Hi ho, hi ho, it’s off to France we go: the start of the European leg of this year’s adventure.
We’re catching the ferry from Dover to Calais, not our usual crossing, but it is the shortest, and there’s merit in that. It leaves at a very polite hour so there’s no morning rush. It’s another drizzly day – general opinion is that it’s set to stay all week.
I’m full of admiration for those who coordinate the logistics of ferries – no sooner than the first cars from France are off, we’re loaded and on our way. There’s barely time to settle and open a book before it’s time to disembark.
Calais is not the most exciting entry point to France. Its troubled past is evidenced by miles of razor wire that surround the terminal – it also carries a travel warning (albeit in the other direction) for illegal immigration attempts.
It’s an uneventful day in the main, the ferry ride then escaping Calais, surrounded by farmland.
The absolute highlight is the sight of of a teeny weenie baby French bunny, darting out of thick grass, thinking better off it, then darting back under cover, his little white tail flashing furiously.
Seeing a bunny in France is quite a rarity – they’re hunted mercilessly here. In fact, in 15 years of travel, we’ve only seen French bunnies once, in the Parc des Felines, a private big (and small) cat zoo, where they cheekily lived in amongst the large cats. My theory is that they hired the cats for protection. I dubbed it the headquarters of the UBR (underground bunny resistance). Left to my own devices, I amuse myself endlessly…
Later in the night I see another, nibbling at the edge of a woodland. They’re a little darker here, a little bit fluffier too. Maybe Spring is the key to bunny spotting in France. Watch this space! 🐇🐾