calais coordinates: 5102466 & 1840000838, a frozen port, and my sleep-deprived graffiti quest
i've been staring at these numbers for days.
5102466 and 1840000838.
they were scratched into the concrete under the overpass near the canal in calais, half‑covered in moss and chewing gum. as a street artist, you learn to read the city's hidden language - tags, throwies, the little symbols that mark territory or point to a good spot to paint. but this? this was different. it wasn't a tag. it was a coordinate, or two of them, jammed together like a secret.
i ran it through my head a hundred times. 5102466 - that's 51.02466, right? you take the first two digits as degrees, and the rest as decimal? actually, i just took a guess and plugged it into my phone's maps: 51.02466. and the second one, 1840000838, looked like a mess. but then i remembered how some graffiti crews encode locations: they multiply the longitude by a billion and drop the decimal. 1.840000838 1,000,000,000 = 1840000838. yeah, that sounds made up, but it fits. so the lon is 1.840000838 east.
that put the spot right on the edge of the port, near the old ferry terminal, where the land meets the water and the wind never stops. i packed my rollers, a couple of cans of montana black and ironlak, and my warmest hoodie (which, let's be honest, is just a glorified sweater). the forecast said -0.79°C, feels like -4.96, humidity 93%, pressure 1010. i just checked and it's...there right now, hope you like that kind of thing. the kind of cold that makes your fingers numb before you even shake the can.
i got there at dawn, the sky a flat, greasy pane of clouds. the port was already humming with cranes and trucks, but the specific spot was a derelict warehouse with a broken brick wall facing the canal. perfect. i set up my bucket, mixed my paint (a little bit of blue to mimic the overcast sky, a splash of orange for contrast), and started blocking out the design: a giant, stylized clock with the numbers 5102466 and 1840000838 circling it, and a ship in the background, because, you know, port.
halfway through, a security guard ambled over. i expected a hassle, but he just nodded. 'you're the third one this week,' he grunted. 'that wall's a magnet for weirdos with numbers.' he told me a rumor: someone told me that underneath the old fish market, there's a speakeasy that only opens when the tide is out. i filed that away for later.
i needed a break. i ducked into the café du port for a coffee. the place was warm, smelled like wet wool and stale croissants. i checked my phone: the paint was drying faster than expected in the dry air (humidity 93% but it felt dry? weird). i scrolled through tripadvisor and saw a review: 'best moules-frites in calais, but the service is as frosty as the north sea.' i laughed - that's exactly the vibe. TripAdvisor link. i also heard from a local that the best moules in town are actually at a place called 'Le Comptoir' - you can check it out on Yelp: Yelp.
after coffee, i went back out. the wind had picked up, and a fine mist was falling. i could see my breath. i finished the piece just as the light started to fail. the orange glowed against the grey. i stepped back, admiring the chaos. the numbers were there, bold and clear, a puzzle for whoever stumbles upon them.
as i packed up, i thought about the weather: it's the kind of weather that makes you question your life choices, but also makes the city feel like it's yours alone. i heard that if you get bored, lille's just a short train ride away - about an hour on the ter. and canterbury? that's a quick hop through the chunnel if you've got a eurostar ticket. but honestly, i'd rather stay here and watch the fog roll over the harbor.
someone told me that the best street art in calais isn't in the city center but in the jardin de la ville where they've got a whole alley dedicated to murals. there's a local board where artists post updates: Calais Urban Art. i need to check that out tomorrow. for now, i'm knackered. my hands are cracked, my throat's raw from the cold, and my spray cans are empty. but it was worth it.
painting in that cold was an exercise in patience. the paint would thicken in the can, i had to shake it for ages. i used a heat gun briefly to warm the caps, but that's risky. anyway, it dried fast once on the wall because of the wind. the frost on the brick made the paint bleed a little, giving it a cool effect. i kinda love when the city messes with your art. the whole thing took about six hours, with a couple of breaks to warm up my hands over a coffee at the café. i kept thinking about those numbers, what they could mean. maybe they're a code for a treasure, maybe they're just someone's locker combination. but they led me to this spot, and that's enough. calais has been a crossing point for centuries, a place where people wait to get to england, where dreams get stuck. the numbers might be from someone who never made it across. who knows. the street art here is raw, not polished. it's about survival, not aesthetics. that's why i love it.
i'll leave you with some pics i took (or rather, some atmospheric stock photos that capture the vibe). and here's the exact spot on a map, in case you want to see it for yourself.
the map shows the exact coordinates, but trust me, the wall is easy to spot - it's the one with the giant clock and the ship, and the numbers 5102466, 1840000838 glaring at you.
that's it for now. stay warm, keep tagging, and watch out for those frost* cracks in the wall - they'll ruin your outline.
sleep-deprived out.
/matt