs, a tea or coffee always at hand whenever needed. Contentment was rife — this was indeed the life. Burgundy, with the monastic wonders of Cluny and coach rides through the brilliant scenery of the Maconnais — not least the drama of the Hill of Solutré where prehistoric man sacrificed hordes of horses — was soon left behind as the Saône finally flowed into the mighty Rhône at Lyon.

Here the scenery changed, as the banks became more and more vertiginous. Towns such as Vienne and Viviers revealed fresh but ancient wonders. At Tournon we moored directly opposite its twin town of Tain L’Hermitage where some of the greatest Rhône wines are to be found— and tasted. Similarly at Châteauneuf du Pape, where we enjoyed not only spectacular views but one of the most professionally conducted tastings I have ever experienced — though I maintain that nothing can match great Burgundy! We saw some astonishing Roman ruins, particularly the amphitheatre at Vienne and the spectacular aqueduct, the Pont du Gard. Arles was full of classical architecture, some remarkably restored so you can imagine how it was in its heyday. But this lovely town on the Mediterranean littoral had another trick up its sleeve that was to provide the third of my unforgettable moments.

We’d trotted around a number of tiny bars, all claiming links with Van Gogh, who spent much of his tragic life there. Dubious as some of these claims may be, I began to feel as if Vincent was creeping into my soul. No wonder, then, once more on the upper deck after another great dinner on the Rembrandt — the food was surprisingly good — that as the light began to fade and the harbour lights came on, I had the distinct feeling that I was now actually in one of his paintings. There was a sliver of crescent moon above and a scattering of stars, which seemed to shimmer as the beginnings of the famous mistral wind caused the trees to shiver. The darkling night became alive with quivering motion — and it was this that Van Gogh captured so vividly and imaginatively. It was an eerie but utterly thrilling moment that seemed to last and last.

I was with what we called the smokers’ club — there were only four of us, good-humouredly tolerated by our fellow passengers as long as we stayed in the open air — and we all shared an awestruck silence. That was something that I will always share with new friends, Carol and Charlotte, joined also by the non-smoking but marvellously tolerant Rod and Beryl from Herefordshire.

Mind you, we met a number of charming people aboard this friendly ship. It was small enough that you got to recognise people very quickly but spacious enough not to be crowded together. It was a pleasure to share the experience with so disparate a group, aged from the forties right up to the doyenne of the group, a nonagenarian who regularly left me in her wake as she scaled what few slopes there were on our carefully organised excursions. It was with regret that we disembarked at historic Avignon, fabled home of popes. I realised that I would miss our little cabin that so ingeniously transformed itself — thanks to the ever-efficient cabin crew— from a mini-sitting room into a cosy twin room.

And I knew too that I would miss the cheerily efficient cruise director, Carolyn, and the crew, unfailingly helpful. Other cruise lines would find it hard to match the talents of Marcel, Lazlo, Mihai and their indefatigable colleagues, a brilliant team who did their utmost to keep us relaxed and happy, well-fed and watered. And with no fewer than three magical moments to savour, I am now an enthusiastic convert to river cruising.