23rd October 2016

Another bright, sunny morning greeted us, though a stiff breeze added a chill to the air as we stepped out onto the balcony to take in the view.

After a leisurely breakfast, we packed our small suitcases, checked out at reception, and stored them in a small room provided for that purpose. I booked a taxi for 6 p.m. that evening, and we ventured out onto the beach to enjoy the rest of the day.

There weren’t many people about, not even the usual daring swimmers thrashing across the now rather turbulent bay. With our curiosity satisfied and no shells collected, we headed to the bus stop to catch a ride into town. We arrived just in time to see the bus disappearing down the road. A quick check of the timetable showed we had an hour to wait, so we decided to make the most of it and headed back onto the beach, turning left from the hotel towards the headland.

A few other hardy souls, well wrapped up against the chill, were doing the same. The beach, while picturesque from all angles, was just that, a sandy stretch of coastline. Not much marine life or even seaweed to discover, just golden sand, as the hotel’s name suggests. It became more interesting at its extremes, where the granite rocks formed into pillars and crags. We climbed up onto the headland, and after checking the time, we decided to descend onto the next smaller beach to take a look at the Martello Tower situated centrally.

Everywhere you travel in Jersey, you come across fortifications, often ancient ones, dating back to when the French and English were at odds, but primarily concrete structures from the Second World War. As a child, I would have clambered on, in, and around every one of them, but today, I don’t. Perhaps it’s due to the realisation that lobbing imaginary grenades and spraying fanciful machine gun bullets while shouting, “Achtung, die kraut!” is just not PC anymore. Or more likely, it’s because I can’t dive, roll, crawl, or run as well as I once could.

We returned to our bus stop just in time to catch the bus.

The people of Jersey and St. Helier have decided to preserve the life, culture, and ethics enjoyed by the rest of the UK in the 60s and 70s. They talk to each other, yes, even strangers, and go out of their way to be helpful (they don’t walk on the other side). They wish the bus driver a lovely day and thank him for getting them safely to their destination. They even close their shops on a Sunday to protect family life. This happens on an island where over 75% of the working population is employed by massive financial organisations, operating in a cutthroat 24-hour environment. And they still close on Sundays! The government recognises that Jersey is an island with limited resources and space, and they’ve created a society that, through legislation, actively protects its cultural identity. You can’t live on this island, own any of its resources, or fall foul of its ancient cultural laws without being heavily penalised. The people here are law-abiding, and crime is rare, usually just drunkenness and, unsurprisingly, financial fraud.

There’s a much larger island not far from here that could certainly learn from this little outpost.

After disembarking, we wandered the pedestrian precinct for a while, window shopping and reading the numerous historical information boards as we came across them. We climbed some very steep steps to the top of Fort Regent, which sits high above the town. It is now a huge, smart, high-tech sports centre, but there’s a lovely historical trail that takes you around its fortifications. It’s well worth doing if you want to learn about the history of this prominent feature of the town, exceptionally well presented.

Heads full of facts, we continued wandering around the town until the rain started. Hurrying back to the bus terminus, we caught the bus back to St. Brelade’s Bay.

Once back at the hotel, we settled into the comfortable lounge chairs, sipping a suitable refreshment as we watched the gale and wind slowly obliterate the beautiful scene outside. Sue passed the time reading the available newspapers, while I surfed the net. By 4 pm, the weather had calmed enough for us to brave the elements and trot to a restaurant further around the bay for fish and chips. As we ate, I watched Chelsea’s 4-0 thrashing of Manchester United on a little TV in our booth.

We returned to the hotel in time to catch our taxi to the airport.

The flight was delayed by 1.5 hours, and after picking up the car at Purple Parking, we were home by  2 am to a very cold Leicestershire home.