I missed a blog post last week, which doesn’t make me happy, but I do have an excuse. See, I was traveling, away on a wild island in the midst of the English Channel. Located about 30 miles off the coast of France, Guernsey is a mix of craggy coastline, green pastures and the quaint cobblestone streets of a Cornish fishing village. I loved every salty, sea-breezy minute.
Traveling to Guernsey from Paris takes several hours and involves a multitude of public transport. First you take a train to St-Malo (three hours), then a taxi to the Gare Maritime, then a two-hour ferry ride through choppy Channel waters to Saint Peter Port, Guernsey’s capital.
But when you arrive, you’re rewarded by the sight of an adorable harbor bobbing with sailboats and the roofs of St Peter Port rising above.
I loved strolling the cobblestone streets of St Peter Port, a town filled with secret staircases and curved Victorian lamp posts and tiny winding streets leading to the sea.
One damp afternoon, I took a walk along the cliff top, hiking through wooded paths with the sound of waves filling my ears. When I turned a corner, glorious Fermain Bay appeared below, shrouded in mist.
Guernsey is famous for its cows, cream, tomatoes, and off-shore banking. But maybe you’ve heard of it because of The Book (as it’s known here), the bestselling novel, The Guernsey Literary and Potato Peel Pie Society, which is takes place on the island just after WWII. Can’t you imagine the heroine, Juliet Ashton, bicycling down this country lane?
Or the group meeting in this old-fashioned farmhouse to discuss The Canterbury Tales?
On my final morning, buttery sunshine flooded the island, making it hard to say goodbye. I’d love to come back to this wild, isolated place.