As we left a sleeping campsite behind and headed towards Dover, the stresses and strains of the last three months – an international move and corporate harassment – seeped away.
For the moment the monumental planning tasks for the move and our impending trip were complete and we were still on familiar roads.
Approaching check-in at the Channel Tunnel, reservation in hand, we were both spooked when the self check-in computer screen greeted us, “Hello Mrs. C. Welcome to EuroTunnel.” Without a word or screen touch from my driver, we were checked in and the smarty pants machine spat out our boarding pass.
“It knows me. That’s a little creepy.” The adventure into the unknown had begun.
The unmanned all-knowing computerised check-in at EuroTunnel:
EuroTunnel was celebrating 20 years of operation and the terminal building was heaving. Les Anglais on holiday. Even Snow White and Cinderella were there. Look closely under the W H Smith sign:
Attendez! We’re next!:
Oh very funny. France this way. Follow that car to the train:
On our way into the train, like a rat up a drainpipe, I had hoped to elucidate you with a quick snap of the Folkestone White Horse, an ancient Celtic carving in the chalk cliffs of Dover. However the carving is only 11 years old:
Follow the leader into the train:
In a car, on a train, under the English Channel. I’ve never quite been able to get my head round that:
And away we go. Italy beware:
To those of you who commiserated with me on my last post – A Catalogue of Disasters – many heartfelt thanks. Your kind words were most appreciated.
At the moment our brains are dulled with French food and wine to the extent that we are unable to stress about anything for a few days.