There and back again

As I mentioned before we went Husband was getting rather stressed about all the forms that had to be filled in to ensure we could get into Italy. He spent days completing them - because they're never simple or work first time - and was seriously worried that we wouldn't be allowed into Italy if he'd made a mistake.

So how did we get on?

Arriving in Folkestone we first had to find the test centre. It was hidden in an industrial estate with very little signage but we got there and had our tests. It was a beautiful day and as we had some time to waste while waiting for results we headed for the sea front. 

There were a couple of amazing hotels, built in the early twentieth century for the rich of London. The Metropole Hotel was first to be opened followed soon after by the Grand, constructed in a fit of pique by the builder after he failed to get the contract for the Metropole. The slightly smaller but even more modern Grand gained the advantage when they got the King, Edward VII, to come and open it. Apparently he danced the first dance with the Queen and the second dance with his official mistress.

While googling to check my facts I came across an article: it seems the Grand sold at auction in June this year for £448,000. Yes, that's less than half a million.

However while Folkestone may have its grand (or not so judging by the price) hotels its beaches are rubbish compared to our Gower beauties.

Anyway, results received: we were both negative so could proceed to next step of the journey i.e. under the sea.

I suppose, working on the principle that the British authorities don't care what diseases you take abroad, we were swished through all border controls, a disinterested, 'You've had the vaccine?' being the closest we came to anyone checking. No, wait, I tell a lie: a woman did swab our steering wheel, for explosives maybe?

We were loaded onto the train, a rather ugly specimen, where we had to stay in the car for the half hour or so it took to travel under the channel.

Apart from it being very warm it was uneventful. I hadn't been looking forward to it but it was fine - as long as I didn't think about what was above me.

We seemed to spend a lot of our travelling time under something, either the sea or mountains. 

The main mountain tunnel - we used the Frejus one - took about fourteen minutes, and the regular Escape Areas didn't calm my nerves overly. I mean, if you got into one and it was like the James Bond film where water is rushing down the pipe towards him, standing to the side isn't going to do much good. It wasn't clear if there were actually escape stairs, which would have had to be very long to get out of the mountain. Brr, I'm shivering now just remembering.

That's the trouble: I've watched too many disaster movies. I know how they all begin. People setting out on a normal day, doing what they have to unaware that a crack has been developing and is getting ready to split open just as they're in the tunnel. (Was The Towering Inferno the first disaster movie? It is the one that had the greatest impact on me. It was terrifying. Perhaps that's why they don't show it very often. The little speech at the end that Steve McQueen makes about tall buildings is probably just as relevant today)

And crossing the Alps led me naturally to Hannibal. If I'd ever thought about it I'd have guessed that he went from Italy into France but it turns out he travelled from Spain, through France and into Italy that way. Quite a trek, with or without elephants.

He probably found it harder getting into Italy than we did. No  border controls at all. After all Husband's stress we simply drove in, and arrived safely at our destination, the home of Younger Son and family.

We took two and a half days to get there; going home we did it in two days. Husband again got stressed by forms - they really don't want people to travel, which is fair enough - and continued to worry until we were back on English soil, having got through all the slightly closer checks easily.

Because of a mistake by either SatNav or User we ended up coming off the motorway and driving cross country to get to our French hotel on the journey home. We could have done without the detour after a long driving day for Husband but as passenger I very much enjoyed it. It was a lovely evening to be be travelling along pretty quiet roads through lush French countryside and pretty little villages. 

Much of the top half of France is dedicated to farming of either the traditional or wind variety. Fields or turbines stretch out as far as you can see either side of the road.

Not the best photo but it gives you the idea.

And the villages always make me think of the war. (Because of all the war films I grew up watching not because I was there you understand. And thinking of the films, they were very sanitised versions of war, with nothing like the authenticity that directors today go for. I imagine a whole generation of us might have been as traumatised as the soldiers who were there if they had been.)

Anyway, we arrived home yesterday afternoon, leaving the sunshine of Italy for this, as we crossed the bridge into Wales.

We still have to do a Covid test tomorrow but at least we do that ourselves. The girl in the chemist in Italy who did ours must have been going for my brain I am convinced.

More - much more - later.

Oh wait, while we're on travelling let me tell you about my conversation with man at Vodaphone. I'd forgotten to set up roaming something or other before we left - I didn't even know I had to - so as my test results were on my phone and I couldn't use my phone, I had to do it while travelling, and before we reached the Italian border. As it turned out nobody cared but we didn't know that so picture me sitting in a service station in France making my phone call on Husband's phone. 

I tried once and though the girl said she'd do it nothing had happened so I called again.

'Hello, I'm from the UK but on holiday in France and I forgot to set up roaming data before I left so please can you do it now?'

I had to answer some security questions - all fine - and then he said, 'I've sent you a text with a code in it. Please tell me the code.'

'Um, I can't access it.'

'Why not?'

'It's on my phone and my phone's not working because I'm in France.'

'Ah I see, so you're on holiday. But you're still in the UK, right?'

'No, I'm in France.'

'But you're in the UK?'

'NO!'

This went on for some time but I won't bore you any more than I already have done; I'll just say he finally understood and got it set up for me. Or he gave up and set it up for me anyway.