Calais: Not Just a Stop Over

My time in London had come to an end. My train ticket to Dover Priory was booked and I was counting mostly on luck for a ferry ticket from Dover to Calais. I had just said goodbye to my aunt as she left for work and was busy zipping closed my suitcase before lugging it down the four flights of stairs that stood between me and the car.

My uncle had offered to drive me to King’s Cross St. Pancrass and I was incredibly excited to start the next part of my trip even if I was dreading saying goodbye to my newly adopted family. I got there right on schedule and soon I was sitting safely on the correct train heading in what seemed like the right direction with my book in hand.

By the time I got to Dover Priory there was only half an hour left to get to the docks in time to get the next ferry to Calais. So suitcase in hand I walked what seemed like a marathon to the docks and then found myself a seat on the ferry, next to that salty old sea dog that talks too much while drinking more than his fair share of cheap beer. And when he drunkenly offered me a lift from the docks into Calais, that little voice in my head that actually listened to my mom while I was growing up was screaming; “Never get into a car with strangers!”

For once I listened to the voice and then spent the next hour regretting that decision.

You see, what I hadn’t realised was that even in this day and age, France belongs to the Frenchmen. Suddenly there were cars on the wrong side of the roads, the signs were all in French and I had no way of asking for directions because it turns out that the only English-speaking human in the town had just sped off in a drunkenly swerving, banged up old Renault.

I won’t lie, there were some tears.

Actually there were a lot of tears, and to make matters worse I had just run out of airtime on my British sim card which could not be topped up in France. But eventually, after many tears I managed to find a relatively cheap hotel in Calais and sat down to catch my breath. It was only then, as I stared out of my window desperately wishing that I had been better organized, that I realised just how beautiful Calais actually is.

After wrestling my heart rate down to what seemed a little more normal and messaging my now panic-stricken boyfriend I decided I should go and explore Calais, and I am so glad that I did. What I found in Calais was stunning old buildings, a gorgeous waterway and gardens filled with bright and brilliant colours. There were old French couples walking hand in hand as they had probably done for the past 50 years and everybody greeted me with a happy “Bonjour”.

Calais was absolutely stunning and I urge all those travelling from London to Paris to stop over in Calais for a little visit to see what France is really about.

That night as I got into bed I thought of my uncle and aunt and how much I was already missing them, and then thought how grateful I was that they had recommended Calais to me in the first place. I was definitely going to miss them, but it was time for the next step of my adventure and part of that was the scary, tear-filled walk through Calais, desperately searching for somewhere to stay.

And hey! I was in France!!!