Friday, 4th April
We knew we were going to be early. We’re early for just about everything. However, leaving East London and arriving in Harwich at 6:30 for an 11:45 crossing is very, very early, even for us.
We visited the Morrison’s supermarket just at the entrance to the port complex, bought a few bits of food, and had our tea in the car park. Even so, we were in the queue for check-in by around 7:30, but we weren’t the first. We always reckon that sitting waiting in your motorhome is far better than being in some godforsaken queue at Gatwick (or waiting for your luggage at Terminal 5 perhaps?) We chill and read and I go for a stroll and talk to other MH’ers and hey presto it’s time to move on. Only an hour later, the check-in booths opened, and we were guided through to the front of one of the waiting lanes.
I think we must be spoilt by the speed and efficiency of Dover – Calais crossings. We watched the small lady with the walkie-talkie letting a group of cars through, then closing off the lane and shutting the gates to the dockyard. This must have happened around a dozen times. Once, we got waved forward, and we were excited, only to find that the reason we were being moved was so that a 4X4 and trailer behind us could get out and be waved through, only for the gates to be shut again.
We thought we might be being persecuted, as an enormous coach in the lane to the side of us got through, with a gaggle of other high vehicles. Low-profile motorhomes, it seems, and panel vans behind us, were to wait.
Just as we were starting to think about getting frustrated, she waved us forward, and we queued some more by the giant mouth at the bow of the boat. Not too long after, we drove forward, and pitched up behind the coach that we’d last seen an hour before.
Our cabin was actually rather nice. Small, as all cross-channel cabins are, but recently fitted-out, and comfortable. We cracked open the bottle of fizzy Rosé wine we’d bought in Morrisons, and supped and chatted until my eyelids started to close.
