En France 2

 

The lightest of southerly breezes ruffles the waters, of the outer harbour.  The dress code aboard Stargazer is beachwear. The sun, delightfully hot.

At Stargazer's spreaders, a burgeoning collection of bunting flutters. Including the yellow flag, which indicates that we require immigration clearance.

I must legalise our presence. A phone call, to the Police Aux Frontieres (PAF), generates an invitation to present papers, at their office in Rue Dom Pedro.

I had been expecting that the PAF would be based somewhere near the Hotel de Ville.

Or, among the grand facades on the Quai Alexandre.

Its dock is now the home of the fishing fleet. But from its grandeur it was, I would assume, the original harbour and administrative heart of the town.

From it, tree lined streets run back, inland.

Apartments and. . . . .

. . . .cafes mingling convivially.

However, Google maps directs me toward a nondescript suburban boulevard, on the opposite side of the dock.

Over behind the ferry port. Which must, on reflection, be the source of the majority of Cherbourg's international arrivals and the PAF's workload.

There, in the corner of a pastel painted courtyard, is the office I seek. I am escorted to it via the fire exit, of a far grander government building, with Tricolore flying, which I had entered in error. A kindly receptionist coming to my rescue with a smile.

I return, aboard Stargazer, with my passport duly stamped. Twice; due to a confusion, created by the fact that we had arrived the previous evening. One stamp for the day of arrival, in Cherbourg. Another for the date of my arrival, to present papers. All bases are covered. Stargazer's 'Q' flag is lowered.

I celebrate with my first fresh baguette of the summer. Still warm from the oven.