Epic Adventure
Kyle Taylor – gaytravel.com Blogger
Our packed Citroen C4 screeches to a halt just outside the Calais Ferry Terminal building. We are almost at the gay and lesbian travel destination of London. Adam and Charlie dart inside, as we’re frantically attempting to book tickets as foot passengers to save Charlie’s Mom the hassle of ferrying over from Dover just to go back 15 minutes later. Unfortunately, there are literally hundreds of people snaking around the building in a line that stretches for what seems like miles. Some are standing, some are sitting, and some are bundled in a sleeping bag attempting to catch up on days of missed rest. We follow the zig-zag all the way to the front, where just two people are behind the counter selling tickets. Two employees for the continent of Europe. Obviously.
Realizing there was no hope of getting walk-on tickets, we made the call and had Gillian and Malcolm (our Knights in Shining Armor) board the dog gone ferry. Now with nearly two hours of free time on our hands (free time you say? CRAZY!) we decided it would be a good idea to do a dry run of their route to make sure we could give very accurate instructions so as to make the 4:45am ferry instead of waiting until 6:15am. FYI: 3am dry-runs on a highway by 5 sleep-deprived people might not be the best idea.
The ferry exit leads directly to a highway that has only one exit 5 miles down the road. That exit has both a left and right turn option which leads to a roundabout that swoops under the highway and back onto the ferry return lane, shooting vehicles back into the boarding zone to go back to England. Confusing? Try putting all of that into a text message, which took us 15 minutes to agree on wording. It was the first and only moment where we got testy with each other. The Ferocious Five were nearing a state of meltdown.
Because it was a highway, we had to lug our bags out into the middle divider, flap our arms to flag down the cars, dump in our bags, and zoom into the customs line. This was, of course, after we parked the car at the end of the lot, ran the key to the drop box in the ferry terminal half a mile away, then raced back to our makeshift pick-up zone. Magically, the entire operation went off without a hitch. As our rides crested over the horizon and our salvation become visible, the excitement exploded. “I have never actually jumped for joy like I did just now,” David said.
Cars and bags safely stowed below, we toasted to our success with ferry-quality champagne, watching the sun rise over the White Cliffs of Dover as we approached good old England. We had done it. We had pulled off the greatest escape in travel history. Bring it volcano. Bring it.
As our train pulled into London and we each headed in our own direction, the end of the Ferocious Five neared. Why, again, did we want the adventure to end? For the life of me, I can’t remember. Getting to the gay and lesbian travel mecca of London wasn’t easy, but at least I have an excellent pair of plumen-goggle-strassen to check out cloud of volcanic ash!
Long live the Ferocious Five!