10 Years On - Part 8 of Account of Cycling Northern France

Staying in the Citadel at Montreuil salvaged a bit of something from the holiday. I wrote a letter, poorly, in French to the warden of the youth hostel, thanking her from 'the temporary king of the castle' and closed the main gate behind me. It seemed like far more than a week had passed. What I do not understand is why, given how much I was depressed by this holiday I decided to do it twice again. I can only suppose I stored my old diaries at my parents' house not to hand. I did regret not visiting a few more towns, especially not stopping in Boulogne. Not going to Beauvais on this occasion also lay problems for my next trip to France.

On the previous day, the left pedal, which was plastic, had broken on the road to Montreuil and I remember lashing it together in the rain using pieces of green coated wire that I found by the roadside. The journey is in fact 45 miles (72 Km), which, taking me six hours meant I was averaging 9mph (14.5 kph) which, though not good enough to get into the Milton Keynes Cycling Club which requires a 15 mph average over 50 miles for membership) given the terrain and the amount of luggage on board was not as bad as I felt at the time.

Interesting to note, that this was when I had been doing so freelance work and so was effectively self-employed and so owed the Inland Revenue £590 which is probably what my holiday had cost. In some ways it is better never to do these trips and retain the pleasant image of you enjoying cycling in France rather than facing up to the reality. I guess very few people going on holiday encounter as much, though often low level, but certainly sustained, bad luck which undermines the experience. Despite having mild Asperger's syndrome which means I keep memories of embarrassing situations with me as if they occurred yesterday, I am quite glad to say that I had forgotten a lot of the things that went wrong on this particular holiday. Maybe I blanked them out. Perhaps this project was a mistaken one. I hope it historicises the thing and allows me to see it with more clinically rather than bitterly.

I remember passing places I knew from First World War history, notably Etaples where the British training camp had been and a British mutiny broke out made famous in 'The Monocled Mutineer' (book 1978; television series 1986). Interestingly I saw memorials to the Portuguese soldiers who died on the Western Front (people forget Portugal was an ally of Britain and France) and an impressive one to the Chinese labourers killed during the war. The Chinese were the main group who actually dug the trenches.

Cap Gris Nez and Cap Blanc Nez are the highest points Northwards from where they stand, just South of Calais, right up to Denmark and they are steep cliffs. Having staggered over them (there is a deep defile between the two of them as well) my bicycle I was free wheeling down towards Calais when I saw two American cyclists (you could tell by the flags) coming the opposite way on bicycles which were so packed with huge panniers that they looked like they were on slowly-moving armchairs, you could hardly see the bicycle beneath it all and I still wonder how they got over the two caps.

The photos do show some of the beautiful countryside that I passed through on this trip. On other days not wanting to break my (slow) stride I had not stopped to take photos of the landscape I was passing through, but seeing the poppies and wheat fields that for so many British seem to sum up northern France and Belgium and all the violent history of that region in the 20th century, I had to take a few. My inability to expose photos well did not make the best of the shots I was taking. However, I hope it encourages people to visit a region of interest and beauty and I hope you have a far better time than I ever did.

Monday 21st June 1999

Today I woke early and packed. I then set off, the stretch to Boulogne was not too bad. I got there in about three-and-a-half hours. The road on to Calais was tougher especially Cap Gris Nez and Cap Blanc Nez. I arrived at the port around 14.10, so a six hour journey for forty miles, showing how slow I have been going probably never more than 7-8mph, often only 5mph.

I caught the 14.45 ferry and was in Dover by 15.15 British time. Getting lost in the town I missed the train and had to wait ages. I got off at London Bridge which proved to be much nearer than Charing Cross would have been.

I got back at 18.30. I had a kebab for dinner. I then unpacked. The zip on the saddle bag got broken when the bike fell over on the train, making it useless, further waste.

I will have quite a lot to sort out, changing my money, getting my left pedal replaced and above all, the stress that goes with being unemployed. The tax office want £590 odd, which is not as bad as I expected.

I wish I could have gone on with the holiday but not with more things going wrong and getting stressed. This evening I watched television and a video.

Programmes of the day: Goodnight Sweetheart, The Planets (videoed).
Weather: Sunny and warm, windy.

Valley South of Boulogne, June 1999

View of Wimereux, June 1999

View of Ambleteuse, June 1999

Wheat Fields near Ambleteuse, June 1999

View towards Cap Gris Nez, June 1999

View of Cross-Channel Ferries from Road to Calais, June 1999

View Back to Audreselles, June 1999

View of Cap Blanc Nez, June 1999

10 Years On - Part 1 of Account of Cycling Northern France

As I mentioned last August when I did '20 Years On' from my Inter-rail journey around West Germany and Austria, I have always been rather envious of those people who have blogs in which they recount their great travels and fill them with wonderful photographs of the places they have been. As anyone who has read this blog knows, my attempts to even go on a mundane holiday have generally ended in very troublesome failure. Now finding money short and my employment future uncertain it seems that as in the 1990s (when I had four weeks of holiday in nine years) trips will be a rarity for me. Given my bad luck, it might be sensible to leave it that way. However, I did feel that I could capture a little of the excitement of having a travelblog by digging out accounts of former holidays. I have kept a diary every day since 1st January 1978, so can dig out accounts of my trips and combine them with the numerous photographs I have taken over the years. What follows over the next few days is just that, reproducing my cycling trip which occurred on these days, 10 years ago.

All the written entries are from my diary of the time and the pictures have been scanned in from photographs I took on the journey. This was the first of three cycling trips I made around northern France 1999-2002 and even on these I ran into some problems, though they were generally pleasurable events that I look back on with affection. The trip was a real break from life living above a chip shop in East London. It was a tough time for me. I noted a few days after getting back from the trip that I sent in my 71st job application since the previous December, so, some things never change! It just takes a lot longer to complete the applications these days.

Some elements of the account bear elaboration. I only had half an A4 page in my diary for each day's events so I had to pick what I included originally. The 'ructions' at Dover Priory Station was when on a deserted platform I parked my bicycle, heavily laden with luggage in front of the disabled toilet, because I had been unable to make it stand up against a pillar when I popped into the gentlemen's toilet and a railway official shouted at me and the bicycle fell over to the ground disrupting the finely balanced panniers. He stormed off, but it upset me. Other incidents I do not mention in the account are dropping all my medicines trying to buy a ticket from the machine at Waterloo East station and being at the wrong end of the platform there, because the train had two guard's vans and I had been told to wait near the front of the train, but in fact it was the rear one that was in operation and I had to run the length of the platform wheeling my bicycle so that I did not miss the train.

The bar I stopped in on the way to Dunkerque was incredible. It certainly looked over 70 years old. The drinks were on a shelf, not refrigerated. There was just an elderly man standing at the bar and the elderly barmaid. The bar was full of old furniture including an ancient table football set. Riding into Dunkerque I found myself on a dual carriageway, which being on a bicycle I thought was illegal so I hauled my bicycle and luggage out of a cutting and up to the smaller road running parallel which a short way on simply merged with the dual carriageway. I was to do something similarly foolish in 2002 on the way to Pacy-sur-Eure. Staying at the youth hostel overnight I found myself without any water, the drinks machine had been switched off, the taps and shower had stopped working and being so thirsty I was forced to flush the toilet and drink water from the bowl.


Monday 14th June 1999

Today I woke early but did not get up until 07.00. After breakfast I went to Waterloo East, difficult to reach as you have to come through the main station. They only had ticket machines but fortunately I had the right notes. The train left at 09.33. I had to change guard's van at Ashford. I started reading 'Shōgun' on the train. Despite some ructions at Dover Priory station I got aboard the ferry with only problems with my front luggage.

The crossing was very smooth. We arrived in France at 14.30 local time. I got lost in Calais but eventually got on the way to Dunkerque by the back roads and passed through beautiful countryside in fine weather. I had a quick Orangina in a bar/petrol station out of the 1930s.

More difficulty when I got into Dunkerque, a sprawling port town. The maps did not reflect the complexities of the town. I found it difficult to find the way through the suburbs to the centre. Eventually I reached the the youth hostel overlooking the beach, it was very quiet.

I showered and set off to look for dinner. There are a range of places along the beach. It was great to promenade and eat overlooking the sea in sunshine eating at the "L'Orphie".

I have spoken quite a bit of French but people launch into complex responses then think me terse when I cannot reply, but there has been little recourse to English. I need to brush up more phrases. I surprised a German family at the hostel addressing them in German.

I am drinking Orangina non-stop for energy and refreshment. I may eat my way through my money, the meal contrasted with today's stress. Finding somewhere tomorrow may prove even worse. However, it is a surprise that I got here at all. I will just have to take each day as it comes.

Weather: Sunny and hot.

View West along Dunkerque Beach, June 1999

Notice the 'Mole', the pier along which many British and French soldiers reached ships when escaping in 27th May -4th June 1940.

View East along Dunkerque Beach, June 1999