Francine had set a 05:00 alarm so we could leave at 05:45-ish and head for Le Shuttle. We found the correct route and way in and hit the self check-in gates. We were early so it offered us a train one hour before our booking. Well, OK. A boarding mirror hanger was spat out at us and we were let in.
Our boarding group, V3 , was soon called and we headed off to the next stage: passport control and security. Passport control, leaving the UK – no problem. Security – problem. We were funnelled off behind other campers where we sat waiting for someone to ask if our gas was off.
“Yes, do you want to see it?”
“No, I just want to know that it’s off. When the guys in front move, follow them.”
The guys in front didn’t move; they couldn’t. The security lanes are cunningly situated next to the main lanes which they have to filter (read “barge”) their way into but by now there is a solid queue of other vehicles, all trying to get through the same two French passport immigration checks.
Long story short: we sat like lemons for 30+ minutes, made necessary by a single unchecked question, by which time our allotted train had gone. We finally boarded the next train, 30 minutes later but still earlier than our booked crossing, and sat behind a pretentious McLaren exotic sports car which for some reason had been loaded into the tall vehicles carriage despite being little more than two feet tall. We couldn’t help but notice that all the surrounding vehicles were boarding group W3. Hey ho.
Everything else was smooth and about 35 minutes later we disembarked on the French side. We stopped for coffee after being passed by a couple more pretentious McLaren sports cars – clearly something had been organized – before stopping again for shopping at Leclerc in Neufchâtel-en-Bray, near our more usual campsite.
Much like the UK of late, the morning was overcast but it brightened nicely. We crossed the Pont de Normandie, a toll bridge, which is impressive but a little less so the the viaduc de Millau.
Eventually we reached our first intended stop at Honfleur. There is a campsite very handily placed on the outskirts of town within walking distance of the honeypot harbour. The site is called Camping du Phare, that being a lighthouse and the old lighthouse stands resplendent just outside the campsite.
The pitches are fine and we were directed to one – saves the agony of choice – to get Frodo settled. He was happily automatically level with a little natural shade. The warm sunshine was very welcome.
After the necessary refreshment which had been purchased at our Leclerc stop, we went to stretch our legs. There was a park nearby which was much more appealing that dealing with the honeypot harbour in mid-afternoon. The park was the Jardin des Personalités. Wandering around it we saw about a dozen busts, all lurking in hedging, but there was only one I’d ever heard of: Claude Monet. There was a chap who had basically founded Quebec but I’m afraid his name was unknown to me.
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