Together with Lukas, a friend of mine, I am travelling to Canterbury to start my pilgrimage in a few days. We take the ferry in Calais.
Approaching the harbour, we notice several warrnings that people might be wandering on the motorway.... transmigrants, on their way to the land of milk and honey.
The last miles to the terminal, we are driving between huge fences with barbed wire... police cars everywhere but we don’t spot transmigrants... the entrance to the gates is better protected than Alcatraz...
We unload the bicycle from the car and do the check in... the Via Francigena banners on my vehicule create a lot of goodwill and all security people and customs officials wish me very friendly goodluck on my trip... They hardly verify my ID and reservation papers....
Out there, somewhere into the wild, are desperate people who travelled thousands of miles to get stuck in front of this bottle neck... My hike is a piece of cake, compared to the risks and uncertainties they have faced to get here. Where did I deserve the privilige to get the red carpet onto the ferry whilst they are scared off with fences and guns.
