Waiting for the Ferry on the Opal Coast, Sangatte

Zagan the motorhome’s a little bewildered, once again immersed in motorhome soup! We’re at the free motorhome parking area on the edge of the village of Sangatte, on the Opal Coast a few miles from Calais (N50.940901, E1.741555). Every other motorhome and campervan heading to or from the UK also seems to be here, and diesel engines growl into life and prowl around every few minutes. Underneath us runs the Channel Tunnel, and a few hundred meters away lies a lake, filled with still-settling mud from the tunnel’s construction. This same lake holds the submerged remains of the Lindemann Heavy Battery, three frankly enormous German WW2 guns, which regularly shelled Kent, perhaps fitting they’ve been hidden by the building of such an iconic tunnel, linking the continent to Britain.

Our ferry to England is tomorrow morning, but we’re not heading straight for home. We’ve opted to head to Canterbury for the night (assuming we can get into the aire there), and then to bounce our way up to CarFest North near Chester. That’ll add another week to our tour, so we paid a visit to the Auchan Calais supermarket on the way here to wrestle our bedding into the washing machines which live in a shipping container in the car park. I kid you not. It’s not all that unusual to find washers and dryers in supermarket car parks in France, usually Intermaches. Motorhome travellers, truckers and locals with duvets and other stuff too big for their home machine put them to good use. With our laundry sploshing about Ju took to the supermarket to do the usual last-minute stock up on essentials (cheese, beer, paella-in-a-tin etc), reporting the place to be mayhem, being refurbed while remaining open, packed out on a Saturday afternoon. Once the lot was dry, we headed here for our last couple of nights in France.

We’re less than 5 miles from Calais here and, if you ignore the fact there are so many other vans flowing around us, and the fact the port is visible from the hills around, you might not know it. The 80 mile Opal Coast’s a lovely part of France, just on the UK’s doorstep. The beach is à deux pas (literally two step’s away – a stone’s throw), and being a little windswept, is a mecca for kite and wind surfers. A promenade runs for a couple of miles along the sea-front, up towards Calais, a lovely place to meander eyeballing speeding kite surfers catapulting themselves into the air, or turning inland to eyeball the mirror-glass bond-villain lairs alongside shanty cabins sprouting drying wetsuits. More than a few cats, dogs and human footprints have been left indelible in the concrete walkway, each telling a tale of realisation and minor panic!

The skyline in the other direction is pierced by the obelisk standing atop Cap Blanc Nez, a striking black spike of a memorial honouring the 2000 sailors who died keeping the channel free of U boats and mines during WW1. The landscape’s lined with paths which have a tendency to sweep to the Cap Blanc, drawing you upwards to stand at look-out points built atop German concrete bunkers (which bats now in in winter) with views across the Channel, the white cliffs of Dover clearly visible behind the plethora of boats and ships plying La Manche. Today’s Sunday and the place is packed. To quote the Welsh guys alongside us: “there’s millions up there, millions!”. They’re right, it’s packed, with families staring across at England, what must have been an irritating sight for the German generals stood in the same spot.

Our Zagan is a big white beast of a thing, as most motorhomes are! I once came across a blog from a couple in a VW camper which referred to motorhomes as ‘fridge freezers’, a little unkindly I think? Anyway, most of the vans when we arrived in the parking area here are white or beige, with the exception of one. Here it is, as you might imagine it was an intriguing sight, especially when we immediately clocked its UK registration.

Rev Tony Budell, it turns out, can talk! Intrigued by the van and all the references to Ukraine and Chernobyl, I went over to have a chat. Bloody hell! What a character this chap is! I’ve since been and had three chats with him, listening in awe about how we transformed his life from a disillusioned lorry driver to cancer ward hospital porter to Samaritans call taker all the way through to someone who’s set up orphanages in Ukraine and taken record-breaking convoys of aid to war-torn ex Yugoslavia. He’s met Mother Theresa and the Dalai Lama. He had to leave Ukraine after seven months of a planned year there, as he had radiation sickness. He’s found himself in a minefield (in Kosovo if I remember rightly) and had his window shot out (in France!). It took me a while to clock the small ‘Rev’ above his name on the van, as he’s far from anything I’d think of as a vicar. Nevertheless, he has the white collar somewhere, although he’s reluctant to wear it. As you might imagine, it was quite an experience (a humbling one) talking with him. His overall viewpoint was that few of us can achieve big things, but we can make small changes with a big heart. He takes no salary from his charity, his wife pays the bills, and clearly his overheads are pretty tiny. His website is www.britishhumanitarianaid.co.uk if you want to read more.

So, there you go, that’s it! Another tour comes to an end, and it’s been a great ride for us two. We’d like to thank everyone who supported us through the blog, either leaving comments, sending emails or contributing to our fund-raising effort. We started off with a lovely week with friends on the Loire, but later on this tour’s tested us a little I think, as the summer heatwave attempted to cook us alive, and the altitude hill runs stressed our lungs and aching legs. June saw the anniversary of our pooch Charlie passing away, and we shed a few tears of the wee man back in the beautiful Alps, which he never left. The Zermatt marathon was a highlight for me, a huge one. What comes next? Arggghhhh! We don’t know, yet again, we’re a tad rudderless but we will come up with a plan. Watch this space.

Cheers, Jay