The ship sails both ways
I missed my mental target of posting every Saturday, but I’m not being too harsh. This time I think I had a good excuse – I’ve just spent the past two weeks making good my escape from Blighty. A few obstacles appeared to block our path, as they always will. My Brexit-supporting relative decided it would be a good time to be even more demanding of my time and patience than usual, and I hadn’t even mentioned my imminent departure. The last time she phoned me whilst we were away, she’d exclaimed, ‘What are you doing there?!’ in response to the news that we were in France. I didn’t think it was a good idea to reveal our plans. The other relatives who cannot be mentioned were even less supportive, but all attempts at emotional blackmail over the past few weeks had failed to produce a result. The only thing that would stop me now was Covid, so I stayed away from the mask-less numpties.
The campervan decided to throw a last-minute
spanner in the works by springing a puncture on us. Fortunately, we were able
to get a speedy appointment at a local tyre centre and £150 later all was
fixed. I’d been sorting and packing for several weeks, but of course there is
always something that gets left behind (the computer screen HDMI lead) or
things that you wish you’d packed (my favourite salad bowl, paperclips and a
stapler). Hopefully, these will all make it down on Mr VV’s next trip, whenever
that will be. We managed to slip away without too much drama. There were a few
tense moments when the M25 ground to a standstill – climate change protesters.
But we only lost an hour and were still at Eurotunnel before our booked departure.
No issues with the dogs’ passports and forty minutes later we were back on French
soil once again and ready for a leisurely cruise down to the Charente-Maritime.
Over the years, we’ve noticed a
somewhat judgemental trend amongst some in the expat crowd, vying to be ‘more
French than the French’. Anyone who expressed any hint of dissatisfaction or,
declared their intention to move on or return ‘home’, was considered to be a
failure. Hence, we coined our response ‘the ship sails both ways’. There are
(or at least were, pre-Brexit) as many people arriving in France for the promise
of a new adventure as those returning the other way. I keep my eye on the comings
and goings on two social media groups: one for folk returning to the UK and one
for folk moving to France. It’s an interesting contrast. Recently, I’ve been
following the progress of two such posters, both crossing the Channel in
opposite directions at around the same time as us. The first had lived in
France a long time, moved back to the UK, couldn’t settle, gone back to France,
decided that it was still not the place, and was returning once again to
the UK; this time they hope definitively. I really admired their honesty about
the difficulties of finding the place where you feel you really fit in,
somewhere to call home. The second travellers drew my attention as they were
making the move to France post-Brexit, having had to go through all the
rigmarole of obtaining visas. Bon courage! So, the ship really does sail both
ways.
I’ve spent the last week and a
half settling in; inevitably everything takes twice as long as you think it
will. The Hut hadn’t been overrun by ants but there was a leaking tap to get
fixed. But, finally, even if I haven’t got full 4G internet access set up quite
yet, our Box is on its way, and I have managed to get the new printer going. All
my stuff is unpacked, we got hold of a second-hand freezer, Dylan has been to
the vets for a full check-up and I’ve been practising driving the campervan. There
have been moments of frustration; like the hour spent on the phone to Bouygues
(good for the French practice) but there is a lesson in all of this somewhere.
Slow down, relax and have patience. It will all come together in the end. And,
if I had ever had any doubts about leaving the UK again, a post about a stolen
dog on the Layer village Facebook page was enough to confirm I had done the
right thing. It was inevitable that the tide of dog thieving would eventually reach
our part of Essex, and I’m glad I’ve got our guys out to France. Now it’s time to
get on with my vegan research and start making some plans for the next few
weeks.
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