As I sit here in my new flat at my desk propped up against a window with, finally, a view out into the world, the first thought that comes to mind is a nostalgic one that I’ve had since I visited Calais with my folks back when I was 20. This strange nostalgic yearning has crept up on me now and then over the past decade. It’s not a particularly glamorous memory, in fact, it’s rather simple, but finally I feel as if I’ve arrived.
“Where the bloody ‘ell is that beach?” said my Dad as we pulled over just outside the centre of Calais. I peered out of the window and grinned at a couple of French ladies sat outside a cafe sipping on coffee. They both smiled at me and giggled. I sat up, surprised that they’d responded.
“Let’s have a drink in there,” I said to my parents, waving as the chirpy mademoiselles continued to smile.
“I think we should have turned right back there,” said my Mum, holding the map the wrong way round.
“Damn it,” said my Dad, putting his foot down. I glanced back as the French ladies slowly drifted away. I smiled to myself, happy that I’d partially interacted with the locals.
Within an hour, or so, we were walking along the beach front, not bad considering it was only ten minutes from the harbour.
“Lovely here, isn’t it?” said my Mum as she put her arm round me. Continue reading “A Nostalgic Yearning Finally in Place”