We met our official Tour Director and regular tour mates at the hotel lobby that morning. Majority were from Australia, two couples were from New Zealand, there was a family from the United States, and a solo traveler from Canada.
Aboard the bus, our Tour Director told us that it was just our temporary transportation. It would take us from London to Dover, but after we cross the English Channel to France, we would transfer to our regular tour bus - a more luxurious model with a nicer washroom and more leg room for all passengers, as described on the tour company's website.
We were given a short tour around London's famous sights and neighbourhoods (which was good, because some of our tour mates arrived just the night before and didn't get the chance to see London yet) and then we headed southeast to the coast.
It was a non-descript drive to the coastal town of Dover but we passed by an imposing castle perched on top of a hill overlooking the English Channel. Dover Castle, founded in the 12th century, has been described as the “Key to England” for it has guarded the English shores from invaders for twenty centuries. It is the largest castle in England and is a very popular film location for movies and television series set in the Middle Ages.
Our guide refreshed our memories, in case we had seen the most recent films and shows shot on this castle - Lady Jane (1986 movie), The Lady and the Highwayman (a 1988 TV movie), History of Britain (2000 documentary), The Six Wives of Henry VIII (2001 documentary), To Kill a King (2003 movie), The Other Boleyn Girl (2008 movie), and episodes from the series, Wolf Hall, The Hollow Crown, and Poirot. Ah, that was why it looked familiar. I love watching period films and coincidentally that time, I had just seen The Other Boleyn Girl.
(Update: More productions had since used this location - Into the Woods in 2014, Avengers: Age of Ultron in 2015, and The Crown in 2016).
As we drove closer, it was clear that Dover Castle and its fortifications command the string of cliffs overlooking the Strait of Dover. The massive towers and thick walls had surely intimidated invaders. Built by Henry II in the 1100s, it had evolved overtime to suit the defensive needs of the British people, from the Roman conquest of Britannia to the Second World War. It's too bad that a castle tour was not part of our itinerary. We were there for a more nature-inspired visit.
Dover is best known for its white cliffs that tower up to 350 feet. The color is mainly from chalk accentuated by streaks of black flint. Its geologic history was most interesting to my husband. The soft, white chalk that covers the cliffs are finely grained limestones that resulted from the remains of coccoliths, which were tiny green algae that once floated in the sea. When they died, they sank to the bottom of the ocean and formed layers of chalk that gradually crept up the cliffs. This, of course, took millions of years, considering it takes a full year for the layer to rise half a millimeter! It was like Mother Nature painting a canvas with white paint from the bottom up, but taking her sweet time.
We heard that there is a circular trail on top of the cliffs and that it is dotted by interesting wildflowers, such as exotic orchids and snapdragons, as well as beautiful butterflies, including the elusive Adonis Blue. The Exmoor ponies, a very rare breed found only in this area, graze among its grasslands and munch on hawthorn berries and thistle buds. There is also a Victorian lighthouse and a fan bay deep shelter used during the war that could be visited on a guided tour.
However, we were there to cross the English Channel. After taking pictures of the white cliffs, we boarded our ferry and temporarily said good bye to the British Isles. Dover faces France across the Strait of Dover, the narrowest part of the English Channel. The channel is an arm of the Atlantic Ocean that separates Southern England from northern France and links to the southern part of the North Sea by the Strait of Dover at its northeastern end.
In the olden days, when people traveled to and from Continental Europe primarily by boats, the first or last sight they see of England were the port of Dover and these cliffs. Thus, for centuries, the cliffs were said to have been a sign of either hope or freedom, depending on whether one was departing or arriving. I couldn’t help but feel dramatic as our ferry slowly sailed away.
We spent most of the ride standing on the deck. It was windy, but we did not mind because the further we sailed away, the more we saw the white cliffs in their full stretch, displaying their sharp edges and the layers of lush, green, grass on its surface. They stood tall and proud, and from afar, they appeared like white vanguards of the land.
These cliffs, like the castle, have witnessed many wars and invasions. In fact, there was even a World War II song composed in 1941 that paid homage to these cliffs. It was called,
"(There'll Be Bluebirds Over) The White Cliffs of Dover" sung by Vera Lynn. Its uplifting lyrics resonated with the British troops as they faced the onslaught of the German forces, giving them hope that one day, "There'll be bluebirds over the White cliffs of Dover tomorrow, just you wait and see."
Halfway through our sailing, 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....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, plus 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. 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.
Photo Credits:
DeFacto (Wikipedia), ancient.eu, expedia.ca, informationfrance.com, portofantwerp.com, tripsavvy.com, english-heritage.com.uk, nationaltrust.org.uk, worldatlas.com
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