Jersey: The Glass Church and abject failure

It is, once again, excessively hot. I am exhausted. It's mostly down to the weather, which has been relentlessly warm, and I'm not great at that (see: everything I wrote about Japan ever). To some extent, though, it's also because I'm having to work fairly hard to find ways to occupy myself. Touristing is relatively hard work, and requires a fair amount of planning because the places are scattered around the island. I can't simply crash in my room and surf the internet or watch films, because that requires sitting in a very specific spot in the garden where I can hope to be connected about 15% of the time. Also, that pesky RSI is stopping me from just writing. So! Today I thought I'd head off to the Hamptonne Country Life Museum. I'm hoping this will be a cool, indoorsy place where I can drink tea and muse gently. I'm also taking my laptop, so that if worse comes to worst I can do some flashcards or something.

Resolution made, I take the bus through Millbrook, where I remember as we pass it St Matthew’s Glass Church, which I intended to find out about but forgot. Millbrook is the place to change buses for the HCL anyway, so I hop off at next stop and wander back. The church is... not quite what I expected. I'd been envisioning a church that was actually glass - maybe a glittering stained-glass marvel along the lines of Paddy's Wigwam, or a chapel made of huge panes of glass and full of light? Perhaps an ordinary church fill to the brim with elaborate glass ornaments? But getting a brown sign isn't a sign of being a major monument, but a place of possible interest to tourists. We have to take scale into account. Jersey is a relatively small place, so it's not likely to have a large number of major attractions: the handful of castles and museums it has easily meet quota. The Glass Church doesn't pretend to be anything major, I just leaped to that conclusion because it's mentioned. As a small and isolated place with a relatively small population, little interesting places are going to seem more prominent than they might in a major urban area.

So, the Glass Church is a place where some fixtures are made of glass. It's perfectly pleasant, worth sticking your head round, but not particularly fascinating to be honest unless you're really into church architecture.

Having done that, I decide to get te bus to the HCL. This is where things fall apart, because after much traipsing I finally find a bus stop - which is to say, a pole. The stops on the other side of the road are proper stone shelters, in the shade, with seats. They look really comfortable. This is a notice nailed to a pole in the sunniest part of the street. It is deeply uninformative. It lists the numbers of buses, with the ultimate destinations. I’m sure it’s useful if you’re a local, but there is no indication whatsoever of where any of these buses actually go along the way. Diligently, I try looking at the four different maps I own, but this doesn’t enlighten me, because none of these ultimate destinations appear on the maps. Apparently they are either too unimportant, or they're the name of a specific part of a small town. This leaves the option of either stopping every bus which passes to ask if they go where I want, or walking.

Looking at the timetable, it will be over an hour before all possible bus numbers have passed, and so on average it's likely to take me at least half an hour of waiting. It's really very hot. After much consideration I try to walk. It’s only a couple of miles, right?

This is a mistake.

I find a road sign indicating the Hamptonne Country Life Museum, and bein walking. After a few yards, the pavements disappear. Hey, who needs pavements? It’s not as though humans walk. Certainly not in Jersey, it would seem. The road becomes steep, and increasingly winding. As I try to navigate around a corner, two huge lorries thunder past from opposite sides, drivers gawping at me in incomprehension. I am, shall we say, uncomfortable with this. The road seems to grow steeper as I walk, until I might be traipsing up a cliff. Heat shimmers off the road. Sharp-angled driveways appear behind me, disgorging unexpected vehicles. I feel increasingly like an FPS protagonist surrounded by spawn points.

After a few minutes of this, I give up and turn around for my own safety.

I was really hoping the Millbrook change would be a sensible move; it means only taking the bus halfway to St. Helier, which means only spending 20 minutes rather than the full 40 minutes needed to cover to cover the 5ish miles between the two towns.*

* Horrifyingly, I can reliably run this distance faster than the bus covers it.

Now it looks as if unless you know exactly what you’re doing, the only sensible thing to do is go to St. H and get the bus there. But this walking thing is obviously not going to be enjoyable whatsoever. I give up. Stuff this visiting places lark; if they can’t be bothered to make it easy for tourists (a supposedly significant part of their economy) to get to places, I will not visit them. The museum sounded vaguely interesting, but I’m not risking life and limb to get there due to lack of information on the buses. I'm really quite fed up about this, but I’m just going to St. Helier to sit in a café or something. Defeatist, perhaps. I could go to St. Helier and get the bus from there, but by that point it would be lunchtime. My experiences at Castle Elizabeth warn me against expecting to eat at a tourist attraction in Jersey. If I wait until after lunch, by the time I can get to the museum the place will be practically ready to close. I’m going to give up on visiting anything and just go somewhere to read. Well done, Jersey.

So I do. I tote my bag over to the library, and study flashcards in the cool. I'm actually incredibly tired, from the heat and from the effort of touristing. Always having to think up ways to occupy myself and search for meals is exhausting; the meals in particular have been difficult, because it’s too hot for me to eat the big restauranty meals, and the choice in most places has been extremely limited, so there's been a lot of traipsing around.

I make a token effort to try going to the museum in the afternoon, after a lightish meal at M&S, and then just give up. I don’t really want to go to another museum. I’m hot and exhausted. If I were at home, I’d just curl up and try to nap. I’m basically stuck in town until I get a bus to the hotel, then I’ll be stuck in the hotel, so I try to make the best of it and just go back to the library. And that’s basically it.

I spend the day studying, reading and listening to podcasts. Rather than scout around for food yet again, I have sudden inspiration and pick up some bits from M&S again. I’m once again astounded at the dearth of bread rolls in Jersey,* but do find a couple here, and some fruit salad. That’s about all I can imagine eating. Despite being far milder than Fukuoka, the weather has done a number on me.

It's mysteriously like Japan, possibly from joint French influence? I can find large loaves of bread here, which are far more than I could possibly eat, but small items seem to be exclusively brioche. I've nothing against brioche, but I'm not going to make a sandwich out of it, because it's cake. And I do try not to eat cake for every meal.

In the evening, when it’s cooled off a bit, I have a stroll around. I never did see the supposed coastal path south-west of St Aubin, and there’s still no sign of it (in both senses of the word), but I wander through the streets a bit. I watch the first half of Tokyo Sonata, which I’ve had lying around from Lovefilm for about three months now and never got round to. As I had feared, it’s rather depressing, but not overwhelmingly so, and I’ll probably finish it.

I never did. I kept it for another couple of months, and never mustered the enthusiasm to watch the rest. I started once, realised the rest of it was just going to be more of the same, and gave up after yet another scene of family arguments. The synopsis I read makes me glad I did. I've already got a taste of the film, and my tolerance for things which are stylish but grim is quite low. The last part of the film simply seems to be weird. I can't be bothered. I sent it back.

Everyone else has disappeared by now, but I venture back out into the garden. It’s dark, cool, and peaceful, apart from the inescapable gurring of traffic and distant whooping from someone or other. The church below stands out as a dark and elegant shape, painted in chocolate light and shadow by a streetlamp. There are lights strung out all along the bay as it curves off to St. Helier and melts away into the distant Elizabeth Castle. St. Aubin’s own little islet fort juts out into the sea to the right, giving them the look of two lovers calling to one another across the bay.

A faint rain begins to fall, speckling my skin softly like the kisses of ghosts. The day is over.

Jersey: Elizabeth Castle

Thursday rolls around. Today's breakfast special is pancakes. There's two options, with maple syrup and bacon, or with fruit and créme fraiche. I'm hesitating, weighing up whether I actually want a pancake, and can I get it without créme fraiche, because why would you put white goop that tastes of literally nothing on things? The landlady mistakes this for indecision, and announces that she will bring me both pancakes. This is extremely kind of her, even though I don't actually want two. I end up with a very large breakfast - sadly I didn't have my camera with me.

I've never had bacon and maple syrup together, because... well, for the same reason I haven't had roast beef with chocolate sauce, which is to say, why would you do that? It's not revolting or anything, but it's distinctly weird and I don't plan to repeat it.

My original plan for today was, as suggested by the nice couple last night, to get the bus up to Letacq and get some walking done. When I check the forecast, though, I discover it's going to be the worst possible day for that. It's due to be 30C and above, and blazing sunlight. The walk they suggested is along the coastline, and seems to have very little in the way of shade. It's all countryside, with settlements generally 1km away at a minimum, and I don't know the area at all. In the circumstances, going for a walk by myself seems like an open invitation to heatstroke. Since I'm also prone to migraines induced by bright light, overheating or dehydration, and really don't want to succumb to a hallucinatory episode somewhere I'm also liable to get heatstroke, I decide to leave this for another day.

Instead, I'm going back to St. Helier and aiming to visit Elizabeth Castle. My plan is to get my postcards sent off, then stroll over the causeway late morning, having lunch in the castle café. I hope to have time to reach Le Hogue Bie this afternoon, but we'll see. They all seem to be relatively modest tourist sites here, so an hour or two is generally enough (and that's fine by me).

Well, I get my postcards sent off. I wrote most of them yesterday while lizard-watching, and spend a small fortune buying thirty-odd stamps to Japan, China, Germany and even a few for the UK. The nice lady at the post office is impressed.

Cards posted, I stride down to the seafront, enjoying the breeze and the nice cheerful horror literature podcast playing in my ears, as I head towards the causeway. Which... isn't there.

It turns out that the route to the castle is on a tidal causeway. I had envisioned just a raised path leading there - given the place was occupied by the Germans, and is now a tourist site, and I'd seen photos of people walking there, I had no question in my mind. Never occurred to me to doubt this. I suppose I assumed either that it was situated at the end of a natural outcrop that was walkable, or that a road had been built at some point. But no. You can only reach the castle on footwhen the tide is down; and because it's currently a neap tide, it won't be possible today or tomorrow.

This seems like the kind of information that should be made incredibly prominent everywhere, because generally people don't go around assuming that major tourist destinations might randomly be inaccessible depending on astronomic cycles. Don't bury that information in a detail paragraph somewhere in a guidebook - put it on the freaking sign. If all you have is a sign saying "castle this way", I tend to assume - not, I think, unreasonably - that if I go in that direction, I will be able to reach the castle.

After much bewildered wandering around, I discover that what you need to do instead is get a little shuttle ferry. There are two, but they don't seem to coordinate efforts, I think they just take it in turns to go or something? Or maybe one is a backup. The next available ferry seat turns out to be in 45 minutes away, by which point I was hoping to be in a tearoom in the castle, since the walk would only take about 10 minutes. I end up going around the corner to La Fregate, where I find a scone and an apple to keep me going. It's not particularly restful, because I'm stressing about getting to the castle and my plans being thrown off, but it is at least in the shade.

I finally manage to get on a ferry around 12.20. By this point, I'm guessing I won't be able to do much else today. Being tied to the ferries is meaning a lot of wasted time sitting around, so I might as well make the most of the castle.

The ferry is pretty cool, though. There's a safety video inside, which is done by a group of historical recreationists being the local militia, and is really pretty gun as these things go.

Some seagulls are nesting in the window, the first thing I saw when I arrived.

All the cannon lined up.

An observation post.

Just a nice little view of an islet through the tower window.

It's hard to convey just how sunny it is here. I felt really sorry for the soldiers training in this heat on this baking, open courtyard.

Instructions for musket drill.

There are lovely beaches around here, although they look hard to get to.

Flowers now sprout all over the castle grounds. Like Mont Orgueil, it's probably a good habitat for rare species, although it's been disturbed more recently by the war.

This is a pretty tourist-brochure-y photo right here.

The castle is an odd experience - there's the old, esoteric parts that you come to expect from castles, but it's cut through with modernisations, because it was occupied by the Germans when they took over the island in the second world war. As a result, concrete is everywhere. This feels very odd, but it's probably not significantly different from how castles used to change over the centuries. Most castles have been heavily redesigned over their lives, it's just that in most cases they became redundant as defences so long ago that we don't really notice these discrepancies. The stone/concrete distinction just happens to be broad enough and modern enough to be obvious.

A concrete bunker has been added here.

The work on the castle was mostly done by slave labour, it seems. Things were really pretty bad on Jersey, one of the last places to be freed. I assume that for the Allies, the work and risk required to recapture a small and very well-defended outpost was inefficient compared to the gains that could be made on the mainland for the same effort. As a result, the population were starving and in very bad straits.

Although of course I'm very sorry for the forced labourers, I also feel quite sorry for the German soldiers seeing this. The castle was set up with a full hospital, central heating and other advanced facilities, but this would not be a fun place to spend your time either. They must also have been in constant fear of the Allies landing, and of the population who presumably hated their guts.

This is a ranging chart for the gunners, showing nearby islets and rocks to help them judge the ballistics needed to hit an enemy vessel.

It's quite exhausting wandering around the castle. It's interesting enough, but I have seen an awful lot of castles in my time, to be honest. The heat is so intense that I'm very glad of the brief trips inside, though the bunker-style sections are really cramped and unpleasant. It's too hot to sit outside and enjoy reading or anything, so I go to the cafe, seeking lunch.

Here, following on from my experience at Mont Orgueil, I realise that cafes in Jersey museums cannot be depended on as a source of food. It's basically tea, coffee and cake here. That's great for snacks, and I gladly order a cup of tea, but there's not really much that's lunchable here, and I am trying not to live on cake. There are some sandwiches (from what I remember) but I don't trust bought sandwiches not to have butter, mayonnaise and other inedibles in.

I suppose I'm basically used to a National Trust style of visitor centre, where there are typically little cafe-restaurants attached to historic sites, catering (literally!) to people who are coming for a day out. These do tend to provide at least simple meals, and in many cases quite substantial ones. The Jersey tourist market is apparently different, perhaps due to the scale of the island, which means people will often be visiting from only a few minutes' travel away and you're always close to an actual restaurant. I'd be quite interested in the actual economics, but alas, I have no way of knowing what they are.

It's also possible, of course, that the space and facilities available simply don't allow them to do full meals. For Elizabeth Castle, at least, that seems unlikely, since it must have had a substantial kitchen for the German troops. Still, that might be unusable by now, or just not comply with modern hygiene regulations.

In the case of Elizabeth Castle, that's a bit of a problem, since you're completely cut off from sources of food by the sea! It's clearly not sensible to go back for lunch and come over again, so I decide to slightly extend my wanderings and then simply head back for lunch. This pretty much puts the kibosh on visiting anywhere else today - it's already well past two, and by the time I've tracked down an eatery and got some food, it'll be far too late to visit a museum that's a bus journey away.

I take the ferry back, and from what I remember, I end up eating in a Marks & Spencer café. Afterwards, I find a slightly-less sunny bit of seafront and just lounge on the grass, listening to my podcasts and dozing gently. It's quite pleasant and restful. I eventually head back to Sweet Heaven, a cafe I end up visiting half a dozen times during my trip to Jersey.

cafe

cake

Spiced fruit cake. It was delicious.

I head back to St. Aubin, and sketch a bit in the gardens. I ate pretty late already, but I do need food eventually, and decide to just go to the nearby Murray's for a bite, as they seem to do small and simple meals. I order a baked potato and some salad. It turns out the potato comes with salad, and it's the same salad, which means I eat an inordinate quantity of leaves alongside my potato. Still, it's all healthy stuff, right? There's also a very pleasant non-alcoholic beer.

One thing has come up quite frequently on this trip - I'm wondering, where do the local residents go when they want a relatively simple meal out? Or in fact, do the demographics (it seems pretty posh to me) and the continental influence combine to mean that isn't really a concern? I know that my family and I would soon find the All Bistros All The Time setup a bit overwhelming, and would welcome some simpler food that wasn't three courses and rich sauces, but perhaps Jersey people don't feel that way. In fairness, there are pizza shops and takeaways, so it's not all expensive; what I'm not seeing here is what we'd call pub grub, which is to say, a relatively simple and nutritious cooked meal. If you want to eat healthily but cheaply here, I'm not really seeing many options.

Jersey: Mont Orgueil and the Salty Dog Bistro

My plan for today, Wednesday, is to leave my rather heavy bag here and head off to Mt. Orgueil. Apparently it’s quite big, with a tearoom, and there’s a garden centre with another café nearby. I’m planning a quiet day, pottering and reading an Arthur Machen book. I’ve picked up a new sketchbook and vaguely plan to sketch, though whether I will get round to it is hard to tell.

Another snag has cropped up unexpectedly. As I ate breakfast and tried to sort out a few emails, I had a sudden flare-up of my RSI that made it virtually impossible to operate the computer. I’m not sure whether sketching and so on will actually be feasible either. I’m very conscious of my hands right now and hoping they’ll recover soon! This has the awkward side-effect of making it very difficult to take any notes for my blog. Luckily, I remembered my trusty voice recorder. What I’ll be doing today, then, is making an audio diary and then transcribing it when I recover.

Jersey: Jersey Zoo (the Gerald Durrell experience)

After my poor night, I greatly disappoint my hosts by judging my stomach too delicate for the otherwise large and tempting breakfast menu, subsisting on cereal, toast and yoghurt. The kippers, porridge, three kinds of rarebit, fruit salad, ham platters, full Jersey breakfasts and so on will have to wait. They make several concerned attempts to dissuade me from this rash course, but I stand firm.

It’s a lovely day out there – crackin’ t’flags as we say. I take the opportunity to ask about getting some help with the internet. Apparently the landlord will be down at half past nine. That’s a bit of a pain because it’s only half past eight right now, and I’d basically intended to head off to St. Helier and attack Tourist Information, but right now I feel like getting this sorted out while I have a chance is a bit of a priority. Not having internet in my hotel means it’s incredibly difficult to do basic research.

I sit in my room sipping camomile tea and practicing Japanese flashcards. At half past nine, I find mine host in the garden, and discuss wi-fi. It turns out that, although there are four different networks in the hotel, two of them have started demanding passwords unknown even to the owners. Naturally, the only wi-fi available in my room is one of these – it didn’t actually demand a password, which puzzles me, it just refused to do anything. I’m also bemused as to why my ground-floor room only found what’s supposed to be the third-floor internet. Something to do with the hotel being built of granite, apparently. Anyway, the long and the short of it is that I can now use the internet, providing I do so in the garden.

Jersey: arrival

So, it’s currently one year since I had a job. Admittedly, six months of that was spent studying in Japan, but I have to say this was not really how I intended things to go. Between frustration, nice weather and opportunity, I decide to chuck in the job-applying shtick for a few days and take a little break.

Around twenty-two years ago, I encountered the works of Gerald Durrell and immediately became captivated. The zoo books, I mean – the family ones are decent, but it was the anecdotes of animal collecting, conservation and zoos that really gripped me. I ended up studying zoology more or less on the back of this, only to veer wildly away when it finally became clear to me, mid-course, that almost no part of a zoology degree would deign to consider any part of an animal larger than a single cell. Since this was precisely the opposite of what I cared about (my rule of thumb is ‘at least as big as an ant’) I felt rather cheated by the whole business. University prospectuses have, amongst their other failings, a habit of not really telling you much about what you will actually be studying, apparently assuming that prospective students already know this, despite being, y’know, prospective.

Anyway! For several years now my family have adopted a frog at Jersey Zoo for me each birthday, and I’ve received a free one-day pass to the zoo which I never managed to use. This comes of living hundreds of miles away and having nobody to go on holiday with. My brother and I had vaguely planned to go together for the last few years, but this was foiled by the (otherwise welcome) arrival of a niece. Mine, not his. Well, you know what I mean.