Climbing the Matterhorn meant that he and I had little enthusiasm for anything but lunch. So it was off the beaten track to a beaten track at Hartland Moor where we scoffed lunch and rested bones. This type of moor is somewhat bleak in my view, the purple stretches for miles into the hills in the far distance and small beasties crawl here and there but few birds fly by and in my mind there is no obvious beauty to be seen. To observe that requires careful searching into the scrub to find the many insects that live here but at first sight I see it as somewhat bland. This did not stop people, aged and with dogs, appearing out of nowhere and disappearing in similar fashion into the distance. The road is quiet and apart from a selfish female cyclist who would not let us pass on the narrow road, he man moved aside, few other vehicles came that way. A good place to stuff the face when the sun is shining.
Then it was time for the beach!
Raised in Edinburgh, a city that slopes down to the Firth of Forth, I love to be near the sea. Growing up we often heard the deep long blast of the foghorn based on Inchkeith and often we could see the light from the accompanying lighthouse turning around. The advancement (?) of lighting and creation of blocks of flats where my old school once horrified they surroundings would hinder both, if indeed foghorns actually sound thee days. The smell of the sea and the light produced by the action of light bouncing of the water does lift the soul I say. There is something about the closeness of the water, the end of land and the reaching out to whatever lies way over yonder that speaks to us in some way. In times past few lived near the sea as it appeared dangerous, only sailors and fishermen would venture near, but today the majority love the sea, crowded beaches show that.
Naturally the woman of the party despises the seaside and prefers moorland and forest! This is good however as we dumped her on a seat at the front knowing she would retreat to the car and sleep the day off. We trekked on bravely.
Swanage is a small town in a bay which gathers an enormous number of visitors. Possibly it is comparatively cheap, I suspect it is not that cheap to live here, but lots of UK visitors were noticed. There again Bournemouth and possibly Swanage attract young folks to 'Language schools' and Bournemouth teems with such types and maybe there were some among the throng here.
We did not venture far, the break in the buildings ahead offered a seat and a 'Heritage centre,' a well run small and very well set out museum resplendent with history and well informed volunteer helpers. I am very impressed with this place. If collecting stones, those shiny things kids love is your thing this is the place to go, they have thousands, this is the 'Jurassic Coast' after all.
We sat listening to a group of men in English shirts informing the world around of their inability to hold their drink while we cogitated on the number of 'Fish & Chip' shops advertised or seen in the small square. The Jewish man who apparently began selling chips with his fish in the 19th century did not realise he was introducing the UK's main lunch when he did so. The pesky foreigners keep changing good old English attitudes and it really must stop! By the way it was supposedly an Italian, one who had walked all the way from Italy, who late in the century introduced Scotland's first 'Chippy.' When you consider how in the last fifty years the UK now eats Indian (often Bangladeshi actually) and Chinese (are we still banned from saying 'Chinky?') you see how the nations eating habits have developed with the introduction of foreign Johnnies into the country.
I await the popularising of Middle Easter cuisine in similar fashion however that may be limited by cries of 'Islamic Terrorist!' every time you went in for a falafel. The gulls however cared not what you ate just as long as you ensured they got their share.
The sun shone brightly but there was a haze limiting the sight of the Isle of Wight. At times it was almost clear but rarely could we see the lower end. The sea itself was somewhat rough as the wind roughened the tops of the waves while the tide came in our direction. The sea is very much colder than it looks and those tempted into it discover this fooled by the warmth of the sun.
Surprisingly few yachts were out there and this was good weather for that kind of thing. Were the owners all off making money in the city in this heat I wonder? Few craft of any king out there while we meandered about and headed back via the shops. Lots of small shops still surviving in spite of business rates and greedy councils but a lot of them were, shall we say, tatty? Lots of pap on offer, ice cream and chips, not at the same time, and all the other requirements of holiday makers and their kids in the sun filled cheery seaside. I wondered where these people resided? On returning we found our madame still sitting there, now people watching, now gossiping with strangers, very like her. These strangers were holidaying nearby, were others doing the same? Swanage does not appear to have many obvious 'Bed & Breakfast' places, maybe I juts did not look.
Then it was time to sail the seven seas, or at least make use of the Sandbanks Ferry.
Timing it to be just too late to board we waited in the sun while people clambered out of cars, avoiding the massive chains that keep the ferry stable, and photographed their surroundings. The young men on their jet skis bouncing upon the waves somewhat carelessly were less interesting than the madman trying to reach France by paragliding there on wind power. He would be lucky to make the other side, which he would not do if he ran into the ferry from Boulogne. It amazes me when you see the size of the ships which enter this narrow channel into Poole Bay. Huge ships arrive and park themselves way over the far side of the bay yet in other parts the water is only a few feet deep. For several thousand years men in boats, from dug out canoes to car carrying ferries have deposited their loads here, one of the reasons Many folks have made use of the hill upon which we found Corfe Castle and where I must have left two stones of ugly somewhere on the way up.
Brownsea Island, not somewhere I have been but maybe if we could walk further we might venture onto one day, not this week mind. Fampusly owned by one woman, famous for the first Boy Scout Jamboree (girls allowed but no boys allowed in Girl Guides for some reason) and we watched the ferry (yet another) pull away from the Island and make of round the bay. Maybe next year but I doubt his missus will be up for that! The island is now another National Trust property.
The Sandbanks Ferry has been running since the 1920's, a fact which surprised me as I always thought it a Victorian achievement. £4:50 gets the car across in a few minutes accompanied on occasions by the sound of someone aboard informing a yachtsman or sailboarder of their opinion regarding how close he could get to a moving ferry chain. Most big boats work the passage well.
If you ever have too much cash floating around pass it on to me and I will buy one of the flats where I will waste my life watching the ferry move back and forth day after day, that is how active my body wishes to be these days. I note one available for a mere £950,000 which appears to me to be a bargain that must not be missed.
In the distance Bournemouth towers above the cliffs while on the beach thousands frolic in the sun, we will be there tomorrow. Just think, around 1850 nothing much but bracken and a small stream, the Bourne, had its collision with the sea here, known as the 'Bourne Mouth' the name has stuck but now from Christchurch at one end to Poole at the other how many thousands cram into this place day after day?
I do like it however.
