,
Schlepping
(yes, once again!) our over burdened baggage along the narrow walkway,
confident that “le centre ville” is just a hop, skip and a
jump down the road, Le Kid and I dutifully trudged along the barely trodden
path, hoping beyond hope that the next step would finally lead towards
civilization. After all, we were merely following the arrows
that pointed “vers le direction de ville”, guiding us to accompany their
trail as indicated on “les tres helpful”
signs plastered about the exit doors of the Calais Maritime ferry terminal. So, who were we to question said
signage? Mind you, our first clue should
have been that the directions didn’t list exactly HOW many kilometres town was
situated from the ferry terminal or perhaps we merely failed to notice the
distance indicated. Details, actually,
whatever, surely it couldn’t be “that”
far now, could it?
The term “kicking your luggage to the curb” took
on larger than life magnitude as we blindly stumbled along the walkway,
suitcases in tow, two clueless Canucks - a slightly scatter-brained Auntie and a
“know it all Kid”, plodding along a now
busy motorway. Yikes!! Le walkway had somehow transformed itself
into Le drag race, with speeding cars whizzing along the thoroughfare, an
unsettling welcome to the outskirts of Calais, kilometres away from our desired
destination.
You would
think that I (yes, me), a seasoned traveller of more than 30 years of traipsing
the globe and then some, would have figured out a quicker route from ferry
terminal to town. But then, the best of
us inevitably trip up and either neglect to read signs properly or completely
miss viewing the tell-tale indicators of easy transport, via the conveniently
located shuttle-bus into town, situated a mere footsteps away from the Calais
Maritime terminal.
Perhaps I’ll
just chalk that momentary lapse in judgement to having imbibed in one too many
flutes of bubbly on the ferry crossing across the channel. Yes, a perfectly plausible and highly
believable excuse, n’est-ce pas? Yikes!!
Fatigued, cranky
beyond belief, having now traipsed hundreds of footsteps along the concrete
pavement into a mirage of a town, Le Kid close to bawling uncontrollably that
her delusional pink-sneakered Auntie had led her down a path of “no return” to routes unknown, miles
from the comfy hominess of Hotel Meurice, a destination we were unsure of ever
hoping to reach anytime soon.
Hopping in a
cab was no longer an option as it would be foolhardy for such a vehicle to abruptly
screech to a halt and pick up two stranded passengers without incurring a multi-car
pile-up in the process. Definitely not
the desired welcome to the sandy beached fishing port, a stay in the local
hospital not our first choice of five star accommodation. No, just best to trudge on and hope for the
best.
Placing one
pink sneaker ahead of the other, we finally made our way towards the outskirts
of town, where we happened to spy a police cruiser snaking its way along the
deserted avenues, perhaps on the lookout for morons like us, traipsing into
Calais on foot, unaware that shuttle buses and taxis were a quicker form of
transport into le centre ville.
This is
primarily one of the motivating factors of why I write this blog, in order to
give other slightly clue-less globe-trotters a few helpful tidbits of
information in the hope of enlightening them to not make the same unbelievably
moronic choices on their travel sojourns as I have.
And, on that
note, today’s Wednesday “helpful advice
column for clue-less wanderers” signs off, as I dig in the archives for even
more examples of aimless meandering, which I will certainly share with you in
next week’s blog post.
Come travel
with the Kid and I as we forgo the comfort and convenience of air-conditioned
buses, choosing instead to hike along the edge of the motorway, cumbersome
baggage in tow…..come travel with us to adventures unknown…
Next week –
Leaving my pink-sneakered footprints all over Calais. Stay tuned!!
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