Travel with Manfred

Travelogues from around the world

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Copyright © 1995 by Manfred P.. All rights reserved.

Nov. 5, 1995

Dover and the White Cliffs County

A Weekend in Southeast England

by

Manfred P.

Keywords: England, Dover, Folkestone, tourist, travel trip report, travel log, travelogue.

The weekend started with a sighting. No, not Elvis, but a stretched Vauxhall (the UK brand name for Pontiac). What will they come up with next? A stretched Yugo with a swimming pool in the back?

My first stop was in Folkestone. The Bed-and-Breakfast place had a digital shower. The first one I have ever seen. Lots of beeping and blinking red LED lights but not enough hot water. So much for technology. To jump start the day I indulged in a standard "full" English breakfast: one egg, 1 slice fried white English bread cut into two triangular pieces, two slices of toast cut into the same triangles and served in a toast holder (a British invention), two slices of bacon, one sausage, and tea. There is no variation. I have been to a dozen different Bed-and-Breakfast places in southern England and it was always the same. All of the breakfast tastes uniquely British except for the egg. The egg tastes like an egg. The sausage must be very high in flower. That's at least how it tastes like. You can't find a sausage like that anywhere but here. Don't ask me why, but the bacon has that unique flavor too. From now on I will be greeted every other weekend with this smell of the traditional hearty breakfast. It is equally filling as it tastes good.

In the morning I explored Folkestone. Walking along the white chalk cliffs that make Dover famous one can see France across the Channel. During night time the lights of Calais and Boulogne are mirrored in the cloud layer. On top of that the faint beam of a light house periodically flashes as it turns and points into the direction of South England. During day time a gray land mass sits in the not so far distance. That closeness influenced the landscape. In 1800 some 100 defensive towers with walls up to 13 feet thick were built here. Two of them are on the East Cliff here in Folkestone. They popped up like mushrooms after Napoleon Bonaparte gathered some of his forces in Boulogne. All these towers were useless for 140 years. Obviously the short French eccentric who supposedly only slept a couple of hours each night never invaded England. I guess he lost his desires after being beaten and humiliated at the Battle of Trafalgar. Anyway, after the French it was the turn of the German. In WWII the towers were awaken from their hibernation and used by the British Navy as lookout posts, etc. Right next to them they built new bunkers, once manned and equipped with heavy guns. The guns are missing and all entrances are closed with brick walls now. Are they ever going to remove these walls?

The beaches were deserted. No surprise. Who would want to be out here when it is cold and wet? At night I met two couples of fishermen. Both armed with lamps and one had a face mask like a burglar. During daytime the only people out here were seniors walking their dogs. The walk along the cliffs was short. It was lightened up when I found a large smiley sign formed with chalk in a green patch of grass.

Next stop was Hythe. A quiet little village just a mile off the coast. The ones interested in bone chilling sights should head for the 11th century crypt which houses hundreds of skulls. Be aware though that like most other places everything is closed between November till Easter.

Traveling along the coast westbound a street sign with a castle symbol made me make a detour towards the inland. It lead to Lympne Castle from the 13th century. From here a marvelous overlook of the marshland fills the background. Next to the castle is St. Stevens another century older. Sheep are peacefully wandering around in the graveyard selectively picking only the freshest and juiciest grass. It sure keeps the maintenance costs to a minimum. Nobody is needed to mow. Environmentally friendly too, no electricity or gas needed to keep the graveyard look trimmed.

For completeness I drove all the way down to Dungeness to check out the light house I had seen the previous night from Folkestone. What the guidebook did not mention was that just spitting distance from the light house is a nuclear power plant.

Ashford, where I spent the night which also happened to be Guy Falls Night with fireworks and fire crackers, is a town like many others. A stroll through the town center revealed a tank from WWII. Other than that it is only known for the only stop on the high-speed train link between Paris and London. On the French side the train whistles through the country-side at 186 m.p.h. No wonder many business travelers opt for the train instead of the plane.

Dover was different than expected. Instead of being flat with a big bay and some cliffs to the east, Dover is quite hilly. The harbor is small, yet busy. The diesel smell of the boats and hover-crafts is in the air. The Channel is heavily traveled. Most of the city is new as the bombardments during WWII destroyed most. Some of the fortifications from that time a still visible. In the heart of the town is a bombed church that has been left untouched as a reminder and memorial. One can easily tell that Dover gets more tourists than the south-eastern British towns I have seen in the last months. How can I tell? Many tourist shows are offered. The oldest attractions reach from a Roman house to the Dover Castle overlooking the hill to the East. Right next to it are fortification from a more recent period: concrete tank barriers.

From Dover I worked my way up along the coast. The next places were Deal and Sandwich. Both offered more castle, more beaches, and more history. If you like beaches I would suggest to stop at St. Margaret's Bay a tiny bay nestled away between cliffs with nothing but a small beach and a restaurant.

Traveling in England is really easy. Even small villages have tourist info centers. But of course the are usually closed. At least whenever I get there. Nonetheless. You can always find a map and a list of B&Bs there. What I also find very nice is that these villages have walking tours with little signs. Deal and Sandwich even had one-pagers describing the sights and history along the way. In Sandwich I learned that every evening at 8 p.m. the church bells ring. In the good old days that meant curfew time. The pigs and ducks were let out onto the streets while the residents had to stay indoors. The pigs and ducks went out to scavenge and eat the day's waste that was littering the streets. At 5 a.m. the bells rang again. That meant it was time to get your animals back into your house or barn. All animals found during daytime were be impounded. Now that takes care of sanitary engineers. Sandwich truly is a lovely town with a distinct medieval flair.

To finish off the day I briefly looked around in Ramsgate and Margate. They couldn't match the beauty of Sandwich. On the way I saw my second nuclear power plant. No wonder England has a lot of anti-nuke protest. There seems to be a lot of them.

After all that sea air I am sure that I will sleep real well tonight after a deserved pint of ale.