Soggy Camping – Phase 2

20.5.2013

In the tent, we had haggis and mashed tatties for tea tonight.  Seemed appropriate as the weather was decidedly Scottish – cold, constant rain and drizzle, fog so thick you could hardly see the oncoming cars and any view of the landscape was a thing of the imagination only.  But a text from home revealed that this is NOT in fact Scottish weather.  At home they have 20 degrees, blue skies and constant sunshine.  Hum. 

Arriving in Zeebrugge

We sailed over grey seas into a wet Belgium this morning, and drove to France.  Through the mist it’s still very pretty – tall houses, with high double windows, winding cobbled streets, little cafes tucked on street corners, unendingly flat green fields, names of towns that bring back history lessons of both World Wars – the Somme, Picardy, Dunkirk, Normandy.   

City walls and gate, Boulogne-sur-Mer

Needing a rest for Bill during his marathon drive from Zeebrugge to Dieppe, we actually stopped in Dunkirk.  It seemed to be largely closed – long streets of shuttered shops and no people.  Then La Tonique attracted attention as it had lights on, making it visible through the misty gloom.  It was small, clad with highly polished brown wood furnishings, bar, walls.  Vases of leggy pink flowers on every little table, a pleasant woman behind the shining bartop, chatting to a solitary customer.  Bravely, in my best schoolgirl French I requested deux cafe au lait, conversed regarding where we should sit, and was feeling very proud of myself. Then, I confidently asked ‘Combien?’ - and found I had completely forgotten my numbers and had to get her to sort out the money from the fistful of euros I offered.  However, quite soon I was even making jokes in French.  But then no doubt they thought my pitiful attempts at their language were a joke anyway.

Boulougne-sur-Mer

Boulogne-sur-mer surprised us by being a walled city - and a very solid and impregnable looking wall it was.  And within it a vast, towering church – Notre Dame – dominating the little restaurants crammed steamily with a mix of dripping tourists and damp Frenchmen.

At last, we made it to a soggy, foggy Veules les Roses and our campsite.  We pitched the tent in the rain.  This is actually something we have never had to do in Scotland – we are experts at pitching in howling gales and freezing cold, but never yet in the rain.  We succeeded with a minimum of mud and generally settled in cosily.  And we had a swim.  The swimming pool, housed in a sort of huge poly-tunnel, was warm and soothing after the long miles of motorway.  The only people there, we swam and drifted about, suddenly taken aback when bubbles burst to the surface, creating a Jacuzzi. 

All in all, it’s been a watery day.  Maybe it will dry up tomorrow.  Who knows