This week's walk was much shorter but it offered a lovely route along the cliffs off the picturesque coastline of Folkestone. From the station, it very quickly felt like summer with the bright sunshine and a burst of colours from these marigolds.
But before we could enjoy the coastline, we first had to wind our way through the seaside town of Folkestone. The town has a rough, fishy side, with an overwhelming sense of seaweed, sand and stale fish and chips.
This is the kind of place you can buy a pint of prawns. Which can be appealing, in that prawn cocktail sort of way.
The British do love a good seaside bath. I used to think it was amusing that they described their seaside activities with 'bathing" and "paddling". Why didn't they just call it swimming? Now I know it's because the British beach too rocky or pebbly or the water is too cold or mucky.
It started to get more mellow as we found our way towards the cliffs. There's something hypnotic about looking out at the sea.
We climbed up towards the top. The steep climb felt good in the sun.
Along the top, a group of nuns, or at least I thought they were nuns, were wandering about with butterfly nets and headscarves. One of them fell asleep, facing the sea near to the edge of the cliff. I really hope she didn't roll off.
Along the cliffside walk, was a World War II memorial. There is definitely something dreamy and timeless about staring at the sea. I would have quite happily sat down and joined him.
No comments:
Post a Comment