We drove to Calais under showers and grey skies. In the distance, the triangular shapes of the terrils, those piles of excavated dust testifying of the mining past of this otherwise entirely flat region, are truly massive.
We looked for the plaque remembering the Camp du Drap D'or between Francois I (of France) and Henry VIII. It is supposed to be between two villages in the vicinity of Calais, one English one French at the time - the kings wanted to meet, but neither should have to walk more than the other, so they famously met in the middle. There are only a few kms between the two villages, but we didn't see the plaque. The guide indicated that in June 2010 was to be inaugurated a massive klepsydra, a water clock to symbolize the passing of time. We saw no trace of this either. And no one on the streets to ask.

In downtown Calais, on this Sunday at noon everything was closed, even the bars, which should have been resounding of the world cup sounds. But Sunday is Sunday in France, and they are not going to open the bars to make a few bucks, are they. So everything was dead and dull. But you get a feeling that it's probably not that much more lively at a different time.

We did get to eat at a wonderful restaurant, on this little square - the only thing open. It is called les Saisons and they really cook. It is also all painted a warm yellow inside, which warms up the minds in this grey city. We got the last table. They are very nice too, but terribly understaffed. They didn't even have enough menus to bring - so we waited, for the menus, then for the water, then for the waiter to place the order... Then we had to stick to just one dish because we were going to miss our train. The waiter came back saying that the dishes we had chosen were going to take at least half an hour to prepare... So we got the quick-cooking dishes and didn't get to taste the cabillaud with Maroilles, fish with local melted cheese. But all was excellent. A lady who was lunching by herself next to us said that it wasn't usually like this, and probably was because it was Father's day.
Then we were on the way to find the small Eurostar station outside Calais. We got a glimpse of the city hall and Rodin's Burghers of Calais in passing.

We drove through winding lanes of the countryside and poor signaling to the lonesome but pretty Eurostar station. A very quick hour later, we were in St-Pancras. 

Surprise! In London, it is warm and sunny! 

After a bumpy ride in a big black London cab with the World Cup on the radio, we settle in the hotel. Then we are off for a long walk through Kensington gardens, filled with Londoners picnic-ing and enjoying the summer weather, as well as with French tourists. All over... so many Frenchies... 

Dog poop:

Human poop:

Dinner in Notting Hill. Brazil is winning. You can't not know. All the pubs (and there are a few) have a blaring TV showing the World Cup and spectators spreading on the sidewalks. It's lively and friendly. This is a different London from the touristy sites. And it makes you want to settle here. 

On a related topic, the French team, in solidarity with Anelka, refused to get off the bus and practice. Les bleus on strike. So French! The minister of Sports (yes, we have this, and it's a she) is not happy and there is grandiloquent talk about the deplorable example set for the French youth etc. The English team is playing equally poorly, but at least they are showing up at practice. And the Brits, though clearly not proud of their team, are still very much interested in the other matches of theWorld Cup.