Saints Be Praised in England: El Túnel - Part Duex

Wahoo!!

After considering driving to Italy and even driving to Budapest (can you believe that?), I decided we needed to experience Brittany, France. I want to see Mont St. Michel and I cannot wait another second. And what better way to go than to drive there on the Channel Tunnel? I was very excited, so much so that before even going on one trip I decided we need to be frequent travelers on the Chunnel, and prepaid for 10 trips. The night before we left I read a blurb someone wrote online about how awful the Chunnel ride is. The critic said you are sealed into a train car with seven other cars (wrong, it's five!), the car is pressurized, his ears hurt (for some reason I assume it was a man doing the complaining...) lights flash for the entire journey and he had a headache the rest of the day. To be honest, I was a little freaked out. Driving under the English Channel...what if something happens? An earthquake, an explosion of some sort? A cave in? What if lights flash, my ears hurt and I get a headache?

It is remarkably easy. Make the reservation, drive to Folkestone at the tippy bottom of Eastern England, show your reservation confirmation number, literally flash your passports at a gentleman who is likely unsatisfied with his present career, and when your group is announced, follow the directions to the train and drive yourself right on.

Next I needed to have a chat with myself about not having a panic attack, not feeling claustrophobic, not getting freaked out about the headache or worse. A person in a vest directed us to snug up right behind the car in front and they sealed us good and tight. They ask you to lower your windows half way down, put your car in park or in first gear, apply the handbrake and turn off the engine. Breathe in, breathe out...I'm not going to panic, why would I panic? Breathe in, breathe out...

The boys were happy to get out of their mongo car seats and move around the car, sit in our laps, and get out and walk around. Every third car there is a rest room if you need one, luckily, we did not. In the above photo you can see other people out of their cars.

The ride is short, less than 30 minutes, top speed is 140 km/hour, there were a few flashing lights, maybe two, you could see out of small windows on the side of the train. I did feel a tiny bit of pressure change, but I am happy to report, no headache nor earache. And boom, you're in France!

You're in France, but not in Brittany, France. No, to get there, you have to drive about five to six more hours. Did I mention we had already been in the car for about 3 hours? Did I mention that when I asked Mike to pack the kids toys he threw all of them into a big suitcase and buried it deep in the trunk, not leaving any to play with in the car? Did I mention there were riots in France and the supply of gas or in our case, deisel or Gazole was hard to find? I think Mike wanted to call me a Gazole for planning this relaxing vacation.

Well we made it to the charming cottage I found online, named Dolce Vita.

It was night time, very dark, and the cottage directions said if you arrived late, they would leave the keys under the mat. We managed to find the cottage, I walked alone through the gate in total darkness, into a garden, trying not to fall and wreck my good looks on the stone steps charmingly disguised. I saw there were three doors, so I groped around and found a large set of keys under a mat. It took me about 10 minutes to try key after key in what I assume is the right door and right keyhole...I finally got it and was able to see the precious, teensy cottage with the giant fire place.

I loved the beautiful stonework. I loved the gorgeous garden. I loved the old stair case and how you can feel the warped steps where many feet have trod over many years. Utterly charming.

What I didn't love so much was how FREEZING it was, how the electricity blew in the kitchen five minutes after we walked in with dinner to make and groceries to unload in the now not-funcioning fridge, how there were only three bowls/plate like items to use for eating.

Here is Dominic, fully embracing being Baby Bear with his tiny bowl of porridge,
one of the three food eating items in the cottage.

Here is Mike, not so fully embracing cooking in total darkness and freezing cold.

We discovered we were not completely alone in our first impressions of the cottage. Here is a tip to owners of vacation rental properties - either don't have a guest book, or if you do, make the changes that are suggested and get a new book, or last idea, throw the book away after every complaint. We wondered if the owners of this property could read, because we found the guest book and it was filled with complaints.

Onward and upward! We cranked up the wall heaters, piled all of the blankets we could find on the beds and made it through the night.

Someone has been sleeping in Baby Bear's bed!
Is this not so The Three Little Bears?

We have no phones. Mine has no service in France and Mike's is dead because he forgot his phone charger...gazole...

I have a list of what we need to do in Brittany, but that has to wait, because we need to find internet. Mike cannot be completly away from his job, ever. That is a fact that sometimes annoys me when we are on vacation, but I have learned it is part of the deal. Plus, he is more relaxed if he can chip away, as he says. And I want to touch base with our loved ones and let them know that we have no phones, and how to reach us if needed. We read in the guest book that someone recommended St. Brieuc as a good place to find internet, so I pulled out my Brittany guide and checked it out and saw that the third attraction of the town was the Parc des Promenades. Fantastic! It's not on my list, but the boys love to go to parks, and this is listed as having interesting sculptures on a walk encircling the law courts. Sounds lovely, we'll go into St. Brieuc, go to the park, have lunch and find that handy internet.

Our sat nav "Cartrina" leads the way and we pull up to a strange looking park-ish type place. We read and reread the guide book, zoom in and out of the sat nav maps and decide this has to be the place. It seems like a great place to do a few things, none of them include entertaining children. One great use of the park is to bring your dog to take a dump and not clean up after it. We discovered that one right away as Mike went hydroplaning or maybe it's coproplaning on a giant turd that crossed his path. The other fun thing you can do at this park is bring along some spray paint and tag a wall with graffiti. Our last guess about what's to do at Parc des Promenades is to go and pick up a gentleman that might be interested in a quickie. That's all she wrote. Our boys didn't seem to mind and went racing off into the nearly abandoned park, dashing into the bushes and shrieking for us to chase them. We had to drag them, but we got the hell out of there.

It's still freezing, and now it's raining also.

Craptastic is a word Mike likes to use to describe days like this. I looked it up in the Urban Dictionary, I love it. This was full blown craptastic.

We managed to find a restaurant serving kebabs owned by a multilingual Turkish man who was lovely and gracious and brought us back to life. Michael had his first Orangina and fell in love and his first taste of kebab and gave it a so-so. Dominic gave it a firm I-don't-think-so.

We asked about a park as the boys had been promised playtime extraordinaire, and were directed up and around the street. We found it and after some encouragement the boys began to play with three lovely children. It is remarkable how they meet and immediately make friends.

Livingstone, Laura, Emmanuelle and Michael.

Universal language of tag.

By the way, no internet to be found in St. Brieuc...but there were a number of disenchanted looking youth. You know the look? A lot of life packed into a short number of years? Usually a dog is involved with a makeshift leash, and some signs of travel? Often hair appears to be managed by untrained scissors or razors? I saw many young people in this category. I want to ask them, "Does your mama know where you are? Do you want a hug or a sandwich?" But I'm afraid they'll knife me.

Happily, we made it out and I am sure we missed the charming parts of St. Brieuc, named for a 5th century Gaulish monk.

We drove a few miles up the rode to Binic. Oh Binic!! You adorable sea-side town with internet!! Oh Binic, you happy source of crepes!