Today we woke up to driving rain.
We headed out at lunchtime, walking along the beach to Rye in the spattering drizzle.
By the time we got to Rye estuary, blue skies were emerging,
though, looking back towards Camber, all was grey.
We walked sun-wards.
It paid off.
Rye reared up, safe above the marsh-lands, an old island mid sea. To me, it looked very French, Mont St Michel came to mind. Squat church on top and a helter skelter of ancient buildings and cobble stones tumbling down the steep slopes.
Rye has masses to see, despite its' small size. Every doorway and window has detail to scrutinize.
Its' one remaining town gate dates from 13 hundred and something.
Other entrances are fascinating for altogether different reasons.
This side entrance also caught my eye.
Like so many others today, this is a rubbish shot of gorgeously interesting buildings.
The local castle, 12 hundred and something. What I want to know is, what tasteless fool plonked those bollards there?
Castle window.
Lovely cobbled street.
And another. So many ancient buildings here that it beggars belief.
This is a lovely place. The only downside, and I know it's winter, but the town could use some decent tea rooms. It tends towards cafe's and bars. Despite that, this place is an absolute gem and not to be missed by anyone who fancies a bit of effortless 'ye olde England'. It knocks spots off Stratford U Avon and the like.
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