Post by bot on Jun 11, 2007 2:31:50 GMT -8
Sun, sand and lashings of ginger beer
You don't have to go to the Caribbean for white sand and crystal clear water. Guernsey and its little neighbour Herm have stunning beaches plus the charm of summers long past, writes Tom Robbins
The Observer Sunday June 10 2007
Belvoir Bay, Herm
read at source> www.guardian.co.uk/travel/2007/jun/10/escape.channelislands
Saturday morning on a May bank holiday weekend and Gatwick is in chaos. Harassed families are checking in for Spain, Greece and Turkey and the queues stretch back so far they merge into a vast whining, bickering mass that blocks the terminal entrances. All this, then security, then hours on the plane, then the inevitable hassle of arriving in a foreign country. 'Poor bastards,' I think, as my girlfriend and I push through the wheelie cases and squabbling children to the quieter far end of the hall, where the little planes to Guernsey check in. How wonderful not to have to go abroad.
Ninety minutes later we're on a boat, heading out from St Peter Port's old stone harbour in brilliant sunshine. Ahead is the green outline of Herm, a tiny island with no cars, one pub, a few brown cows, the odd puffin and about 50 people.
The trip takes 20 minutes, and as we close in on the island I can make out our landing point - whitewashed steps cut from the seaweedy rocks, leading up to a stone wall with battlements and an arched doorway. It looks like an illustration from the Famous Five. And as the captain helps us off the boat it quickly becomes clear that Herm actually is a sort of Enid Blyton-ish fantasy, like a posh British village trapped in a glorious post-war summer, with lashings of politeness, no transistors on the beach, and where ice creams are still bright yellow cornets instead of Soleros and Screwballs.
You don't have to go to the Caribbean for white sand and crystal clear water. Guernsey and its little neighbour Herm have stunning beaches plus the charm of summers long past, writes Tom Robbins
The Observer Sunday June 10 2007
Belvoir Bay, Herm
read at source> www.guardian.co.uk/travel/2007/jun/10/escape.channelislands
Saturday morning on a May bank holiday weekend and Gatwick is in chaos. Harassed families are checking in for Spain, Greece and Turkey and the queues stretch back so far they merge into a vast whining, bickering mass that blocks the terminal entrances. All this, then security, then hours on the plane, then the inevitable hassle of arriving in a foreign country. 'Poor bastards,' I think, as my girlfriend and I push through the wheelie cases and squabbling children to the quieter far end of the hall, where the little planes to Guernsey check in. How wonderful not to have to go abroad.
Ninety minutes later we're on a boat, heading out from St Peter Port's old stone harbour in brilliant sunshine. Ahead is the green outline of Herm, a tiny island with no cars, one pub, a few brown cows, the odd puffin and about 50 people.
The trip takes 20 minutes, and as we close in on the island I can make out our landing point - whitewashed steps cut from the seaweedy rocks, leading up to a stone wall with battlements and an arched doorway. It looks like an illustration from the Famous Five. And as the captain helps us off the boat it quickly becomes clear that Herm actually is a sort of Enid Blyton-ish fantasy, like a posh British village trapped in a glorious post-war summer, with lashings of politeness, no transistors on the beach, and where ice creams are still bright yellow cornets instead of Soleros and Screwballs.