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France in the spring is becoming a tradition. We zizz over on the Shuttle and drive to Boulogne for the afternoon, then head back through Calais to pick up a summer’s-worth of wine and spirits and home in time for bed.

The Shuttle is so easy, and barring a bit of head-scratching and map reading to get ourselves unlost on the M20 roundabouts we actually got there early. We ignored the signs telling you when to drive to your train, and went straight to the lanes, which a couple of minutes earlier had emptied their lines of cars into a waiting train. We followed on behind them, waved through by a fluorescent yellow jacket, and were on our way to France much earlier than booked.

They’ve changed the rules on the Shuttle lately, so that daily tickets now include a free overnight stay. Not a hotel room, or anything - just the option of coming home a day later. It’s so much better than the plane, and far quicker and more flexible than the boat, where you have to pay to change your booking.

Anyhow, that got us to France by early afternoon, and we took the scenic coast road out of Calais and along by Griz Nes to Boulogne. The sea was rough enough to have us all glad we’d taken the tunnel rather than the ferry, as it crashed up on the rocks by the shore and sent curtains of spray across the headlands. At times it looked like a mist was rolling in above some of the smaller towns, which were softened and white.

By the time we got to the grottier end of Boulogne it had been calmed by the port and harbour walls, and the clouds had parted, giving way to a thick acrid smoke from burning tires on the seafront road. That scuppered plans for a quick park and dash to the supermarket jam aisles, as the police had bocked off the roads. Ostensibly for our own good, but probably just so we didn’t disturb the protestors.

So we spent the afternoon on foot, slowly working our way up the hill to the quieter fortified town at the top, and then walked around the walls, which give out over views of the town and port below. We did the same thing last May amid the drizzle and rain, so it was lovely to see it all in a better light this time around under blue, unbroken skies.

We stopped in the main square for a beer, sat outside in the sun, and felt like we’d arrived finally made it to the first day of summer.

It was a great afternoon and the travel, in both directions, was spot on. It’s a sad indictment of our domestic services that a trans-national set-up like the Tunnel, with only one track in each direction, can carry so much traffic without a single hitch, and run so smoothly.

Let’s hope our trip to Paris next month is equally trouble-free.

This entry was posted on Saturday, April 12th, 2008 at 10:59 pm and is filed under Europe, Journal. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. You can leave a response, or trackback from your own site.