In this article Wendy describes her journey back to Folkestone after a lovely weekend on their sailing boat. What an adventure!!
Acknowledgements : Photos provided under Creative Commons Licence by " an agent" ( Lille Flanders) and left-handed-male ( ferry) I also thank Wendy for the photos.
Easter in the snow on our boat in the Netherlands had been lovely
and on Easter Monday we cheerfully loaded everything into the car to come home. Having Tom (my 20 year old)
made the whole process much quicker than normal, so we planned to stop for some chips and mayonnaise en route. Tom was just on his last trip from the car back to the boat, down the pontoon, when he put his hands into his pocket and ping, the car �key� (in reality an electronic card not much bigger than a thick credit card) fell out, bounced off the pontoon and into the water!
Although the water was clear and relatively shallow, we were unable to see the key. A magnet supposedly capable of carrying 64 kilos recovered nothing more than an old cigarette lighter. Meanwhile, Kim inflated the dinghy and leant out of it for ages at a very dangerous angle, even borrowing a face mask at one stage to get a clearer view of the bottom, but after more than an hour, and with the blizzard now starting again, we were forced to admit defeat. We had insurance for this type of event after all.
Wrong! A call to AA insurance confirmed that we were not covered for loss of keys, on the basis that we should carry a spare set. However, Kim had only ever been given one set of keys as the car is a lease car and we couldn�t contact the lease company until the Tuesday morning. Still, we could see the funny side and headed off into the village for another excellent meal, where it was decided that I would leave very early the next day and get home in time to have the spare key sent by courier for me to drive back over with on Wednesday, if necessary.
Wrong again! I left the boat at 5.30 in the morning and got the first bus into Goes, only to find the ticket office closed. I bought a ticket from the machine to the first big town on the mainland 10 miles away. A month long programme of engineering works in the area, meant that buses were replacing all trains and being the first working day of the new arrangements, it was pandemonium. I was even interviewed about it by a Dutch radio reporter!
Things did not improve much after the 50 minute bus journey. Again the ticket office was shut and when I asked the Dutch �Can I help you� man how to get to Calais, his response was, �That�s a long way to go!� He advised me to go to the next big town, Roosendaal, which is on the InterCity routes, and ask there. By this time I had just missed one train, so had to wait 35 minutes for the next one.
Roosendaal was a large station and looked promising, but once again the information offices were shut and the best I could manage was a ticket to Brussels, with a train leaving in 4 minutes. I made a breathless dash across the station, only to find that the Brussels train was running 20 minutes late. By this time, Kim had contacted the lease company and it was agreed that the key would be sent by 24 hour courier to Holland, to arrive by 1 pm on Wednesday.
It was still barely 9 o�clock UK time when I got the train to Brussels, so I rang the kennels to say that I would be �a bit late� picking up the dog and settled back to enjoy the journey. At Brussels Midi station I immediately set about finding a functioning information office and was surprised to be greeted with the same disinterested shrugs and �booofs� as I know from living in Paris. Eventually an only slightly more interested lady looked it up and told me that I had to go to Lille, change sta
tions and get on a train at 11.57, arriving in Calais at 13.10. Excellent, I was going to be home by 4.30 latest.
Wrong again. I have changed stations at Lille before so knew my way, but whichever way you look at it, it is still a long way to walk in 12 minutes. I entered Lille Flandres station alongside platform 13 with 2 minutes to spare, only to see from the board that the 11.57 left from platform 0, right at the opposite side of the station. By the time I reached the train and jumped into the first carriage seconds before it pulled away, I was feeling quite ill but still chuffed that I would be in Calais by 1.10.
Yes.. wrong again! I soon had the feeling that this train was not going where I wanted to go. Eventually the ticket man came round, looked it up in his book and informed me that the only 11.57 from Lille goes to Amiens (not that far north of Paris), from where I could get a train to Boulogne at 14.35, arriving 16.00, and from there a train at 16.31 arriving in Calais at 17.15.
From this point on the journey ceased to be fun, but I did at least manage to just catch a train to Calais leaving 30 minutes earlier than planned and after a brisk walk to the ferry terminal, had bought my ticket by about 5.30. I was told that the next crossing was in 2� hours, arriving in Dover at 21.10. I wasn�t happy but could do nothing about it. Whilst waiting I was accosted by a youngish chap of obviously non-UK origin wanting 20 euros for the crossing because his hotel room had been broken into (I later heard him recounting that he had been mugged!). I then realised that SeaFrance had a sailing an hour earlier, so I tried to get my money back from P&O but was stuck behind another �dodgy� but much older individual who claimed that he worked for �British Rail� and could get a reduced ticket. Ten minutes later and he stormed off shouting abuse, eventually buying a full-price ticket with SeaFrance.
The contingent of foot passengers in the laughingly named �departure lounge� for the crossing, consisted of me, the chap who had been mugged or whatever, another dubious looking chap with a black bin bag who took ages to get through immigration, the bolshy British Rail worker and another chap with a
patch over one eye who looked like he hadn�t seen the inside of a shower for weeks! A motley crew indeed.
Fortunately we docked in Dover on time, but as foot passengers we had to hold back at the end until the footbridge was lowered. As I was standing waiting, I was accosted by an American lady who proceeded to tell me that my announcements were not loud enough and that my toilets were smelly - obviously mistaking the sailing jacket I was wearing for a SeaFrance uniform!
I eventually walked in the door at 8.50, only just over 15 hours since I had left the boat, jumped into my own car and went straight to the pub up the road where Lucy and her friend had been waiting for 3 hours because she didn�t have a key to get in. But if you think it ends there, then you are�
Wrong! After much chasing and complaining to Parcel Force, the �24 hour� delivery eventually arrived at the marina at 2.30 on Friday afternoon, almost exactly 72 hours after it was picked up, with Tom and Kim arriving home at 10 that evening. For a few hours, even Kim didn�t talk about going back to the boat!
and on Easter Monday we cheerfully loaded everything into the car to come home. Having Tom (my 20 year old)
made the whole process much quicker than normal, so we planned to stop for some chips and mayonnaise en route. Tom was just on his last trip from the car back to the boat, down the pontoon, when he put his hands into his pocket and ping, the car �key� (in reality an electronic card not much bigger than a thick credit card) fell out, bounced off the pontoon and into the water!Although the water was clear and relatively shallow, we were unable to see the key. A magnet supposedly capable of carrying 64 kilos recovered nothing more than an old cigarette lighter. Meanwhile, Kim inflated the dinghy and leant out of it for ages at a very dangerous angle, even borrowing a face mask at one stage to get a clearer view of the bottom, but after more than an hour, and with the blizzard now starting again, we were forced to admit defeat. We had insurance for this type of event after all.
Wrong! A call to AA insurance confirmed that we were not covered for loss of keys, on the basis that we should carry a spare set. However, Kim had only ever been given one set of keys as the car is a lease car and we couldn�t contact the lease company until the Tuesday morning. Still, we could see the funny side and headed off into the village for another excellent meal, where it was decided that I would leave very early the next day and get home in time to have the spare key sent by courier for me to drive back over with on Wednesday, if necessary.
Wrong again! I left the boat at 5.30 in the morning and got the first bus into Goes, only to find the ticket office closed. I bought a ticket from the machine to the first big town on the mainland 10 miles away. A month long programme of engineering works in the area, meant that buses were replacing all trains and being the first working day of the new arrangements, it was pandemonium. I was even interviewed about it by a Dutch radio reporter!
Things did not improve much after the 50 minute bus journey. Again the ticket office was shut and when I asked the Dutch �Can I help you� man how to get to Calais, his response was, �That�s a long way to go!� He advised me to go to the next big town, Roosendaal, which is on the InterCity routes, and ask there. By this time I had just missed one train, so had to wait 35 minutes for the next one.Roosendaal was a large station and looked promising, but once again the information offices were shut and the best I could manage was a ticket to Brussels, with a train leaving in 4 minutes. I made a breathless dash across the station, only to find that the Brussels train was running 20 minutes late. By this time, Kim had contacted the lease company and it was agreed that the key would be sent by 24 hour courier to Holland, to arrive by 1 pm on Wednesday.
It was still barely 9 o�clock UK time when I got the train to Brussels, so I rang the kennels to say that I would be �a bit late� picking up the dog and settled back to enjoy the journey. At Brussels Midi station I immediately set about finding a functioning information office and was surprised to be greeted with the same disinterested shrugs and �booofs� as I know from living in Paris. Eventually an only slightly more interested lady looked it up and told me that I had to go to Lille, change sta
tions and get on a train at 11.57, arriving in Calais at 13.10. Excellent, I was going to be home by 4.30 latest.Wrong again. I have changed stations at Lille before so knew my way, but whichever way you look at it, it is still a long way to walk in 12 minutes. I entered Lille Flandres station alongside platform 13 with 2 minutes to spare, only to see from the board that the 11.57 left from platform 0, right at the opposite side of the station. By the time I reached the train and jumped into the first carriage seconds before it pulled away, I was feeling quite ill but still chuffed that I would be in Calais by 1.10.
Yes.. wrong again! I soon had the feeling that this train was not going where I wanted to go. Eventually the ticket man came round, looked it up in his book and informed me that the only 11.57 from Lille goes to Amiens (not that far north of Paris), from where I could get a train to Boulogne at 14.35, arriving 16.00, and from there a train at 16.31 arriving in Calais at 17.15.
From this point on the journey ceased to be fun, but I did at least manage to just catch a train to Calais leaving 30 minutes earlier than planned and after a brisk walk to the ferry terminal, had bought my ticket by about 5.30. I was told that the next crossing was in 2� hours, arriving in Dover at 21.10. I wasn�t happy but could do nothing about it. Whilst waiting I was accosted by a youngish chap of obviously non-UK origin wanting 20 euros for the crossing because his hotel room had been broken into (I later heard him recounting that he had been mugged!). I then realised that SeaFrance had a sailing an hour earlier, so I tried to get my money back from P&O but was stuck behind another �dodgy� but much older individual who claimed that he worked for �British Rail� and could get a reduced ticket. Ten minutes later and he stormed off shouting abuse, eventually buying a full-price ticket with SeaFrance.
The contingent of foot passengers in the laughingly named �departure lounge� for the crossing, consisted of me, the chap who had been mugged or whatever, another dubious looking chap with a black bin bag who took ages to get through immigration, the bolshy British Rail worker and another chap with a
patch over one eye who looked like he hadn�t seen the inside of a shower for weeks! A motley crew indeed.Fortunately we docked in Dover on time, but as foot passengers we had to hold back at the end until the footbridge was lowered. As I was standing waiting, I was accosted by an American lady who proceeded to tell me that my announcements were not loud enough and that my toilets were smelly - obviously mistaking the sailing jacket I was wearing for a SeaFrance uniform!
I eventually walked in the door at 8.50, only just over 15 hours since I had left the boat, jumped into my own car and went straight to the pub up the road where Lucy and her friend had been waiting for 3 hours because she didn�t have a key to get in. But if you think it ends there, then you are�
Wrong! After much chasing and complaining to Parcel Force, the �24 hour� delivery eventually arrived at the marina at 2.30 on Friday afternoon, almost exactly 72 hours after it was picked up, with Tom and Kim arriving home at 10 that evening. For a few hours, even Kim didn�t talk about going back to the boat!
Acknowledgements : Photos provided under Creative Commons Licence by " an agent" ( Lille Flanders) and left-handed-male ( ferry) I also thank Wendy for the photos.
Our Easter (mis)adventure.
Reviewed by shao ying
on
02:53
Rating:
Reviewed by shao ying
on
02:53
Rating:
No comments: