Chunneling

My husband and I travelled to England today. It was supposed to be my big move, but due to circumstances I've had to delay that for two months. Let's just say that after stockbrokers, bankers and fasion designers, vets are next on my hitlist. Anyway, we both took our individual cars, so for the first time in my life, I drove myself across.

Now I've taken every imaginable mode of transport on my way to the British Isles, from busses to slow boats, to hovercrafts, to airplanes to catamaran. But never before had I taken the Channel tunnel train. Until today, that is. And it was not at all what I had imagined.

In my mind's eye, I was expecting a steam-powered flatbed freight train, (the kind you see in Indiana Jones-movies), that would actually whistle as it disappeared into a damp, dark cavern of a tunnel, all the while billowing thick clouds of black soot.

I envisioned myself locked in my car, keeping my doors and windows tightly closed and wishing for a roll of duct-tape to seal the seams, coughing and shivering from the cold that such a cave must undoubtedly exude. And then of course suddenly breaking out in sweat half-way, as we neared the bottom of this man-made hell-hole.

So if I tell you I was mildly surprised when I finally got to Calais, I'm sure you'll appreciate the understatement. How was I to know that I would be told to keep my windows half open? Or that I could actually get out of the car during the journey, and walk around? Or that I found and entire See-Buy-Train tax-free shopping mall?

In fact, I'm truly happy to have found an alternative route to my alternative home, one that allows me to keep my shoes on while going through customs, and that ensures that I am not housebound while in England because there's only one bus a day through the village and no other way to get around, and that shaves a considerable amount of time of my journey as well.

Oh, and - height of sophistication - the train even has toilets. Wow.