Five Day Trip to Calais

Day Two - Whistable to Dover to Calais

A Five-Day trip to Calais

Day Two, Friday

An early exit was required to avoid the potential ignominy of missing the 11 o’clock Irish Ferries departure from Dover. Actually, avoiding ignominy was not our highest priority – finding a decent café serving a Full English was more on our minds and Sunrise Café overlooking the harbour did the trick.

But, like almost everything on this trip, the simple pleasure of a quiet breakfast with strong coffee and bacon on toast was transformed into a memorable few minutes of high drama as a young man, also enjoying breakfast, took it upon himself to explode in anger and turn the air a deep deep blue. He was a complete opposite of John Cleese. Short, wiry and lacking the strange finesse of a Cleese car-birching rant – this man’s every other word was an F-bomb.

A fitting start to the day which made a few days across the water in France seem all the more attractive.

On the journey from Whitstable to Dover it became apparent that the gaffa tape and small sections of Velcro I’d brought along were not keeping the sun visors in position. This became Paul’s (alias Sir Gaffa) mission to solve. Meanwhile, any sizeable bump in the road caused the visors to drop down in unison. My (alias Sir Seagull Scab) gaffa obsession was more with the unfortunate gap between the rear window and its housing knowing that the forecast for Saturday was rain, rain, and more rain.

Once in Calais after a very smooth crossing, we were directed about 500km around the outskirts before finally arriving at the block of flats that was to be home for the next few days.

And then into town to find a couple of refreshing beers.

It’s only when living in close quarters to someone that you learn about their likes and dislikes, hopes, dreams, fears…and unexpected commonalities. The apparent unrehearsed need to wear straw Panama hats is the first visual oddity a casual observer might notice. No-one else was. Where we differed was on ice creams and soft drinks. Sir Gaffa does like bright colours.

That left the evening meal.

Whilst Paul was seeking shade having forgotten his Panama, I was checking the level of wildlife aggression from the town square seagull population. We ended up corralled into a very pleasant glass-bounded outside area. There were tables in the shade but for some inexplicable reason, the waitress said ‘Non’ and Gaffa had to endure the warmth of the setting sun.

End of the first day. I tried not to fiddle with my itching scab whilst Paul was still muttering about his plans to solve the sun-visor problem on our journey south planned for the morrow.

I should close by acknowledging that in between the events of the day we began a series of thematic conversations: scales of measurements, the paucity of our French, football - specifically Leeds Utd and Portsmouth FC, chess, theology, double doors, poetry, counselling and philosophy, all things Welsh, physical decay and far more.

Sleep came quickly.