The huddled men in their dirty hooded tops and jackets make a solid block of drab misery. Even the seagulls are granite, grey and greasy.
A young Afghan man is begging the elderly woman handing out small plastic pots of pasta, for more. There is not enough, she tells him firmly, shaking her head.And they give out about Greece....??!Anwar lifts one of the tarpaulins and shows me a filthy mattress littered with damp blankets, odd shoes and some mouldy bread. It smells as acrid and rotten as a sick room and I have to withdraw my head quickly.
"Seven of us sleep here. But in the night the police come," he says. "They spray everything with gas so we can never use it again and then we have no cover from the rain and no more clothes.
BBC News - Calais after Sangatte: The migrants 'worth less than cattle'