Where have all the cows gone? Visiting the Channel Islands

It was a dull old day when I left Poole on the ferry for the island of Jersey.  I had lashed out and upgraded to the front of the ship with a perfect view of the route Liz and I had taken on the last day of our walk.  There was the endless, sandy beach (fortunately it was too cold for the naturalists!) and there was a different view of Old Harry Rocks.  The coastline stretched out endlessly but then my ferry turned south and we headed out into the Channel.  It's surprising how many obstacles there are in this small passage of water.  Lots of rocks.  Orange and white buoys everywhere.  Yachts floating around (there wasn't much wind) and the occasional fishing or cargo boat. 

Old Harry Rocks

Our last day's walk ... along the beach

Both Jersey and Guernsey had a plethora of forts, with a major one at the entrance of each port.

But my trip was over and the gigantic ferry reversed into Jersey's port (most impressive, both the port and the reversing) and it was time to explore.  I grabbed my pack and walked through the main streets of St Helier to my Airbnb.  Elles' place wasn't far and I quickly dropped off my pack, had a sneaky look at my room (very nice) and headed off back into town.  I was planning to do lots of touristy things but instead I discovered the Cock & Bottle and thought it was probably very important to taste the Liberation Ale, brewed here on Jersey.  So I did.  And then organised the next few days.  There's a lot to do on Jersey and I wish I had allowed myself more time.  Ah well.

Jersey has a bit of a fixation about Liberation ... this is the Liberation statue in Liberation Square near Liberation Street

The beer is called Liberation Ale ... what else!?!

The next day I caught a bus to the Wetlands Centre.  This is a bird watching place and I was looking forward to seeing if there were different breeds here compared to what I’ve been seeing in England.  Jersey is a strange mix of English and French and I find the accent of some people a little hard to follow.  Some speak English, some French and some the local language known as Jerriais.  So when I asked the bus driver what stop was for the wetlands and he said wetlands?, and I said that’s right – the wetlands and he said the wetlands … it took me a little while to realise that the Wetlands stop was called Wetlands.  Dah!  

A little fort

There were 30 or so loud children in the centre so I decided to leave them to it and went on the Jersey orchid walk.  I thought I couldn’t find any and then I thought I found one but I’ve just googled it and it’s the Southern Marsh Orchid, not the rare Jersey orchid.  Which, I’m sorry to say, was the purple plant growing everywhere at the back of the clearing … and I thought it was a common weed.  (Anthea hangs her horticultural head in shame!)

A bit further on, there was a bird hide and I thought I’d go and watch the birds on the wetlands.  Well, the little shack was full … full of birders with enormous cameras.  I stayed a while but there only a spoonbill and a couple of ducks.  A woman was hogging the bench and wanting to talk about Ukraine and Putin, rather than birds and Jersey, so I left.  And it was lucky I did because I just caught the bus (they only go every hour).

My camera was feeling quite small and inadequate ... I think it had lens envy.

Note the rare Jersey orchid in the background ... not that I did!

Common as muck Stonechat

I hopped on another bus to the Jersey War Tunnels.  This was an interesting place and well set out.  The tunnels were built by the Germans (but not finished) as a hospital and I walked over a kilometre of tunnels which were filled with artefacts and displays about the German occupation of Jersey.  Having just finished reading the Guernsey Literary & Potato Peel Pie Society, a lot of the thrust of the stories were familiar.  There were a lot of personal stories and it was sad to see how callously the German’s treated people … and yet they were desperate by the end – starving just as much as the islanders and without the hope of victory.  After 2 hours of seriousness, I decided enough was enough and it was time to go to the pub.  

Perhaps the most moving exhibit was the collection of letters that denounced neighbours and friends.  But there was a positive side to this betrayal ... the postal workers used to steam open any letter addressed to the commandant.  They would then warn whoever was being dobbed in, holding back the letter for 24 hours to give people time to get rid of the contraband items or move on the people they were hiding from the Germans.

The next day was a bit damp so I jumped on a couple of buses before stopping at Corbiere to do the Trainline Walk.  This was a short walk of about 5 miles, that wound its way through wooded sections as well as farmlands and the odd golf course.  I was lucky to see a red squirrel (Jersey don't have the grey ones) and a (possible) polecat ... not to good since they're feral.  After a while I reached St Aubin ... I don't know if you know (or have now realised) but EVERYWHERE on Jersey is Saint this and Saint that.  

My next port of call was Devils Hole, on the north coast of the island.  This is a huge crater that is meant to make moaning noises but, unfortunately, the tide was out so it was all a bit anticlimactic.  But it was a pleasant walk and I spent a lovely half hour or so watching some birds of prey dance on the wind currents.

My last day, I headed off for the Maritime museum.  It was very well designed with interactive displays.  Manna for the hyperactive and out-of-control children that I seemed to follow around.  Their father was almost bald from tearing his hair out since he had absolutely no control or effect on the behavior of his two little monsters.  But apart from the brats, I really enjoyed the museum.  But even more so, I loved the Occupation Tapestries.  These were fantastic.  12 panels, 2 x 1 metres, each telling part of the story of the occupation of the island by the Germans.  The design was excellent and each panel had an interactive panel where you could learn more about the subject matter of the panel, some of the stories of the people shown and all about the people who had stitched the panel.  I was very taken with them and could have spent longer there but I received a text telling me to check in the ferry early as it would be quite full.

They were celebrating ... ???

Before I get onto Guernsey, let me tell you some cool statistics to do with the tapestries ... 1418 of 25g hanks of thread were used.  There are 256 stitches per square inch and 626,688 stitches in each panel.  There were 275 shades of 52 colours used.  The 233 embroiderers spent a total of 29,857 hours working on the tapestry.  WOW!

There were so many other places I could have visited but I had run out of time.  Jersey is very well organised ... loads of walking paths and cycling routes.  A week would have been much better than my three days.

The well-named Ragged Robin

The soil was incredibly sandy

Why a toad, I hear you ask!  Well, it's a memorial to 800 years of allegiance to the English Crown and to commemorate the site of the Island's prison.  This used to be marsh land and this is a Jersey crapaud (toad) which the nickname commonly given to Jersey people.

Going over to Guernsey was not quite so much fun as my first ferry trip.  It was a bit rough.  And after watching my neighbours consume a pork pie, a muffin and a cup of coffee each, it was no real surprise that they were both incredibly ill.  I’ve decided that the smell of vomit is sickening.  I was feeling ok but when a rather rotund, nicely dressed woman is hurling into a paper bag next to you, you start to feel a bit ill yourself.  But I was fine.  In fact, I rather like the rolling seas and the bang as the hulls (it’s a catamaran type ferry) hit the top of the next wave.

St Peter Port is Guerney's capital and is a very pretty sight as the ferry cruises in, sick bags all binned and people tottering around looking green.

These rather beautiful round towers were on Jersey as well ... they are nothing to do with the Germans who uniformly built with cement.  Instead, they are older defense towers built by the locals.  Some have been converted into homes and if you want to buy one, it will only cost about 4 million pounds.  Nothing really.

Well, of course it’s Sunday!  I did a whole lot of research once I had landed and discovered (a) things are closed on Sundays, (b) there aren’t that many buses on Sunday, (c) there aren’t many walking or cycling tracks here, (d) my achilles (RHS) is still very sore and my knee aches and (e) there aren’t that many places that I said “Wow! I want to go there!”.  So that made things easy.  I got up the next morning VERY late and went down to the bus station and caught the No.92.  The bus driver was a surly old thing who couldn’t see that travelling halfway around the island then getting off the bus and back on and going the next half around the island was a legitimate thing.  “You should be paying 10 pound”, he said, “for a day pass”.  But I convinced him in the end and he didn’t even charge me for the second half.

The coastline of Guernsey is a rocky one, interspersed with some lovely sandy beaches.  There are more pillboxes and sentry outposts around the coastline than were on Jersey, with rarely a few hundred metres going past without some sort of war structure.  But there are also more hotels and houses, the island being quite built up and suburban.  The whole trip took just under 2 hours and I enjoyed the views but didn’t feel like getting off at any stage.  I was perfectly comfortable in my seat, staring at the sights.

My first Guernsey cows

Back in St Peter Port, I found a deli/coffee shop and had one of the best coffees of the entire trip.  A baguette and some cheese for lunch and then it was back to catch the No.71 to the Little Chapel.  This was a delight.  A tiny chapel totally covered in mosaics, built by a monk at the start of the 1900s.  There were plates and cups and bowls and colour schemes and patterns and a riot of colour and form.  It was quite bizarrely beautiful … in a totally over-the-top kind of way.  I wandered and admired and then left and caught the bus back.  

So goodbye Channel Islands.  I'm glad I came.  But I don't think I'll be back.  It was a bit underwhelming since I hadn't realised how these islands are now so populated with people, with holiday houses and hotels and Airbnbs and holiday rentals.  There's little farmland left and I was hard pushed to find a Jersey or Guernsey cow.  So when they say it's Jersey cream, I'm sorry, I just don't believe it!  The 3 cows I saw CAN'T provide all that milk!  Anyway, it's now off to France!  Mon dieu!  Au revoir!  A bientot!  Merde!  You can tell I've been practising ... he he he.

Rather cool ... the congregation having lunch in the street after the service.  I didn't join them - I was off to the pub to watch the test match (and apologise for being an Australian!).