After a while Miriam had pulled the Dacia far enough ahead that I could resume my position. I adjusted the side mirror to see behind us. The Sprinter was falling back. The rat-faced guy was driving slow. Slow for a guy with an Adidas logo shaved into his head. I thought, ‘small town’.

Miriam gave me a ‘what are you doing’ look when I adjusted the mirror. I said, “Are we getting close?”

“Next exit.”

“Calais?”

“It’s not exactly Calais. The authorities don’t let them get that close to the crossing. They camp out a mile or two from the tunnel.”

I looked in the mirror. The blue Sprinter was further away now. Miriam flashed her indicators and was pulling into the right lane. There was a traffic circle at the end of the ramp, about 500 yards off. I lost the Sprinter in the mirror when we turned off the highway to the ramp. Father Bousquet snorted loudly and opened his eyes. “Ah, bon. We’re here.”

The traffic circle was a round grassy island. Miriam took the second exit. There were no more rapeseed fields up here. The fields were dull green. I’m not very familiar with farming, but those might have been potatoes or cabbage, or something like that. Sturdy crops that grow in adverse windy and cold conditions. Miriam drove on a small departmental road for a few minutes.

Then we entered a sparsely wooded coastal forest. Pine trees. Sandy soil. Miriam slowed down, because now there were people around. Walking along the side of the road in pairs, or in groups of four or six. They walked slowly, like they had nowhere special to go. Then there were people squatting in the bushes. Tending to small fires and camping stoves. Hanging laundry on trees. Then there were tents. Some small, others large. Some new, others old and patched. I could see people lying in them reading books and looking at phones and talking and sleeping. There were tents that stretched the definition of a tent. Tarps were draped over frames made from tree branches and miscellaneous junk. There was a lot of garbage lying around. Mainly plastic water bottles and plastic carrier bags, and fast food packaging.

Miriam brought the Dacia to a stop near a wood-framed cabin with tarps for walls and a roof. It was large and relatively sturdy. There was a big banner on it that read; Fondation D’Accueil. Next to the cabin was a large water container. People crouched to fill their bottles and move on, others took their place. The line was about twenty deep.

We got out of the van. A tall skinny bearded guy with glasses and an elegant blonde woman came out of the Welcome Foundation cabin. They greeted Father Bousquet and Miriam like old friends. The blonde woman nodded to me. She was pleased with the haul. They helped us unload.