CROSSING THE ENGLISH CHANNEL

Friday, March 23, 2007

The rain stopped during the night and the sky was bright, clear and clean this morning as I headed out for my daily walk. I listened to the mellow voice of Roger Whittaker singing, “Eighteen miles each way, from Dover to Calais.” Over the years I have listened to those words dozens of times. But this morning I couldn’t get them out of my mind—“Eighteen miles each way, from Dover to Calais.” In England, Dover is the closest point to Europe. On a clear day you can look across the English Channel from France and see the white cliffs of Dover.

There we were. I could hardly believe it. We were standing on the coast of England looking at the white cliffs of Dover and waiting to cross the English Channel. I was eager to get started. We had been told that it was short trip over to France and that it would be a quick trip aboard a very fast boat. Well, this day, the fast boat wasn’t running because of high winds. We had to cross on a very slow boat that was made even slower because of the choppy waves. What was dreamed of as a wonderful adventure turned into a nightmare. The worst part was the vomiting—not mine and Charlotte's, but many of the others on board. It was sickening to listen to all of that heaving, retching and gagging.

I will always remember the day I stepped off that boat and put my feet on France soil. I had always wanted to go to France but on that day I was overjoyed to be there. I wanted to drop to my knees and kiss the ground. I felt like I had just escaped hell. Needless to say, we flew back to England! Come to think of it, I don’t think I have been on a boat since.