For a while now, I've been thinking that the ideal holiday would be to drive through a country (whichever one) at a leisurely pace, stopping wherever and whenever, based on a travel plan which specifies only the final destination. Vague but workable, and the long weekend of Aug 27-29 - Monday Aug 29 being the last bank holiday of the year before Christmas - seemed ideal to test my theory. Since I'd wangled Tuesday off from work, it added up to a decent 4 days for a short trip.
Ireland could have been on the cards, but I had Calais on my mind. So we headed France-wards on the ferry to Calais, with the car parked in the bowels of the ferry and our cycles (a fortunate afterthought on Pete's part) parked on the car. I was particularly thrilled about going to Calais because the ferry left from Dover - the famous white cliffs of which I had wanted to see. And now I can say that I've seen the white cliffs of Dover. They are quite white, actually, but not particularly high. That said, I wouldnt be making that comment about the height if I had been at the top of the cliffs, rather than at the bottom.
I could certainly imagine the feelings of the seamen on British ships during WW2, when they got their first glimpse of home in the white cliffs of Dover as their ships sailed into the harbour. I mean, I used to get the same "I'm home" feeling when I saw my first PTC bus after a trip away from Madras!
Anyway... back to Calais. The ferry trip from Dover to Calais was uneventful, the most remarkable thing being that it started as scheduled at 3.45 a.m. Pete managed to snatch a few winks but as ever, sleeping while sitting upright is not an option for me. So I spent my time memorising (not intentionally, no) the Formula 1 statistics and odd facts that were printed on the walls (why Formula 1 factoids on a ferry? who knows!). Interesting things like: the wear and tear on the brakes of a Formula 1 car in ONE race is the equivalent of 10 years worth on a normal car used normally; From a normal seating position, with all seat belts fastened, and whilst wearing his usual driving equipment, a driver must be able to remove the steering wheel and get out of the car within five seconds and then replace the steering wheel within a total of 10 seconds.
I have more such useless information cluttering my brain but I will refrain from doing the same to this post, out of consideration for the few readers I have - do I hear sighs of relief?
The ferry docked at Calais port bright and early at around 5.30am. I had thought we would base ourselves there and drive to nearby places, but Pete decided he wanted to drive onward. We were somewhat hampered by the fact that the car was by now running on petrol fumes, so we drove around looking rather desperately for a petrol station. Finally found a tiny one in the middle of Calais that would open at 6 a.m.
Since we had 15 minutes to kill, I took the opportunity to wander around and found the Town Hall - a colourful building that reminded me of wedding cake. Its imposing belfry looked like it was made of iron, in surprising contrast to the rest of the building.
In front of the Town Hall was the famous Six Burghers of Calais statue made (sculpted? created?) by Rodin, to commemorate the 6 brave citizens who were ready to give up their lives in return for the safety of the rest of Calais' population when they surrendered to England's Edward III after a year-long siege. (Phew. Talk about history encapsulated. Take the time for a few deep breaths before going on to the next sentence!).
The only thing I found annoying was that I couldnt take a photo of just the statue - the Town Hall building kept getting in the background. On the other hand, I managed to take a photo of a butterfly that landed on one of the statues' head - taking a rest before targeting the flowers, I suppose. Anyway, it's my one puny effort at Nature photography, haha.
The garden around the statue was beautiful - the flower arrangements were exotic (compared to what I see in Shrewsbury) and very, very colourful, a real feast for the eyes.
Even better was a traffic circle which had a bush shaped to look like a peacock's long neck - and the colourful spread of its feathers was duplicated by multicoloured flowers. I tried my best to get a photo of it as a whole, but again, trees/buildings/power lines/lamp-posts kept popping up no matter what angle I tried. It was the loveliest flower arrangement I've seen on the ground, and the photo does it no justice at all. Especially as it was taken in the early morning light (which wasnt enough).
A few dozen photos later (of which only a few were worthwhile, actually), the car replete with petrol by then, we were on our way again. Our destination was Luxembourg, that little country stuck between France, Germany and Holland. I had been there before and loved the place, although I had not seen enough of it in the short time I spent there. And since Pete had not been there at all, it seemed like a good place to (re)visit.
From Calais, it's a very short driving distance to the Belgian border (or the Dutch one, for that matter). Even if I hadnt seen the big notice that announced "Belgie", I would have known I was on Belgian roads because of the lunatic traffic. Imagine, if you will, the inconsiderate, undisciplined, discourteous Indian drivers - then imagine that sort of driving ethic at speeds in excess of 80 miles per hour (about 130kmph), and you have a pretty accurate idea of Belgian drivers.
It was nerve-wracking to see vehicles muscling in with barely enough space between our car and the one in front, without even a blink to indicate the sudden changing of lanes - and almost the very next moment, the vehicle would move back to the original lane. And I'm talking about those enormous 18-wheeler container trucks playing "tag" with each other in fast-moving traffic. My first impression of Belgian traffic as being terrible was set in reinforced concrete this time around. No wonder you hear police/ambulance sirens ALL the time in this country!
To think Brussels, with its hazardous drivers, is the seat of the EU, the place from which all rules - from traffic to work laws - are handed out to the UK and sought to be enforced. I think Brussels should look to its laws being followed by Belgians before it sets its sights elsewhere!
Whatever, it was a relief to bypass Brussels and get onto the motorway to Luxembourg. The drive is pleasant in more ways than one - for one thing, the views are spectacular... forests, mountains, valleys, rivers. It was unspoilt and beautiful, at least on the surface.
We reached Luxembourg at about midday. After a drive around the city centre, trying to find a hotel that didnt look like it would charge a year's income for a night's stay, Pete finally decided on one called Le Royal (good decision - it only charged half a year's income, hah). No complaints about the service, the room, the atmosphere - they were all luxurious almost to a fault.
We watched the car disappear into the bowels of the parking lot, escorted by a valet. Then, after a shower, we set off on our cycles. Luxembourg is a lovely city, set in the mountains, so that you get spectacular views off bridges (and there are many) that have been built over the Rivers Petrusse and Alzette.
The old town is in the bowels of the valley, and the buildings there are beautiful - especially viewed from above, they look like toy models. The modern part of the city is almost as pretty, and neater than any place I've ever been to. Although there were lots of dogs being walked (or carried), there wasnt any poo.
Our cycles really came into their own in the town centre. Had we been in the car, we would have had trouble finding a place to park. And of course, we would have had to curtail our alcohol consumption keeping in mind the driving back part. That is, Pete would have had that problem. But as things were, we cycled merrily around, following road rules and keeping to the cycle paths where possible - but more often than not, riding down footpaths on the wrong side of the road, not even worrying about one-ways.
For the first hour or so, we rode around getting familiar with the city centre, checking out the monuments and shops. A lot of the shops were shut, it being a weekend, but the cafes were all open. The Place Guillaume (I bet my spelling is wrong - bloody French words), the big square with cafes all around, and a stage in the centre, was THE place to be, so we settled there. At Chi-chi, a Mexican eatery and outdoor cafe, on my insistence. Well why not? At least they werent offering up snails for our gastronomic pleasure! And I like Mexican food.
Anyway, the cafe was a perfect choice - we had a VERY good looking waiter. Unfortunately I dont have a good photo (Pete kindly took this one because I didnt want make my admiration obvious to the waiter!) but it gives a general idea. Whatsisname didnt speak much - any - English but he had a killer smile and understood just fine when we pointed at items on the menu, so all went very well.
It was a nice relaxed evening spent in the shade of an umbrella, watching various kinds of people (some unidentifiable as to gender) walking around, surreptitiously admiring the waiter (Pete declined to join me in this), and slowly drinking a large jugful of wonderful strawberry margarita. Pete opted for sangria, but margaritas are my special joy.
At the end of the evening, after the band playing live music at the square had gone home and the cafes were closing, we wobbled around town some more on our cycles,l taking some very bad (all mine) night photographs before heading back to the hotel. I think the national library looks beautiful despite my best efforts!
All in all, it had been such a lovely relaxing day, and we'd still seen so little of the city that we decided to stay all of Sunday as well, and leave on Monday.
Part 2 to follow.