I entered the squeaky clean terminal and preposterously got in line for a ticket. Around me, American tourists in their bright red and yellow rain gear chatted excitedly about their trip. I was thinking “what the hell am I doing?” I know I don’t have the cash for a ticket, but never say die. So I got to the front of the line and asked “how much is a one-way ticket to Folkestone?” “Two hundred and forty francs” was the reply, “and nine for a return.”
I thought I must be hearing things, either that or the French lady hadn’t got her numbers down yet. “Run that by me one more time”. “I said a one-way is 240 francs and a return is 9.” “I’ll take a return,” I blurted, nearly climbing over the desk to get at the ticket. Just as she was about to give it to me another employee rushed over and said, “you can’t have this ticket, it’s a shopper’s special and the deal is only for the daytime, you’d have to return immediately.”
The supermarkets in England and France sometimes pay the ferry companies to get shoppers over for the day, and I had hit a lucky moment. There was no way I was going to let this window close on me. I had my head firmly wedged in it! “That’s fine with me” I said, “I’ll come straight back.”
She was definately mad but allowed me to enter. Running onto the huge craft I seated myself in an airplane type seat among many rows and did a physical and mental sigh of relief. I sat there and just watched in awe as this magical craft sped me and a couple of hundred other people across the water. People were laughing and drinking, enjoying their day out, while I sat there unshaven and stinking. To be in the arms of technology after a week in nature, flying over the water at warp speed when hours before a few miles an hour was an effort. Amazing that’s all I can say!
In Folkestone I strolled downtown and used my debit card to get £30 from the bank. In France I was so close to money but so far. My first stop was a greasy spoon for some sausage, eggs, chips & beans. My butt had no meat on it at all and this was the beginning of my way of setting things right again. From the station in Folkestone I was able to catch a train back to London and the subway home. By 6:30pm I was in my parents house drinking my mum’s tea.
I’ve often wondered about cycling trips and if I’d ever do one again. Every day of that trip I promised myself I would never do it again. Cycling has so many benefits that I would actually do it again, I’d just do it smarter. My advice for anyone planning on a bike trip is to go for a day long ride and ask yourself if you actually like the action of riding a bike, because that’s what you’re gonna be doing for hours a day.
Get a good bike, learn how to fix it, don’t carry much gear, do carry plenty of cash/t-cheques, and give yourself enough time to smell the flowers and not be forced to rack up miles because you have to.
Happy travels and maybe I’ll see you biking around someday.
PS – Gigi was at the fish market, just at another part of the loading dock. A week later we returned and rescued my bike. It was still there, saddle bags n’all!
