Jersey: The Channel Island Way: 11: FINAL THOUGHTS

From the preceding ten posts, those of the congregation that stayed with me and didn’t run screaming after I mentioned the words “Geography lesson” – Jolly Well Done! You are the true heroes of the last ten posts. You have stuck with my daily diary entries about the hell that is Jersey.

Mark & I suffered. Yes; it was hell out there, enjoying the hospitality provided by Jersey Tourism on your behalf. Those lunches and dinners just don’t eat themselves, you know. And in between the fine dining we hiked and toiled our way along sections  of the Channel Island Way that were sensationally scenic.

Wherever we were, we bumped into happy smiley people who genuinely believed that they inhabited a little piece of paradise on earth. And who can blame them? At every turn on our walks we encountered either beauty at the intimate level of the flowers and insects or the sheer physical pleasure of the wonderful coastal scenery:

If you enjoy coastal walking, think of Jersey a little like you would think of Cornwall. But think of it as Cornwall done properly:

• No litter
• No peeling paint
• Happy, smiling service
• Good quality, good value accommodation
• More sunshine
• Empty, clean beaches
• Great restaurants, cafes & pubs.
• A friendly welcome
• And – for walkers – no barbed wire! (a point close to my heart)

Hopefully, I have furnished you with the required tools to enjoy the walk and the desire to go and have a look for yourself. I shall definitely be going back next year to have an even more languorous lope about the island.

I was told before I set out for Jersey that the island gets under your skin. It certainly has for me: I can’t wait to have another look.

JERSEY: THE CHANNEL ISLAND WAY: 10: The North Coast

OR     WHAT WE DID INSTEAD OF AN AFTERNOON SNOOZE

Whilst waiting for our post prandial limo to arrive, I took a peek at the bus stop. Frankly I was really surprised at how many buses there were. This is apparently the norm for Jersey, so expensive limos are not a requirement for a walking trip round the island based at, say, one location in St Helier, or wherever. If you click on this picture I have made it available in a jolly large size so you can see how frequent the buses are.

This next shot wasn’t actually taken on the north coast – our next destination but it shows, for records sake, the guide posts that are dotted along the Channel Island Way. It would be pretty difficult to get lost!

Our post-lunch limo now whisked us off to the north of the island, to experience the majesty of the scenery to be found there. Dropped off near Les Colombiers, we strolled down the hill passing the clay pigeon shooting range, which seemed to be doing good business and had me ducking at the sound of every 12-bore gunshot. It must have been at one of my deeper ducks that I came face to face with this little beauty, which Mark recognised instantly as Sheep’s-bit.

The view from the elevated cliff path was extensive and islands could be spotted far out to sea. At this point my camera froze on me! No amount of beating, pleading or cajoling would get the lens back out from it’s ‘sleep’ position and so I am afraid the next two shots I have had to lift from the web, but they show exactly where we were and what we saw. Honest! I wasn’t still in the Crab Shack eying up the second pudding menu. Only at the cafe at the end of the walk, dropping the camera on the cafe table did the lens re-appear so I could toddle down to the sea to take a few more snaps.

That’s the second time it’s done that recently. I think it needs Stern Words.

We rounded the headland at La Tete de Plemont, beneath the sad remnants of the old Pontins holiday camp, now a target for graffiti ‘artists’ and surrounded by the only barbed wire I saw on the entire trip (if you don’t count the tall fences around the prison at La Moye on the south coast – which we thought was pretty fair!)

The paths in Jersey are wonderfully clear of any obstruction; be it from overgrown vegetation (the local volunteer police force enforces the Branchage – the twice yearly cutting back of all overhanging vegetation) so that all paths are delightfully clear of anything to snag you. I honestly do not remember encountering a single strand of barbed wire near any of the paths we walked. Jersey really is walker-friendly.

This next picture is the shot just before we dropped down to the cafe at Plemont for a welcome coffee, about halfway down.

Having un-jammed my mis-behaving party camera, I nipped down the walkway past the splendid cafe (who sold beers and ice cream and all manner of wonderful sticky cakes amongst other hot snacks) and over a bridge over swirling seas onto the rocks to watch the high tide with some families there enjoying the afternoon.

Then, back to the limo to be dragged, screaming, to a pub in St Helier to sample Liberation Ale (a Jersey pint). This was just to steady ourselves for the onslaught of yet another magnificent meal at the The Inn and another night trawling the St Helier pubs afterwards.

You know, Mark & I suffered this hospitality in a stoical fashion; not once letting the other know the pain he was suffering to get these reports out to the world. If you look closely, you can make out the pain-wracked expression on Mark’s face. (He’s the chap on the right of the picture. The other is Arthur, our tormentor.)

We deserve medals.

JERSEY: THE CHANNEL ISLAND WAY: 9: Lunch, St Brelade’s

OR      I WONDER WHAT’S FOR PUDDING!

Look. Everyone deserves a break now & then. This was my lunchtime tucker at the Crab Shack at St Brelade. Someone needed to test out the menu. You can’t have hungry walkers turning up not knowing about what’s available, can you? No. Of course not. It was my duty. I was helping out.

It was delicious. Highly recommended.

Let’s not go too overboard with the salad, now.

JERSEY: THE CHANNEL ISLAND WAY: 8: The South West

OR        WHAT WE DID BEFORE A LOVELY LUNCH 

Another day, another limo trip; this time to the south western tip of Jersey, La Corbiere. Blessed with more glorious weather (and a slightly muzzy head from the Cultural Shenanigans of the previous night) we were on the headland staring out southwest into the vastness of the Atlantic Ocean and la Belle France, just out of sight to the left – Brittany.

This is another fascinating stretch of coastline with oodles of history crammed into every hundred yards or so. As an engineer, I have to tell you that the lighthouse in the picture was the first constructed in the British Isles from reinforced concrete, back in 1873. You learn things if you stick around, see? All the others who ran out of the class room missed this fascinating fact…

Moving on! For the geologists amongst us – there is no need to be ashamed; be proud of your dirty little habit, it’s not everyone who feels the urge to grovel around on their hands & knees with a magnifying glass, getting all muddy and ruining their fingernails – we have caves and quarries to visit!

For the boys in the congregation, here is a gratuitous photograph of the fast ferry – a catamaran, I believe – whizzing its way to St Helier from Weymouth. It’s quite a sight and you feel it coming before you see it – the throb of its engines being quite physical.

The path, not on the C.I.Way, clambers over the lower granite beneath the cliffs – but be careful as this is tidal and you could get into a bit of bother here if the tide was to come in as it does it at quite a rate as it has a massive range of about 40 feet. But we were brave and carried on, completely oblivious to this fact until we realised that the cave was a dead end and we had to get back to where we started from…

It was worth all that peril though.

The clamber back up the staired cliff path is never too strenuous as I would guess that the top is never more than 150ft or so from the bottom. Even my Mum could do it. The stairs are all pretty good – with timber treads with protruding steel staples for extra grip. Handrails occasionally, too!

We then came across this strange construction; it’s the way the engineers get heavy parts down to the pump house at the bottom. It’s the inlet for the desalination plant higher up the cliff. Again, if you are of that mind-set; fascinating stuff.

I will never forget this view. (below) The construction on top of the cliff is a German Sighting Tower, now a place to stay on your holidays. Click on the picture for a better view.

Off again, this time to seek out one of nature’s wonders; a blow hole. When the Atlantic comes crashing in this is supposed to be a dramatic sight. It looked pretty impressive from where we were standing too. In the foreground you’ll notice that the gorse has been nibbled at – what on earth nibbles gorse like this? Whatever it is must have steel jaws as the gorse scratches like crazy through your trousers.

Geologists – feast your eyes on this quarry. The rock is just beautifully fine-grained and a splendid honey colour. Jersey granite is sought-after the world over. I’m quite surprised that there is so much of the island left as there are little quarries all over the place. Some make lovely suntraps and artists have sculptures dotted around to be enjoyed along the cliff paths and quarries. All delightfully civilized.

This next shot is just to show that where there are the occasional up and down bits, the walker is well served by nice staircases, handrails and delightful little paths.

This next picture really sums up for me Jersey's potential as a great walking destination. It’s Le Beauport. Just before lunch-time in August on a week day, there were just EIGHT people on this glorious beach, which is just a two minute walk from the car park at the top of the hill, and just a five minute walk from a busy little town with fantastic cafes and restaurants; St Brelade. Dead easy, even for families with young children too.

Before lunch, we just had time to visit the Fisherman’s Chapel at St Brelade Church with its fifteenth century wall paintings. I came over all ‘choirboy’ here. Very cool, serene and timeless: That’s the chapel, not me. I am the hot, flustered and aged looking wreck.

JERSEY: THE CHANNEL ISLAND WAY: 7: St Helier

OR: HER MADGE’S CULTURAL AMBASSADORS…

Quite amazingly, after such a torrid day of strenuous activity, Mark felt that we had not earned our suppers and so after a bit of prodding I agreed that our Limo should drop us off at Liberation Square so that we could explore St Helier and perhaps make a little room for the inevitable wonderful dinner back at The Inn. At way passed his ‘going home time bell’ Arthur gamely bounced out as well and guided us round a bit of St Helier. Above & Beyond, Arthur – thank you.

There is quite a bit to find of interest and we duly poked about in some unlikely corners, turning up a hidden “V for Victory” cleverly designed into the wartime cobbles as an act of resistance, which I singularly failed to record as I am afraid I had just been told of a pub right next to it called the “Cock & Bottle” which served real ale and that seemed to hold my interest a little better. Having looked at the reviews of this place for food though, I wouldn’t eat there. The drinks were fine though and the pub is full of character.

I am sure Arthur would never forgive me if I didn’t make mention of Lillie Langtry.  If you put aside for one moment Jersey Royal potatoes, Jersey cream and Jim Bergerac, she’s one of Jersey’s finest exports. Those amongst the congregation desperate to find out all about her exploits, conquests and gloriously debauched life, can click HERE to see Mark’s research on the wonderful woman.

I am afraid I had to lift the pictures of the two Victorian covered markets from the internet as they were just closing when we strolled around town. The two markets looked like a great place to go shopping to cook up a treat for yourself. I shall definitely be going back as I adore these places.

Then it was a swift hike back uphill (we had to walk off the calories somehow) to the hotel to ready ourselves for ‘Wings of Fire’, a ‘Beef Sizzler’ and one of the most perfect crème caramels ever! The restaurant has great food and very friendly staff.

But the night was still young… So we strolled downhill back into town to try out one of Arthur’s recommendations; ‘The Lamplighter’ which had a selection of real ales. So we tried all of them, just in the interest of research. One of them was really really good, so we had a few more of them, just to make sure. The pub is also renowned for its whisky collection. That was a close shave; I only spotted them when I couldn’t possibly squeeze any more in.

We fell in with a really fun bunch – Siobhan and her friend had just come back from a Headway meeting; a charity to help those with brain injuries, and were letting their hair down. So, we joined in. You have to, really: It’s good for Anglo-Jersey relations. Think of this trip as a peace keeping mission and Mark & me as Ambassadors for Her Madge. Andy, a regular at the Lamplighter, kindly emailed the photograph, below right, of Mark & I performing our ceremonial duties.

JERSEY: THE CHANNEL ISLAND WAY: 6: The East Coast (iii)

OR: DON’T MENTION THE WAR…

In previous posts I may have mentioned that in the past the French had cast their eye over Jersey and thought it might be worth a go – a bit like the Argentinians and The Falkland Islands, I suppose. Well, the Brits were having none of this and fortified the island to the teeth. You can’t have ‘Johnny Foreigner’ taking bites out of your Empire, can you now? Where would it all end? Defensive forts were built from the finest Jersey Granite along the entire coastline with heavy cannon installed to deter the French fleet.

When the construction of huge harbour walls started in earnest, to house the British fleet, that seemed to do the trick. The French finally gave up trying and went back about the business of global domination by stealth; developing the finest cuisine in the world and taking over that way.

So having dined rather well, on our ‘Gastro-Tour’ as Robin so succinctly dubbed our exploration of the wild coastline in the previous blogpost’s comments section,  we continued on our stroll down the east coast of Jersey. We started with a gentle amble down through the castle grounds and met with this rather striking fellow: My herpetology isn’t all it should be and I am guessing that it is a lizard?  Helpful comments identifying the chap (or chap-ess, perhaps?) would be appreciated. I was grateful that the little fellow stayed still long enough to be recorded on my incredibly slow party camera.

Arthur, our Blue Badge Guide, let us know that you could spend a very happy afternoon exploring the castle, which has quite a history. There really is absolutely piles of stuff to do around here; the walk could be easily be broken down, as suggested in the guide book, into little fragments as eating, drinking and generally enjoying being a tourist will fill the remaining part of your day quite comfortably.

Gorey is a rather splendid little place; nestling beautifully beneath the castle and cuddling it’s sandy harbour with boats bobbing about. Cafes and some quite smart shops line the ‘main drag’. I did like their newsagent:

I shall now touch on some observations that really are quite shocking to a chap from the mainland:

• The phone boxes are all intact and are a resplendent bright yellow
• The civic amenities’ (bus shelters, public loos, public buildings etc - but you know what civic amenities are, don’t you, so there’s no need for this absurd explanation) paintwork is all immaculate.
• Benches to relax upon and enjoy the wonderful views are intact, comfortable and numerous.
• I did not spot a single piece of litter ANYWHERE on the entire trip.

Quite a culture, shock, really…

Right! Enough of the smug ramblings of a contented Englishman abroad! Onwards. We are heading south once more along the sweeping strand of La Baie du Vieux Chateau and soon we leave the cultured environs of Gorey and find ourselves on the golf course. To the sides of the immaculate fairways, the rough hosts wonderful little plants like the sea holly, above right. I would have been quite happy to try out my collapsible hiker’s lob wedge and chase my divots around the course but I was persuaded to stow it back in my rucksack. Members only, I am afraid… It did look quite lovely and hardly a soul was out to play on it. It looked ideal for a little one man tent on those billiard table smooth baize greens…

We’ll move on, before Jersey Tourism take me away in one of their chauffer driven white vans. There are lots of dungeons in Jersey where I could be incarcerated and never ever be seen again.

Then we came to the really heavy business of the more recent fortifications put in place by the last lot of invaders.

The Channel Islands were occupied by the Germans for the five years between 1940 and 1945. The British gave them up as impossible to defend and so, apart from a couple of bombing raids, the Germans took over the running of the islands without having to storm the place. They were there in great force; there was approximately one German soldier for every two Channel Islanders. Hitler ordered that the Channel Islands were to be part of his ‘Atlantic Wall’ of defence and huge concrete defences were constructed using both slave and volunteer labour forces. Examples of these absolutely massive constructions can be seen all around the island; huge gun emplacements, machine gun nests and the huge anti-tank walls to the rear of the open beaches. A few of the larger examples are open to the public.

Jersey was liberated a long time after the Allies had invaded Europe, so cutting off the supply lines to the German garrisons. It also meant that the Germans and Islanders almost starved to death as the food supplies were cut off! Peace came to Jersey the day after it was declared in Europe.

We continued southwards towards Jersey’s south easterly tip at La Rocque, where the last failed French invasion took place; most of their ships having been caught on the dangerous reefs off-shore. If you look closely at the picture, below right, (click on it to enlarge it) you will see the the reefs that the French fleet foundered on, seen from the end of the breakwater.

Then it was off to St Helier in our air-conditioned black limousine for more fun and frolics – but more of that in the next post!

JERSEY: THE CHANNEL ISLAND WAY: 5: The East Coast (ii)

OR: “LET’S DO LUNCH…”

We had lunch on the terrace in Gorey at a splendid Gastro-pub; Castle Green. The conversation was lively but a snippet remains with me. Both Mark & I had noticed that the locals have quite a distinctive accent. Now, when I say distinctive, you have to  bear in mind my origins: I speak “Estuary English.” I get horribly mixed up with accents that are not from where I come from. A good example of this is continually confusing an Irish accent with that of the Scots.

Indeed, almost twenty years ago now I walked for two days with a delightful chap from Morpeth and didn’t understand a blind word he said to me for the entire time. I tried my best and nodded in what I thought were the appropriate places and sighed heavily when I thought the time had come to empathise with what was evidently a massive problem as he seemed to be so worked up about everything as his intonation soared and plummeted so wildly.

In my head, the folk from Jersey do a pretty good South African accent. Or, of course, it might be Australian; whatever, it isn’t from around the Thames by any stretch of the imagination. It’s really quite interesting that amongst friends from the area their accents become ‘heavier’. Speaking as an outsider it is quite charming. They also have little idiosyncrasies that could land the unwary in hot water. Arthur told us that it is quite common to answer a question and add an ‘eh?’ at the end of the sentence (I suppose in a similar vein to  the Aussies; I’ve seen ’Neighbours’ so I’m now an expert in these matters). This can have dire consequences if you were to find yourself at the Liberation Bus Station at St Helier:

When asking for the correct bus to Portelet Bay from St Helier the answer will be “You’ll need to catch the Number 12, eh?”

You’re there already, aren’t you? Indeed, the 12A bus goes somewhere completely different, but just as charming; St Ouen’s Bay.

We lingered a little over lunch. It would have been a shame to dash off, with so much to learn… Here’s a tip: The Pan fried local bass served with green beans, broad beans, Jersey Royals, chorizo and salsa verde is absolutely wonderful… As you have seen, the puddings were pretty fine too!

It’s a tough life, being a Walking Holiday Inspector, but, as they say, somebody has to do it… (Just pinch me… How did I get this gig?)

JERSEY: THE CHANNEL ISLAND WAY: 4: The East Coast (i)

OR: I COULD GET USED TO THIS…

Our day started with a massive ‘Full English’ (well, we did have strenuous walking ahead of us… and The Inn is well known for it’s excellent food) and the sun streaming into the hotel lobby.

A chap arrived dressed in a suit with a very smart vehicle with dark tinted windows. We bundled into it to be taken on our first assignment. All very ‘The Apprentice!’ But today no-one was going to be fired.

As we trundled along the country roads Arthur explained in very broad terms how the island was laid out: Imagine a breakfast tray in bed sitting on your legs: If you were to lift your knees slightly the long edge of the tray nearest your knees would be higher than the edge closest to your belly. Just like Jersey. It’s highest at the north coast and slopes down southwards to the south coast. The valleys then run north to south. All very sensibly arranged, is Jersey. It means that there are not too many whopping great valleys dissecting the cliffs along the north coast, which means that the cliff path along the north coast is a delightful airy traverse along the tops. Apart, that is, from the few really big down & ups – but there are not too many of them – which is ‘perfick’ for an idle middle aged, greying, thinning haired chap with a burgeoning belly like me!

However, today we were to set off down the east coast from the north. So that meant that in theory we should be waltzing down hill all day. Does it get better than this?

The day was already sunny and hot when we were dropped off at the north eastern corner of the island near Rozel. We strolled down a quiet track overhung with broad-leafed trees to come quietly onto a bright blue, flat calm sea. It was a wonderfully peaceful spot. The scent of wild flowers and the sea air just added to the bliss.

We trundled about the remains of a five thousand year old burial chamber; Le Couperon Dolmen and poked around in the adjacent battery and gunpowder magazine; an interesting juxtaposition of a monument to the dead and the tools to make it possible.

Then we were off, up a small road to head over to Fliquet Bay. We bumped into one of Arthur’s family members, once removed, and slipped into an easy conversation about this and that. It seemed as though Arthur and she knew the entire island.

I think it’s pretty difficult to get lost in Jersey as there are little signs all over the shop to help you find your way:

 

Back down to Fliquet Bay and the coastal scenery was sublime.

We strolled along the low sea wall in the sunshine.

And came across beautiful wild flowers – I am absolutely positive that Mark will have great shots of these Jersey Lilies!

We passed another old coastal fortification; St Catherine’s Tower, designed to ward off the French. There are quite a few of these towers dotted all around the island as the French were particularly troublesome in days gone by…

 

We carried on around St Catherine’s Bay, passing Kyron Bracken’s new pad, still under construction. (We had a little nose about, well… you have to, don’t you? It was all very stylish but very exposed) We passed bay after bay of complete tranquillity; frankly after a while I just took it for granted that the next bay would either be just as gorgeous as the last or even more beautiful.

It was on the beach shown above that we bumped into Sarah, who I noticed whilst Mark was busily acquiring fragrant handfuls of Jersey cherry tomatoes from a roadside stall with an honesty box for the princely sum of 50p.

Sarah was sporting a daysack and my eagle eye spotted that she was carrying Arthur’s guidebook in her hand. With a very waggy tail, I introduced her to Arthur who very sportingly signed her copy of the Channel Island Way.

Munching Mark’s tasty tomatoes, we set off once more up and over the headland to another defensive fort; the Victoria Tower, which set us up perfectly for the view down to Gorey, and lunch: