Crossing the English Channel: The Golden Beaches of Calais

Halfway through our sailing across the English Channel from Dover, we spotted the shores of France. The entire crossing was only going to take one and a half hours. At 31 standard miles or 27 nautical miles, this route is the shortest sailing from England to France.

From our vantage point, we could see the white cliffs of England on one side and the golden beaches of France on the other side. Beside us were clippers and other ferries flying either the English or French flags. Above us were noisy seagulls joining the cacophony of tourists happily chatting and snapping away photos on the deck - posing on one side with England as the background, and then on the other side with France.

I don't recall being able to take these iconic shots aboard the ferry. The deck was crowded and the random photographer who volunteered to take our pictures did not exactly do a spectacular job. He was a nice, elderly man, and very eager to help, but wasn't sure which camera buttons to press. I was also certain that he was just doing a point-and-click kind of thing even though I showed him how to frame the shots. As expected, the photos that he took (and he took several) only showed extreme close-ups of our faces, along with the heads of strangers beside us - fellow tourists attempting the same England-on-one-side-France-on-the-other-side shots that we had hoped to accomplish. But alas, there was no sign of the white cliffs (except in one photo), nor the golden beaches, but just a bunch of heads looking like a cluster of boring balloons with crazy hair blowing in the wind.

I have to mention that this was the time before smartphones came into being. This was the era of digital cameras that only had tiny preview screens. By the time we realized we needed another set of shots, it was too late - the angles from either side were not at their best anymore, the views were already obstructed, and no potential good photographer was available...not to mention, grandpa photographer was still standing beside us and offering to retake our pictures if we were not happy with the previous shots.

I did not have the heart to tell him that the pictures he took were bad. He appeared so proud of himself for being so useful and I did not want to dampen that mood. He was all smiles and he kept giving us the thumbs-up. I did not want to hurt his feelings, so I just said that everything was good and gave him back my best smile and some thumbs-up. I did not have the heart either to ask another photographer to take our picture while our old friend was only two feet away from us. Oh well! What really counts is our memory of this ferry ride.

We soon docked in Calais, the largest port in mainland Europe and our gateway to France. We saw the sandy main beach simply called, Plage de Calais dotted with beach cabins, sand dunes, and restaurants. Such a lovely seaside scene!

But we were not there to do any sightseeing nor beach-bumming. Our guide said that though Calais has several interesting sights, the main reason why many day-trippers from Britain visit this city is the lower taxes on alcohol and tobacco on this side of the continent. To emphasize this, she pointed at the large warehouse supermarkets around the port that sell cheap wine, beer, cigarettes, and groceries. True enough, the city, at least from what we were looking at, looked quite industrial with a few houses and a tower. I guess, one has to explore further down to see and appreciate its charms.

We walked to the parking lot and boarded our official tour bus. As promised, this one looked quite dapper and dashing compared to our plain London bus. It was a lot bigger, newer, and shinier. Our Tour Director proudly said that this coach was uniquely customized to provide extra personal space for each traveler. And indeed, we found the interior to be very spacious with a lot of room to stretch our legs, comfortable seat equipped with amenities we could personalize, and sufficient storage space for our carry-ons. The windows were also a lot bigger, so we were assured of an enjoyable scenic drive. The washroom was roomy enough, very clean, and had all the amenities should one need to answer the call of nature while on the road. For a traveling pregnant woman like me, it was something that gave me much assurance.

We drove along the coast past Belgium, viewing the port of Antwerp from a distance. It was too bad there was no scheduled stop anywhere in Belgium on that trip. I would have wanted to see Ghent and Antwerp along the way. We just managed to wave “hello” to Antwerp’s Port House from the window.

We parked for late lunch at a highway rest stop that seemed to be popular with tour buses. It had a food court, a café, a small supermarket, and a corner gift shop. Our Tour Director said that we just crossed the border to the Netherlands. The food court was busy with tourists and it had every imaginable international fusion dishes. I settled for a simple bowl of veggie soup and a tuna sandwich, while my husband found some fresh bread and deli meat he could eat.

At the ladies' washroom, where the female delegation of our tour group headed at the same time after our meal, we all bonded over the amusing vending machines lined up on the walls opposite the cubicles. Apart from the usual sanitary pads, panty liners, and tampons sold at women's washrooms, this one also offered disposable panties, pink condoms, multi-colored mini-vibrators, and one other contraption we couldn't figure out.

The older ladies were shocked, while some of us were just giggling and taking it with a grain of salt. In fact, we took turns taking photos of the machines. After all, you do not see these in American, Australian, or Canadian public washrooms. As if on cue, our Tour Director marched in and saw what we were doing. She just laughed with us and said, "Welcome to the Netherlands, ladies!" (By the way, she's Dutch).

Back on the bus, one of the cheeky Australian ladies said, "I wonder what's for sale at the men's washroom?" The ladies chuckled, while the men either felt left out and started asking for details, or just ignored the private joke. I subtly showed the photo that I took to my husband and he just rolled his eyes and shook his head.

We continued on to the Netherlands, passing by several windmills, both traditional and modern, as well as wide tracts of fields and farmlands. In this area of the European Low Countries, much of the land is at or below sea level, so I found the view from my window quite redundant, as everything was flat as far as the eye could see. My husband and I took this time to take a much-needed nap.