Notes From a (Very) Small Island
Created | Updated Oct 14, 2007
Your note-writer, Paff, works on the Channel Island of Jersey, but lives in Devon, England. He spends most of his working week looking at the inside of the airport, the inside of a cab, the inside of an office or the inside of his eyelids. He must try to get out more. When he does get out, these notes are the result.
Around the Bay
Bus Stop Pontoon.
I'm partial to a bit of Bus Stop Pontoon. Mention busses to any Jersey resident and they will cheerfully drop two factoids into the conversation:
- £1.50 to go anywhere on the island, you can't complain at that.
- There's a bus every 20 minutes.
So, I formulated my plan for the evening: I spent a few minutes browsing through the summer bus timetables that had been posted through my letterbox just the other week. Got a rough idea of what goes where, and when. Basically, your bus routes are conveniently organised so that the number 1 runs up the east side of the island, the number 15 goes west, the number 7 goes roughly up the middle, and you can guess the others. Everything is £1 after 7.00pm, and yes it does seem that there's a bus every 20 minutes.
West is Best.
A work colleague had said earlier today that I should do the three quarters of an hour walk round to St Aubin's. This chimed nicely with the fact that in a previous instalment I'd looked over at St Aubin's and said this:
St Aubin's Harbour. A three mile walk. Or a two and a bit mile swim. But we're not going that way.So this week, we're going that way. West. Is Best.
Right then. Bus Stop Pontoon. Expert variation. Quick glance at the watch - it's just gone 7.00pm. I'm most likely looking for a number 12, 14 or 15. 9 quid in crisp green Jersey £1 notes in back pocket. Rolled up copy of Autosport in one hand. Phone.
Around The Bay
If you go out onto the Esplanade when it's a bit windy, you soon know about it. Sand blows off the beach and the seagulls struggle to maintain course. If you take the advice dispensed by your work colleague with a knowing nod, then you'll bus it there and walk it back. Wind behind you on the way back you see. If, however, you're the sort who prefers to approach their destination slowly rather than have it suddenly spring up on them, then you'll walk it there and bus it back.
Cross the Esplanade, and head for the nearest bus stop. No bus. Twist.1
So the wind is getting up. The sand blows. Into your left ear mainly. Let's walk briskly alongside the wall by the bay. When I say walk briskly, I mean briskly in time with 'Junior's Wailing', the 1960s blues number by Steamhammer. Stomp, stomp, stomp, stomp 'Put your arms around me like a sunbeam round the sun' stomp, stomp, stomp. No iPod - just get your head playing that. The bay-side wall is waist height so doesn't really provide any real protection from the wind. On the other side of the wall the drop to the beach is a good few metres.
A cyclist whooshes by from behind. There's a white line down the centre of the path. Cyclists to the right, walkers and joggers to the left. Mental note to pay attention to the white line in future. Talking of joggers, here's the sound of one approaching steadily from behind. Stomping briskly with rolled up copy of Autosport in hand, it occurs that the jogger could just reach out and accept the Autosport 'baton' like a relay handover. He doesn't.
Flag poles line the road as far as the eye can see. The flags are really going for it in the wind. The Scottish flag in particular makes a tremendous racket. The Italian flag adjacent flutters just as vigorously but is quieter. Coloured lights run suspended on posts for the entire 3 mile stretch round to St Aubin's. These clearly offer no resistance to the wind and as such don't flap about as you might first expect.
There's a plastic cup heading this way, being whipped along the cycle path by the wind. Hasn't it read the signs? Cyclists to the right, plastic cups to the left. The cup crashes and bumps along. Wonder where it started its out-of-control journey?
Looking ahead, there are a number of shelters along the path. They look like your typical seaside town shelter. You could expect to see a bandstand nearby in a similar style. These might be glorified bus shelters of course, but there's no evidence of an actual bus stop at the first one. Or a bus. Twist.
A few minutes later, another shelter. There's a man sitting sleeping in this one, wearing his suit and tie. Appears to have stopped off on the way home from work and dozed off. No bus. Twist.
A few shelters later, maybe halfway round the curve of the bay now, we're beginning to turn into the wind. That sand don't half get in your eyes. And in your mouth. Here's a tiny burger hut. No bigger than a burger van, but brick built. Cuppa? No, best to keep going. Maybe this is where that plastic cup started out.
Where the St Helier end of the bay was all wide expanses, wall and seaside shelters, now approaching the St Aubin's end we are hemmed in on the right by buildings, but the wall to the left has gone. The path threads its gradual curve between restaurant back gardens and a small drop to the beach.
The bay continues to curve away to the left. The thing about walking around the curve of a bay is that you are facing off at a tangent, so are constantly looking inland. To see the seaside view you have to look left, which presents the continual hazard of not noticing joggers, cyclists and the like. An array of small sailboat masts are clustered together ahead, drawing the eye. A kid on a skateboard appears out of nowhere. See what I mean?
Almost there now. Slowing down to the pace of 'Ain't Got You' by The Yardbirds. 'I got a Maserati GT' step, step 'with snakeskin upholstery' step, step. The road comes back to meet the path. Traffic everywhere. The car park is chocca. OAPs vying for parking spaces. What looked like a quaint quiet harbour-side village from a distance turns out to be a hive of activity. Still quaint, but by no means quiet.
Things quieten down around the harbour itself. A rest is in order. And a pint. So let's leave it here and I'll tell you about the walk (or bus) back next time.
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