Parting Shots - Saturday 10.1.15

Our final morning seemed to have brought on the grand finale;

A SAND STORM.

 We were snowed under with the stuff

 following on from a house shaking storm overnight.

 We brought the car to the beach car park so it could be loaded up, it was only there for about 20 minutes.

What a mess!

Thank you Camber Sands, and 

GOODBYE!!

: )

Rye Nature Reserve - Friday 9.1.15

A big reserve, allow plenty of time for a stroll. 

Lakes, beaches, rivers, streams and sea; 

what's not to like?

Golden Plover coming home.

 Our holiday home is there, right there. on the far shore amongst those white buildings.

 Beautiful shed by the sea.

Puffs of wind striking the surface of the water,

Rye - Thursday 8.1.15

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.

Dungeness - 5/6.1.15

So, this, I thought to myself, is Dungeness.

 Dismal, and yet startling. Rundown, seedy,

 weird

 Interesting,

 different,

 barren.

 This is a working landscape,

 rooted around fishing.

 Despite the gentrification of the area, there's still a cache of real people living here,
thank goodness.


Some of the original homes and work places are still here, unrestored, unloved, deliciously derelict.

 The RSPB Reserve, Dungeness is as bleak as the rest of the area.

 Brutal, tho beautiful,

 wildlife thrives here.

 We finally get a hint of the hidden beauty of this place.

 Peewits careening at dusk in the big sky,

 and a glorious sunset as we head back to Camber.

Wednesday 6th Jan.2015

Stunning view from the living room window.

 but the living room deck revealed the pile driver just outside the neighbours.

 I love the view from our holiday nest.

 it's worth getting up for.

 Our ground floor deck is cute, nestling into the dune behind.

 As we head out, one more shot and the pile driver has gone.

 And back we go to Dungeness again. The sun is shining,

 Derek Jarmans old place hunkers down beneath the pylons, 

 tho it looks exposed, vulnerable from the sea shore.

 Generations have worked this land,

 and the sea,

 eking out a living from this harsh environment.

 Boats and houses litter the shore,

 in turpitude and vigor.

 There was no place for rubbish. Make do and mend, or bury it were the two options.
What was buried in the mild months, was revealed by the first stiff storm of the winter.
I guess it was a form of aversion therapy to consumerism. Imagine if everything you threw away came back, landed on your doorstep, the minute the weather took a turn for the worst.
It'd do it for me.

 Boats here are pushed into the water and winched out when they need to berth.

 The anglers keep fishing as the boat gets shoved into the sea

 on its' skis.

 Once afloat, the second guy in the fishing team, parks the pusher/digger and climbs on board.
What a great start to the working day.

 The plants here survive on what seems to be nothing but salty air and gravel, throw in the fish and you sum up the people who live here too.

Do I like it?

I thought it would be a Dartmoor meets mountain feel; bleak, barren, harsh, evocative. Somewhere for the mind to roam as free as the eye, unencumbered by the constraints of the mundane. It isn't. Unlike mountain and moorland, Dungeness has workers and inhabitants right at its' heart. It's the masculine equivalent of that girly denizen, the high street with it's busy and bustling street-scape and people trying to make a living and killing time, with evidence of their endevours everywhere. I guess in the summer the place is crawling with tourists, but not now, right now we make up the total tourist count.

Rather like an abusive partner, It's a tough place to love, but holds a dangerous fascination that will draw me back, despite its testosterone fueled front.