I think so, not that I’m a great expert on Roman Numerals.

At home processing our collection of photographs, this is something of an addendum to our recently completed trip around France. One of the places Carol and I visited was Roquefixade. The village nestles beneath a so-called Cathar castle built on a precarious-looking precipice overlooking the village. On our way up to the castle ruins we passed a stone cross which I snapped as some foreground interest when taking a distance shot of the castle for context. I took little more notice of the cross at that time.

When we were returning from our climb we passed by the cross again and, just because I was wasting only reusable pixels, I snapped the cross again. Apart from some fancy scroll work, it bore a date in Roman numerals. I looked harder – something didn’t ring true. The engraving clearly reads:

MCMDXXXVI

That can’t be right, can it? “MCM” is Roman for 1900 which, given the dates around here, seems odd enough but to follow that with “D” for 500 makes no sense, surely. I decided that if it meant anything, the 500 would be added to the 1900 which, along with the remaining “XXXVI” would give us 2436. I verified my calculation with a piece of software for converting between Roman numerals and decimal. I was actually expecting an error, I must confess, but, sure enough, out of the software popped 2436. The correct way to Romanize 2436 would be “MMCDXXXVI”, I think. Back to the software to convert 2436 the other way. Sure enough: “MMCDXXXVI”.

Could the stonemason have hacked a “D” when he should have hacked an “L”? “MCMLXXXVI” would at least be correct for 1986 but it still seems like an odd date.

I’ve no idea what that cross signifies or commemorates and I’ve no idea whether the Cathars used a weird calendar. Whatever the reason for that cross’s existence, though, that date just has to be wrong … doesn’t it?

I had a reservation on P&O’s 1:10 PM ferry from Calais to Dover. It’s about 120mls/200kms from Neufchatel-en-Bray to Calais, about 2½ hrs towing. We were ready to leave the campsite by 9:00 AM so we hit the road and began to bid farewell to France for this year.

We had some wind assistance and, even after a fuel stop so I could complete the UK 120mls without stopping, we drove into Calais ferry port at about 11:15 AM. UK border control asked where we had last stopped. Since it was 120mls away they were less concerned about illegal stowaways and let us through swiftly. A very smiley P&O assistant checked us in and told us we’d be sailing in 10 minutes. Great! We drove to the boarding lane which was already empty and were waved straight onto the ferry. Very shortly after boarding they shut the ferry doors and we were off, 1½ hours early. Perfect! What a stroke of luck.

Unlike yesterday, the crossing was smooth and the weather in the channel was fair. Everything else went smoothly until we hit the northern stretch of the jaM25 motorway. Brakes, out of gear, handbrake on, sit on the country’s most major road like lemons in a stop-crawl queue for 30 minutes to do a few miles. Then, with no blockage in site, it clears and we’re off. And this is an off-season Sunday  early afternoon. Almost every time we return from relatively trouble-free driving around France, the UK roads stress one out in an hour or two.

Never mind, Billy is back in his field and we are home safely. Time to start planning our next escape.

It was an easy 120mls/200kms from Chartres to our now habitual final stop in France at Neufchâtel-en-Bray in Normandy. Neufchâtel-en-Bray is a pleasant though unremarkable town in many ways, though it does boast an appellation contrôlée cheese which, I must confess, is one of this particular cheese addict’s least favourites. It’s two main attractions as our exit route are that it:

1. has a conscientiously run and managed campsite that is open for what the French would regard as an extended season;
2. has a very good Leclerc supermarket essential for last day booty hunting plus relatively cheap fuel for the run to Calais.

You’d think after a full six weeks of living in a caravan touring from place to place that I’d have it down pat, wouldn’t you? It seems not. When the conscientious management at the campsite shepherded us to our pitch I levelled the van and began connecting up all the essential services: water, waste and electricity hook-up. I, or rather Billy, didn’t seem to get any electricity. This is not particularly unusual since sometimes the circuit breakers in the connection boxes of the site pop with overenthusiastic campers trying to suck too many amps out of a restricted system (typically they are 6 amp). I tried a second connection point: same result. I tried a further two connection points: same result in both cases. I checked our on-board trip switches: they were fine. I went to report my problem to the conscientious management who promptly turned up to check their trip switches: they were all fine. Bemusement. I turned to recheck the caravan and had one of those “will the ground please open and swallow me up” moments. In my haste I’d connected our mains cable to the campsite supply but the other end lay on the ground beneath our battery box; I’d distracted myself and forgotten to connect it to our van. Unbelievable!

I apologized profusely for my stupidity in my very best French to the conscientious campsite management who responded by insisting, in their very best French, that it was not a problem. What must they think?

It’s overcast and cool. Maybe the cold froze my few remaining neurones. 🙁