Previously, after our hasty getaway from Hull, we journeyed due south with the destination of a Dover planned. Stopping at Cambridge for a spot of breakfast, we again found this city to be busy, with little appeal. After a quick bite to eat and drive around the city, we found our way out and ventured to Dover. Famous for its white cliffs and Dover castle, this hilly village is larger than you expect. Filled with rows and rows of hotels, B&Bs, hostels and eateries, there is no shortage of accommodation for the thousands of tourists that descend on this place each year. We spent the afternoon strolling over and beside the cliffs, admiring the natural beauty before us. Daryl was momentarily distracted by a couple of young women, who were as close to naked as possible, one wearing a shift like dress that was completely see-through and she had no underclothes on. The other taking photos, was dressed to provoke a reaction, and clearly was pleased with her own form. Standing very close to the edge they were at risk of slipping as they went to great pains to perfect the pose. Wow, is all I can say. To have this much confidence leaves me a little envious.
Now that I have digressed let me return to the main part of our trip. The cliffs on both sides of the village shroud the shipping port providing sea crossings to France and return 23 hours a day. Logistically this port is a work of art, and watching from overhead provides a magnificent view of the hundreds of lorries, cars, motorbikes, the odd camper van and pedestrians who make this journey. A bit like watching worker bees, it’s mesmerising. We toyed with the idea of jumping on board and having a cuppa in France but decided our schedule was tight enough as it was, without adding another country to the mix. So maybe next time and probably via the tunnel, which seems to tweak Daryl’s interest more than the ferry.
The white cliffs of Dover reach a height of 110 metres and stretch for 16 kilometres and while their appearances is a stunning white, due the chalk, a soft white, very finely grained pure limestone, they hold a dark history. According to a researcher/author Tom Hunt ( no relative that we know of)who wrote Cliffs of Despair - A journey into Suicide’s Edge, more than 500 people have died since 1965, making it one of the most notorious suicide spots in the world. Other deaths have been attributed to accidents - tourists trying to get the greatest photo, slipping rocks, crumbling edges, drug affected party-goers, and the not so accidental like murder and others that are unexplainable. There are no safety railings on the tracks, and I found myself concentrating on my footing each step of the way. I also kept a tight hand in Daryl’s, when possible, to stop him from peering too closely over the edge, it makes me anxious. Despite the sadness that underpins the history of this place, it is indeed beautiful and worth a visit if ever you can.
The rest of our evening was taken up with long conversations with the call centre of the country’s Telco EE. A lovely girl from Londonderry, answered my call and I had to listen hard to understand her strong Irish accent. We had decided early in trip to get local SIM cards, which to this point have served us well, topping them up has been a minor issue as well as getting the ability to call international, which is becoming It seemed we had it all sorted but yesterday Daryl’s phone simply stopped working. Frustrating yes. He has now tried to call them to fix it but the message states he needs to put on credit to speak to technical support!! We did this yesterday and it has all vanished.
Despite these frustrations, making us feel like we are indeed back home talking to Telstra, we have little to complain about.
We debated about the value in visiting Dover Castle but in the end we went, and it proved to be a good decision. Considered one of the most iconic castles in the UK ( mind you they all say this) it is indeed commanding. The castle is perched high above the English channel and was started in 1168 by Henry II on the site of ramparts that were already some 1000 years old. The exhibits are many and varied and show a colourful and brutal history. It is well maintained and the evolvement of the current castle is quite outstanding. It still boasts the Great Tower and if you walk several hundred steps up a spiral staircase you are rewarded with some spectacular views across the country and then the English channel all the way to France. We visited the underground tunnels, cool and dark, it was quite a challenge walking the miles and miles of walkways that traverse underground (at least it seemed that far to me!) Thankfully the Heritage Trust, who maintains this site, provide a quirky little train to get weary tourists up and down the steep terrain. The train has two little carriages designed to match the attached Land Rover. Originally built to take tourists around Stonehenge, the designers miscalculated and it was deemed too wide for the tracks, hence the castle was the gifted the train. Bonus for us and the many others who enjoyed a tour around the grounds. After enjoying morning tea, priced as steeply as the roads, we decided it was time to make our own tracks.
Daryl had been doing a little research and found an article about a small town called Rye. Described as a hidden gem along England’s south coast we decided this would be our next stop. The drive, only a relatively short one, was extended thanks to Daryl’s ever growing obsession with avoiding the motorways. While I agree with him that they are dull, requiring a lot of concentration due to the speed freaks and ignorant lane changers, with little to no view of the area as you zoom pass, the back roads are also challenging. Our GPS speaker must shake her head, every time Daryl decides to take an alternate route. In the end we drove along miles of narrow laned roads, winding through the countryside, flagged on each side by hedges more than three metres in height. Couldn’t see a dammed thing and we added additional time to our already extensive travels. Fortunately, I sleep in the car and so I have now slept my way through substantial portions of the UK and Ireland and avoided many potential arguments as Daryl and his GPS meander through the countryside. Generally, however, I will wake promptly as Daryl tries to negotiate some of the roundabouts in the towns. Clearly they love them, roundabouts vary in shape and form, some are essentially a painted white circle on the road through to large ones, filled with trees, so you can’t see anything and some have as many as 5-7 exits, multiple lanes to enter and exit from and little warning for the nervous foreigner. They are everywhere. I have shared this roundabout experience on a number of occasions and we have both been known to go around the roundabout a few times before getting it right.
Daryl drives our poor little Citroen wishing it was an Aston Martin or Jaguar, zipping along like a race driver. There are so many of them here, Daryl is drooling and wondering what we can sell so he can send one home. It appears his preference is for the Aston but will settle for a Jag if the price is right. He has also talked about doing a package deal and sending a Land Rover home for the farm! I suspect the sea air is getting to him.
Rye, as it turns out, is an antique mecca with shops lining the streets, along with patisseries, ice creameries, cafes, book stores and so much more, many along cobblestone streets that are precarious to walk on. Old fashioned florists, butchers, bakeries and green grocers replace the large corporate shopping centres, it really is delightful. Time passed quickly and we walked away with a few trinkets that will hopefully make the flight home. Although to be honest, I am not sure how, another suitcase may be required. Antiques in the UK are cheap in comparison to home. What we pay for real antiques makes you squirm once you realise how common they are here. So on that vein, I have scheduled us into attend an English antique auction in a few days, once we arrive in Wales. Who knows what goodies we might bid for, once the adrenaline gets going!
Worn out, from too much sun, too much walking and too much driving, we only ventured a short way up the road ( two hours) and found our final stop for this section Dean West.
Interesting fact: Vehicles in the UK are not allowed to have bull bars fitted. There are very few 4WDs here and those we have seen, look rather naked without one.
See you in the Isle of Wight.
Until next time,
N
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