Sunday 20th May 2018, St. Valerie-en-Caux, Normandy.
I have been far too weary for the last couple of evenings to write any notes and, to be honest, there was nothing that justified wasting yet more of my time detailing the endless stream of problems we have encountered.
To summarise, we tried in vain to fill up with diesel in Holland before planning to take the motorway network across the country to Belgium. We wasted a considerable amount of fuel driving from garage to garage where all the diesel pumps were empty. What was happening we never really found out but decided we’d best make for the motorway and hotfoot it out of the country in the hope of finding fuel in Belgium. We stopped off at several motorway fuel stations on the busy autoroute but they were all cordoned off.
Skirting Rotterdam we became entangled with freight lorries and fuel containers all heading for exits 1 – 150 leading to the various loading quays at the docks. Later, as we arrived in Belgium all the route numbers changed so we had little idea which motorway we were on or which exit number we were looking for. Somehow we survived but I think we are getting too old for such high stress levels. Meanwhile I was wasting fuel weaving on and off different motorways as we were swept southwards out of Holland.
I had been in fear of running out of fuel on the motorway somewhere before the Belgium border but we made it and called at the first service station on the autoroute, YES! They had fuel! It cost us 1,53 euros per litre but we reckoned it would get us a fair distance on our way to the nearest ferry port. By this time all we wanted to do was get back to England where at least if we did run out of fuel due to some international problem we knew nothing about we’d be in our own country. We knew nothing really of what was going on in the world as we had no internet access and only Dutch newspapers to puzzle out on the news stands. We had no idea whether it was an international crisis or something that affected just Holland.
With a full tank of fuel our confidence returned. Then we spent seemingly hours in motorway queues and missed turn-offs that wasted more of our precious fuel. It was a horrible day though afterwards I realised I was only driving for around three hours before we turned off and headed for the Belgian coast. Ian reckoned we should head for the coast and follow it down into France. At Knokker-Heist we parked and walked through a characterless town of fashionable shops lining a grid of straight roads leading upwards to the sea. The wind howled down between the streets of high buildings and, after the temperatures we'd become accustomed to, we were frozen. Neither of us had ever heard of the town though it is actually quite large with residential blocks of uninspiring flats lining the seafront.
After paying fifteen euros for two small coffees and a cheese sandwich each we decided to press on down the Belgian coast towards France looking for a campsite along the way. We soon discovered the true delights of Zeebrugge and Ostend! It really is absolutely dire! Attempts to find a campsite Ian was convinced was amongst the dunes lead to us tearing along an arterial road that criss-crossed railway lines and channelled us into freight terminals before sending us back the way we’d come where a bridge to one of the docks was up indefinitely. Ian took me on a massive detour to triumphantly return me to the other side of the bridge – by which time it was down again anyway. I was feeling sick with tired and have vowed NEVER to visit Belgium again. (Actually, some of our most enjoyable travels have been in Belgium and now, with the distance of hindsight, I would willingly return to Belgium but would avoid the motorways around the ferry ports.)
All things end eventually however and we crossed into France with a sense of relief, heading for Dunkirk, It was a lovely evening and the countryside looked charming. We realised we were in
in no great hurry. Fuel was available in France at around 1.40 euros per litre, cheaper than in Belgium so we decided to make for the campsite at – Sandgatte!
Sangatte is a charming little village. The campsite was very nice, clean and with a couple of floppsy rabbits hopping around the pitches. It seems hard to believe that this was where the migrant Jungle developed that was on the news every night as desperate refugees from Syria and economic migrants from North Africa struggled nightly to find a way to reach Britain. We found where it must have been located. The ground has been turned over, raked and landscaped. Now there are thousands of small bushes beginning to grow and soon there will be no evidence of the unhappy, difficult lives so many migrants faced here in their efforts to seek security and a better life. What has become of them all today we wonder?
Next morning, yesterday, we phoned Geneviève and told her we were thinking of crossing to Dover and driving home from there. However, after discussion we have decided we need to drive along one side of the Channel or the other so it might as well be Normandy. We will join her in Caen tomorrow evening and spend Tuesday with her before taking the early morning ferry back to Portmouth on Wednesday.
So we have left ourselves a couple of days to drive leisurely along the familiar roads of France, avoiding motorways, and enjoying the really lovely countryside with its endless rural vistas of fields, woods, rivers, streams and coast. The sun is still shining and the countryside is full of colourful shrubs and flowers with horses, white cattle and young lambs in the fields.
Firstly we drove up to Cap Blanc-Nez and looked across at the British coast with the white cliffs of Dover looking hazy through the morning mist. We continued to Cap Griz-Nez and walked out to the watch station. From here there were extensive views back across the bay towards Cap Blanc-Nez and across the water to England’s south coast. I have a good friend dating back to college days who is very sick at present, living in Dover. If you read this, you will know we stood there, looking across and thinking of you and willing you to get better.
Returning through the narrow lanes that lead down to the sea along a freshly tarmacked road surface overlaid with chippings, a car passing us in the opposite direction accidentally shot a chipping up to riccochet against our windscreen. This split the glass and we now have a slowly increasing line as the split expands across the screen. It is a bank-holiday here with no possibility of getting a replacement screen before Wednesday so we are reconciled to returning home with a split across the screen and hope to get it fixed once we are home. It should be partially covered by our insurance but it’s a nuisance and the third problem we’ve had from Modestine on this trip, along with the missing hub cap and the failed brakes. For the first time on our travels we will be happy to get back home again. This evening I discovered yet another problem when I made a routine check under her bonnet and discovered the insulated underside, which deadens noise and insulates the engine, has split and the padding is falling out into the engine.
Our day continued with visits to the towns of Wimereux, Boulogne, Le Touquet – Paris Plage, and Berck. Everywhere was packed with visitors.
The sculpture above by Marie Cazin, showing a sick child being cared for, dates from 1893 and commemorates the doctors Paul Perrouchaud and Henri Cazin who initiated the medical establishment at the coastal resort of Berck in the 19th century.
We planned to camp somewhere on the estuary of the river Somme with its extensive area of mud flats, its petit train touristique and its charming little seaside villages. However, at La Baie de Somme the campsites at both the little towns of Le Crotoy and St-Valerie-sur-Somme were full. Eventually we found space in a very pleasant, inexpensive site where we spent a peaceful night and were up, showered and ready to leave before the management had even unlocked the barrier. Thus we returned to St-Valerie-sur-Somme sufficiently early to find one of the very few free spaces for camper vans. By the time the crowds arrived we’d seen the mediaeval town and strolled beside the estuary, taken coffee at the PMU. We'd also watched the petit train taking on water and preparing to pull its hundred year old wooden carriages off around the bay, charged with excited children and parents. By the time we left it was hot and the town grid-locked with cars. We left two car drivers arguing about which of them had seen me leaving first and therefore earned the right to our vacated space! They looked like boiling over. Unfortunately we couldn't stop to watch the outcome as we were in their cross fire.
We are now camped on a cheap and cheerful campsite, probably our last night on this round of travels at St-Valerie-en-Caux. Tomorrow evening we should be back in Caen. The sun is still shining and we have still had no rain throughout our travel.
Our sense of fun has not been completely quashed by our continuous travails. Passing through the little town of Eu, near Dieppe this afternoon, we paused for a photoshoot as Modestine expressed her feelings about Brexit and bid farewell to the European Union.
