Two Professional Idlers in Stella Plage

Zagan the motorhome’s backed up to a dune-lined aire in Stella Plage (N50.47412, E1.57727). Opening the rear door we’ve a view of pale yellow sands, scattered with spiked green plants and tough grasses. The sun has an open sky to work from, but is being easily defeated by a relentless all-night wind. It’s free to stay here, and the locals have even built a brand new service point along the road where you can load and unload for €5. The availability of these aires is one (big) reason motorhome travel in France is so good!

The free motorhome aire at Stella Place, about 90 mins south of Calais

The dunes stood between us and the English Channel

Yesterday we (I) got up at 6:30am, pulled my running gear on, said bonjour to a French motorhomer up early in the Canterbury aire, and ran into town. Seven miles later I was back, feeling pretty good, making the assessment the town’s a kind of ‘mini York’, which we need to properly explore next time we’re here. This early morning running is, believe me, an unheard of sight for many years now. Two decades back I ran a lot, 60 or 70 miles a week. I was fit as a fiddle, sober, and much faster than I thought I was. For reasons I can’t quite recall, I allowed my focus to drift towards work, which I really didn’t enjoy in the later years. Wine and beer failed to anaesthetise, and I found myself 20 years older, and 20 kg heavier. For reasons I can’t quite put my finger on, I’m fired up again to run. What brings on these swings in attitude, I really can’t say, but I’ll take this latest one!

After killing a couple of hours, we pootled off south to Dover where the lady at check-in advised the sea was ‘definitely calmer than yesterday’. Ju gulped and noshed a few ginger biscuits in anticipation of a queasy tummy. Those lined queues under the white cliffs are a weird little place, a waiting area for those about to be free. I coined a phrase earlier on to describe what Ju and I could perhaps be described as: Professional Idlers. For me, personally, I find this title fits more comfortably when I’m well away from home. Being unemployed seems all the more acceptable (fun?) when I’m nomadic.

Here we go again! Sat at Dover waiting to board the ferry

Buy your driving-legal-abroad stuff before the ferry, where they’ll rob you blind! Ignore all the fear-breeding gumpf about needing breathalysers – yes, you legally need them, but there is no penalty for not having them! Save your money for croissants guys.

Out the ferry doors, over to the right and south down the freebie motorway we rode. The impending toll section encouraged us onto the departmental roads, slowing us down but we were in no hurry. A wee while later we managed to edge ourselves into the aire here, without hitting a single thing, success! Having been here before, we know there’s little here but beach. It’s one of the resorts in his area which (I guess) remains mothballed until about mid-July time, when it’s mobbed until the end of August, and then falls back into cryogenic kip.

Stella Plage in late April: not much happening here folks

A few families are out and about on the huge beach. A JCB’s busy shoving sand away from the steps, and dragging fishing rubbish, dead things and driftwood off the sands. One of the 12 other motorhomes here has a land-yacht in the garage, and was busy hooning it about on 2 wheels yesterday. The same wind which drove him kept us awake half the night (I’ve wound down the steadies this morning), and being blacked-out with silver screens and blinds, we slept in until 9:30.

Land yachting at Stella Place

I’m on a rest day today (when training, not running’s as important as running, weirdly), but Ju’s been out legging it down the beach. Charlie’s managed a few sniffs around the place, gifting me the opportunity to explain in French that he’s an old pooch, and his legs don’t work as well as they did (the locals understood me, I think, but I understood zero of the words they replied with). Ju’s restocked some of the cupboards, trying to remember how things slotted into their old places. I’ve blown a bunch of 10 amp fuses trying to work out what’s wrong with the 12V socket we use for the TV. Our always-on Internet system’s worked seamlessly, again, firing up and connecting straight off the bat in France as it did in the UK. Sponsor plug: for years we’ve been using specialist motorhome Internet kit kindly gifted to us by Adam at motorhomewifi.com, and can highly recommend it.

Blown fuses amundo. We think the aux socket size converter’s to blame, but all the connections in it look fine?

So, here we are! We could stay in this lovely little spot for a month, and pay all of about €30 for the services to keep us going. Our solar panel and leisure batteries provide all the power we need. We’d need to nip off to get some food, but otherwise are self-sufficient, which is always a great feeling. That said, although we’re trying to perfect the Art of Idling, we’re not quite up to a month’s doing nowt: we’ll most likely move on tomorrow.

Sun and sand at the doorstep. Sweet.

Which way, which way? Still, we don’t know. France is such a great country for our mode of transport, but Germany isn’t far behind, and has the benefit of free, fast roads leading south to the Alps. Hmmmm. Decision time. In a bit. Ju and Charlie are both asleep as I type this. The sun’s casting shadows on the sand. Music’s playing on the stereo. Sod it, we can get the maps out tomorrow.

Cheers, Jay