Harvesting and Countryside Churches: Autumn Walks in Kent

1 Comment

Autumnal Colours (Photo M. Germana)

Autumnal Colours (Photo M. Germana)

The capricious nature of British climate is obviously why in Britain weather talk is a staple part of everyday conversation. Even foreign visitors – and residents, like myself – will pick up the habit. You can’t help it. It rules your life. But it also makes us tell each other stories.

Autumnal Colours 2 (Photo M. Germana)

Autumnal Colours 2 (Photo M. Germana)

This one is about the sensual beauty of the British Autumn. I have often thought October can be one of best months to visit Britain. The leaves are changing colour, and the coppery and rusty palette is even more striking against the crisp blue sky we have seen over the last few weeks. The air has a particular scent, too, of ripening berries and sweet grapes.

Berries (Photo M. Germana)

Berries (Photo M. Germana)

John Keats paints a vividly evocative picture of the season’s generous produce, in his Ode to Autumn:

SEASON of mists and mellow fruitfulness,

Close bosom-friend of the maturing sun;

Conspiring with him how to load and bless

With fruit the vines that round the thatch-eaves run;

To bend with apples the moss’d cottage-trees,

And fill all fruit with ripeness to the core;

To swell the gourd, and plump the hazel shells

With a sweet kernel; to set budding more,

And still more, later flowers for the bees,

Until they think warm days will never cease;

For Summer has o’erbrimm’d their clammy cells.

You may be satisfied with crunching the mulching/soggy leaves on the pavement, but if you venture to the countryside, you will be rewarded with many more seasonal gifts. If you live in London, Kent is only a short drive away, and yet you will feel as if you have entered a different world.

Kentish View (Photo M. Germana)

Kentish View (Photo M. Germana)

On two separate trips we took a couple of medium-length walks in the Isle of Harty and Maidstone areas. Both times we were blessed with the perfect weather for a Sunday walk. Mostly sunny, mild enough for comfortable walking. In Harty we came across St Thomas the Apostle, a charming countryside church, built around 1089, following the destruction brought to the area by the Danes’ incursions.

St. Thomas, Harty (Photo M. Germana)

St. Thomas, Harty (Photo M. Germana)

We  thought the church might be locked, but  were pleasantly surprised by the church warden, who asked us where we came from and then invited us in – ‘Welcome to Harty’, he said.  Inside, the small ambient of the church was made even cosier by the warmth of the wood panelling covering the stone walls. The warden told us that at Christmas, service is candle-lit and the church always reaches its full capacity.

We couldn’t help but notice baskets with fruit, lying around the church vestibule. ‘Harvest Festival’, the church warden explained. It looked like we had just missed a good feast of autumnal flavours. We made up for that on our following trip.

Our walk in Harty ended up on the Gothic-looking beach.

Beach, Harty (Photo M. Germana)

Beach, Harty (Photo M. Germana)

The sun had set and the sky was heavily overcast. But it was the dark  wooden stumps – the remains of old wave-breakers, I guess – that were scattered around the light-coloured sand that gave the place a somewhat post-apocalyptic aura. Ironically enough, on a hot summer’s day the place would be teeming with naked bodies basking in the sun – the beach is a naturist resort.

Untitled (Photo M. Germana)

Untitled (Photo M. Germana)

The weather was consistently good on our second walk, which started in Sutton Valance. To me, it was a quintessentially English walk, although the architecture of the villages – and, in particular the red roofs of some of the houses – also give this part of Kent a kind of French je ne se quois. Still, as we walked past East Sutton Church, I couldn’t help but think of Thomas Gray’s ‘Elegy written in a countryside churchyard’, the most Romantic tribute to the haunting beauty of English countryside cemeteries. This one was particularly striking because of the most unusual style of this graveyard’s tombs: mummy-like sculptures rest above ground as suggestive reminders of those buried six feet under.

Graveyard, East Sutton (Photo M. Germana)

Graveyard, East Sutton (Photo M. Germana)

Our walk was punctuated by regular stops to gather copious amounts of blackberries and, occasionally, some fallen apples and cobnuts, left behind after the harvest.

DSC_2232

Cobnuts (Photo M. Germana)

There is nothing that tastes sweeter than fruit that has just been picked from it source. It’s not just the novelty of foraging, although I’m also surprised that wild berries and mushrooms are often left untouched in Britain. It is also the realisation that we hardly ever consume 0-miles food, and when we do, we appreciate the fact that supermarket ‘freshness’ is an oxymoron.

We took home the berries we couldn’t eat, but they didn’t travel well in our sandwich bag. And so they became jam. Less healthy than fresh fruit, for sure, but a good way to preserve the sweetness of Autumnal fruit for the cold months ahead.

Freshly-foraged apples (Photo M. Germana)

Freshly-foraged apples (Photo M. Germana)

The other world, round the corner

9 Comments

'English Riviera' Photo (M. Germana)

You always think paradise is a far-away place. Before the rise of low-cost airlines and budget holidays, the exotic eden of foreign holidays was only accessible to the privileged elite who could afford the pricey air-fares.

Now it costs less to fly to Tenerife than spend a week-end in the South coast. Yet, whatever the weather, Britain’s coastal resorts may surprise the accidental tourists, who, like me, left it too late to book their overseas Easter break.

'Beachy Head' (Photo M. Germana)

Over the last month my itchy feet have driven me away from the unseasonal concrete heat of London to find fresher air by the southern shores of England.

The first trip, about three weeks ago now, took me to the sunny coastal resorts of Hythe (Kent) and Eastbourne (Sussex). The weather was consistently excellent; impossibly dry for March, but still welcome as we spent two days beach-combing and hiking the South Downs area.

After a day spent walking along the wind-swept trail of Beachy Head, there was nothing more conducive to the holiday mood than going to bed with the windows open, listening to the loud shrills of seagulls before falling asleep.

'Beachcombing' (Photo M. Germana)

Inland Hythe was a gateway to a gorgeous natural park, Brockhill. My travel companion and I had a pleasant walk about the gentle slopes of this woodland area, dodging the occasional sheep (we are city people after all!) and experiencing first-hand the effects of the heatwave on the British eco-system: in place of the waterfall advertised in the park brochure was a slope of soil and dried-up roots.

'Grazers' (Photo M. Germana)

In the middle of the park we took a peek at the amazing ‘hollow oak’, a beautiful old tree, which made me think of Lewis Carroll’s Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland: the dark inside of the tree could well be the entry point for another world within the otherworldly surroundings of Brockhill Country Park.

'Hollow' (Photo M. Germana)

My Easter break, a couple of weeks later, had a similar blend of rural and marine worlds, both of them refreshing, in different ways.

It felt different, of course, while we were stuck on the M25. Suddenly I regretted staying in Britain for Easter. My impatience made me realise how much I associate the anxious excitement of my airport experience with a holiday. It’s as if the airport has become the real start of a holiday. If you are not flying, you are not really going anywhere. Your destination is almost not worth mentioning to your cooler friends who will make the most of their annual leave to hop across to Marrakech for a spa break or Chile for wine-tasting. Suddenly your long week-end in Dorset makes you sound conservative and unadventurous.

I was very wrong.

And while I kept thinking I could have flown to New York in the same period of time, five days in Dorset were worth the five hours it took us to reach Lyme Regis on Maundy Thursday.

'Lyme Bay and The Cobb' (Photo M. Germana)

It was a trip down memory lane, too, as I returned to Lyme 19 years after my first visit to Dorset as a student. I remember drinking my first pint of lager and the giggles, afterwards, in the town cinema, where they showed the incredibly topical Jurassic Park, though I don’t remember drawing a link between the giant lizards and the fossil beach of Lyme Bay. We paid a visit to the Rock Point Inn, the hostelry that accounted for my bad cinema etiquette two decades ago, on our first night. There were few punters and as we sat at the bar with two pints of Doom Bay, I realised – not without some anxiousness – that the girls sitting beside us, who were lost in the screens of their IPhones, may have not been born at the time of my first visit to the Rock Point Inn.

'Beach Huts' (Photo M. Germana)

We had ample opportunities to check out other establishments in the village, such as the busy Harbour Inn, where we had our last dinner on Easter Sunday: if you are after a hearty fish soup, this is the place. The cosy Volunteer Inn was also a pleasant choice for a quick aperitif before dinner. They pride themselves in serving only local beer and as I joked about the fact they also seemed to have Stella on tap, the barman drily dismissed my comment: ‘That’s lager. Not real beer’. We accepted that and settled for two pints of the real thing, Cobb pale bitter, from the Town Mill Brewery, situated one street away from The Volunteer Inn, in the heart of Lyme: as far as alcohol miles go, drinking never felt more ethical.

'Waves' (Photo M. Germana)

In case you think that a pint of local ale is not worth the five-hour drive, Lyme and the surrounding area offers more than the pleasures of alcoholic intoxication. We didn’t go for any of the organised fossil or literary organised walks. Local businesses haven’t missed any tricks in the exploitation of their treasures for the amateur palaeontologists or the fans of Jane Austin and John Fowles: the latter lived most of his life and set his famous novel, The French Lieutenant’s Woman, in Lyme Regis. Austin, who has public gardens dedicated to her, visited the town twice in 1803 and 1804 and set the climactic events of Persuasion in Lyme Regis. Without wanting to spoil either novel for those of you who may not be familiar with them, I will only say that the picturesque bay and its tidal coastline is the perfect settings for two stories which, in very different ways, deal with difficult romances.

Lulworth Cove (Photo M. Germana)

Without a doubt Dorset’s greatest attraction must be the great outdoors. The weather was perfect for the inexperienced and ill-prepared ramblers like us (neither of us had proper walking boots or waterproof gear). We did, however, pack the most succulent sandwich lunch you will find in Lyme Regis: The Whole Hog‘s simple choice of either roast pork or chicken, accompanied by apple sauce and onions will keep you going until tea-time. We struck lucky in our random choice of itineraries and stumbled upon two of the most spectacular sights we have ever seen.

Yes, even when we have travelled a fair bit, sometimes we may be surprised to find that the most astonishing spectacles are (almost) on our doorstep.

The most famous is probably Lulworth, and the magnificent site of Durdle Door. The natural beauty of this part of the world attracted many visitors and some artists, who’d set up their easels to capture the changing light over Lulworth Cove. On the other side, by the natural arch of Durdle Door, some brave people dipped their feet in… we didn’t dare, but thoroughly enjoyed the walk and particularly the variety of shades the sky painted all around us. Towards the end, after numerous changes from the blues and purple of the season’s palette, the horizon seemed to vanish, the sea and sky merged into one seamless dome above us.

Our cream tea stop, on our way back to Lyme, in the lovely Tea Garden of Bay Tree House in Chideock was a well-deserved stop after our efforts.

'Durdle Door' (Photo M. Germana)

If highlights have to be picked, the other unmissable sight would have to be the easily accessible cliffs of West Bay, near Bridport. These stunning rocky walls will capture the wonderful warm light of sunset, offsetting the dark recesses of their secretive caves: you can’t imagine a more suitable place for pirates and smugglers.

'West Bay' (Photo M. Germana)

If you haven’t packed your walking boots yet, I will give you two more reasons to visit or return to Lyme Regis. The sky could be moody during the day, but it dressed up for the evening, studded with the twinkling stars you never see in London and, later, bejewelled with the most astonishing full moon. While there seemed to be no hints of werewolves lurking in the dark alleys of Lyme, the moonlight retained a somewhat uncanny quality. It wound its way up the narrow alleyways, casting its silver beams on the shiny cobbled streets, and chased us along the beach on our way back to our room in the stylish Alexandra Hotel. From the vantage point of our double windows overlooking the bay we kept our watch on the moon’s beautiful face, until he disappeared, shrouded in a light veil of pink clouds. Otherworldly.

The best way to finish the perfect Dorset mini-break? A delicious lunch at Lyme’s most prestigious fish restaurant, Hix Oyster and Fish House: you can also visit its sister restaurant in Soho, but the fish’s got to be fresher in Lyme! Book ahead, it gets very busy. For all the right reasons.

Do you have a favourite British holiday destination? Where did you spent your Easter week-end? We would love to hear your suggestions and travel notes…

%d bloggers like this: