The views from the hotel were particularly special however. So of course the first thing I did once I hopped off the boat and flagged down a passing Land Rover to take me to the hotel was go for a walk in search of even better views. As a lesson never to be satisfied with what you have even better views presented themselves for my delectation the moment I stepped away from the hotel.
Forget the small pond with a couple of resident swans and the heather and gorse covered hill directly across or the small group of handsome cattle grazing in a desperate attempt to prove Bryher’s economy is slightly more diversified than just catering to tourists. Just past the hotel was rugged coastline, cliffs and seawater in an amazing variety of blues. Waves crashed as waves tend to do when rocks get in their way and the occasional small boat plied the sea doing whatever it is small boats do. Also present was a hulking liner called the Deutschland but I managed to avoid photographing it for the most part.
Bryher has Bronze Age burial grounds because of course it does. All the evidence suggests that the Bronze Age population spent most of their time burying each other. Speaking of burying there is also a small stone church of more recent origin. I did a quick count of the grave markers in the church yard and can report that the dead comfortably outnumber the living on Bryher even before we take the Bronze Age corpses into account.
Across the water almost close enough to touch is the island of Tresco which is privately owned but open to visitors who want to come and admire the gardens. I admired the gardens from a distance and didn’t have to pay anyone to do so. At least I assume they were gardens, they could just have been random vegetation.
Having wandered across more than half the island in only slightly more time than it to to write this blog entry I headed down to the Fraggle Rock pub for a ham and mustard sandwich and a half pint of ale for lunch. Have I gone native or what? Not really as the poorly disguised look of contempt on the barman’s face when he heard I only wanted half a pint can attest.
Having fought off a bunch of pushy sparrows who thought the ham sandwich was for them I managed to escape the pub just before it resembled a scene from The Birds and headed into town. Thirty seconds later I was heading out of town. “Town” consists of a single street with a few houses bracketed by the Fraggle Rock and another food and drink establishment on the other side. Somewhere in there is the Bryher shop; just the one. It’s also the local post office and quite possibly a cottage hospital as well.
Escaping the bright lights of bustling, downtown Bryher I walked a couple of hundred metres up the road and found myself at the entrance to the hotel. The lounge is sun drenched, the view is beautiful and I see no reason to do anything more for the rest of the day than wallow in comfort.
Right, that’s it. Move along please, you’re blocking traffic.
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