Eastbourne to Boulogne 17/18 May 2013

I should apologise immediately. There are some words or phrases which automatically trigger a response from me, I can't help it - it seems hard wired. The name "Eastbourne" has that effect and links with a "boat train" poster of the 50's offering trips to the continent...and here stated with my auto response: "Harwich for the Continent" ...and "Eastbourne for the Incontinent." Well it continues to amuse my simple humour.

Eastbourne offered a good jumping off stage "for the Continent" out through the lock at 6:30am into an unfortunate lumpy sea brought up by an un-sailable head wind for which there was no alternative but to motor. Let me pass by the next four hours of little change listening to Radio Four and spotting cuttle fish bones, fulmars and gannets. Finally the mysterious shapes of Dungeness B disappeared into the haze, the wind backed a few degrees to give us some lift off the main to speed on through the shipping lanes - a good number of tankers and cargo vessels in gangs of three or four with six mile gaps till the next bunch - no problem there using AIS to plot their predicted paths from 10 miles away - Jane is very good at it.

Two large dolphins appeared on the port quarter about 60 metres away, arcing slowly one after the other side by side. Huge black glistening bodies - they kept pace for a while as if asking us to play, then streaked under the boat and back again, turning their bodies displaying a pale light flash through the water. These displays never fail to enthral with a sense of communication between creature species.

Boulogne harbour is colossal and like the town, consequently shows every sign of having been flattened during the war, the low cost rapidly erected blocks of flats and fast build architecture typical of the 1950 and 60's yet somehow very French in character, possibly the wide open spaces and advertisements here and there. A vast and colourful fleet of family owned fishing boats treble banks itself below the extensive harbour wall and above, endless ranks of fishmongers at their stalls, every one piled high with the freshest catch brought in daily.

Above the new town stands the ancient fortified city, and the earlier moated chateau with its links to the Norman Kings of England. Through the towered gates into the cobbled street where today full length flags of friendship are draped from the town hall windows, a splash of brilliant colour in the sunshine and around the square there are flowers and café dwellers taking their coffee and aperitif and resolving the worlds problems - once more.

The gulls are now quiet, the night festivities are yet to start - a loud and professional pop band were practising in the park earlier, no doubt now biding their time.