Channel Islands: Jersey

Jersey!!! (I climbed that).

Jersery is the largest of the Channel Islands, measuring in at a whooping 119.5 km² (thanks wikipedia!). Fun fact, when I first heard the names Guersey and Jersey for the Channel Island I thought to myself 'he, I never knew if I should call a sporting top a Guernsey or a Jersey'. This is because I constantly heard both being used as I was growing up to describe sporting tops but never knew which was correct. 

Gemma got bored during my hunt for the origin of the Jersey and Guernsey, so she went and got an icecream for breakfast. Crazy Brits.

Now, 10 to 15 years on, curiously, I come across two islands right next to each other that share the same name. Coincidence? Surely not. In the 15th century (or so) these two islands were famous for their woolen knitted sweaters. Jersey made jerseys and Guernsey made Guernsey. Was there any discernible difference between the two back then? Probably not, but I am sure many a bar fight was started by it. Of course, this has nothing to do with sporting terms, except I now know that a 'guernsey' is worn in Aussie Rules and a jersey in pretty much every other sport. Anyway, I digress...

Gemma at Elizabeth Castle

Jersey gave us bright sunshine, so we made the most of it by checking out the beaches and climbing on the rocks. We waited for the tide to change and, forgoing the amphibious bus/boat monstrosity,  walked along the causeway to Elizabeth Castle. 

 This may drive on land and float in the sea, but I did not trust it at all.

I got us lost as we went searching for the Jersey War tunnels. I did find out that apparently some of the Jersey locals are incredibly worried about burglars. The War tunnels were good, and described life on the island during WWII, including during the German occupation.

Its hard to see, but this fence is topped with broken glass. It was a nice house...

We spent one day driving around the island. We visited a few piers, like St Catherine's Breakwater, sort out some amazing coastal views by walking along the paths around High Cliff. I went for a brief run to the highest point on the island and came face-to-face with a radar dish. 

View from Les Platons, the highest point in Jersey.

Gemma and I also tried to find Leicester tower by had no success. Our final destination was the Devil's Hole.

The Devil's Hole.

This is a natural blowhole in a cliff. Supposedly, it got its name supposedly from a shipwreck in the area. The figure head washed up into the crater and a local sculptor worked the figurehead into a statue of the devil, a replica of which has been erected by the Hole.

 The Devil (looks lonely)

On our final evening we ended at a pub that gave a sense of deja vu for some reason.

Channel Islands: Sark

Ahh Sark. It was everything I expected it to be. This, of course, is not particularly difficult when I was looking somewhere nice and romantic for Easter and Sark is a dark community. Yup, no cars, no outdoor lights, limited indoor lighting (that can be seen outdoors), and on Easter Sunday no friggin restaurants or pubs.

Admittedly there was other stuff to do.

At least that we planned for. Gemma and I had squirreled away some grog and tasty snacks. She bought some cider from Guernsey and I had topped up my trusty hip flask. So, fully prepared for a night under the stars we pitched out tent as close to the cliff as we dared and waited for the sun to set.

We had a long time to wait...

I was actually quite excited about this. UK does no have a whole lot of sky that is not inundated with light pollution at night due to the extremely high population density and often it is clouded over any way. I thought Gemma would be able to see something she had not seen before, especially as we had hit a spot of luck in that there was not a cloud in sight, She could witness a night sky lit by nothing but the trillions of stars and the full moon...

Whiskey and cider!

...Yeah, whoops. I forgot that the moon would drown out aaaaaaaaaaaaaall the stars. But, thats okay, as I continued to swoon her be flourshing the giant easter egg I had smuggled to the Island without her knowledge aaaaaand by bringing out our slippers which I had also smuggled over without her knowledge.

This is still our favourite photo.

Beaut. I. Ful Give that man a New. Actually, no, give him a good beer.

Beer was hard to find, so I had to find another vista.

Now, Sark is not all darkness and horse drawn carriages. There is also ample opportunity for cliff jumping if you were so inclined (we are not).

Horse drawn carriages leave horse drawn mess. I am very disappointed that the owner didn't pick up the poo with a horsey bag and throw it in the red dog poo bin in the background like the sign requests.

We followed a narrow isthmus to little Sark, a peninsula, on the south of the island. Here we actually found a tea house that was open for lunch on Easter Sunday. One of the ladies on the table behind seemed like she was being a little demanding (read: bossy to the point of being abusive) of the staff. It took us a while to realise she was the owner and just having fun hosting most of the inhabitants of the island.

Waving from the isthmus (i just...just love that word. I need to find more ways to drop casually into conversation).

We also managed to find our way to the awesomely named Venus Pools and the Window in the Rock. The latter has become less exciting to me since I found out it was man-made and not natural. 

Gemma sneaks through the hole in the wall.

Once the sun rose on Easter Monday we packed our bags and trudged back to the ferry, gearing up for the next destination on our Island adventure.

Heading to...(be continued)