Island Getaway

Turns out, there is a place in England where the sun actually shines.
Or, my selfish prayers to God were answered.  Which is probably more likely.

I had a wonderful, quintessentially English weekend on the Isle of Wight, filled with nature, beaches, thatched cottages, pubs and farmhouse cream teas. And most amazing of all, it was 70 and sunny the entire time!

I had not even heard of the Isle of Wight until I prodded my English co-worker for tips on a location for nice weekend away with my friend. It's not mentioned in any guidebooks I have or travel blogs I read, and is absent from every "must see in England" list out there. Below is a picture of the Isle of Wight.

Alum Bay, Isle of Wight

Yes, why would anyone think to mention this....?

I learned most Londoners don't go to Isle because it is "really far" from London.
"Really far" to the English apparently is a 2 hour train and a 20 minute ferry. But I have found in general the Brits have a very skewed perception of what is "far." Most Americans would happily travel the distance that a Brit would consider "far" to go to a Chikfil-A. So I have learned to take everything they say with a grain of salt.

 As our ferry approached the Yarmouth the annual sailing race was passing through, and hundreds of sailboats spotted the water and I gave our host, Sue, a call.

I seem to have incredible luck finding accommodations. Particularly B&Bs, which is my new favorite type of place to stay.

For a long period of time I had two sisters working for hotels, one for The Mandarin Oriental and one for The Ritz. Anytime we traveled, we stayed at one of these properties for friends and family rates so I became accustomed to a certain standard of excellence.
Now, according to Josh I am a big hotel snob. And though it pains me to admit my boyfriend is right - in this case, he is right. I am a hotel snob  - but when you're used to The Ritz with fluffy robes and someone looking out for your every need, it's quite hard to downgrade to a Comfort Inn that doesn't even put chocolates on your pillow.

My sisters are now retired from the hotel business, and so my 5 star days are more or less over. So my opinion is, if you can't splurge on a fancy hotel, you are far better off in some cute local person's cozy home than a scary budget motel that is likely crawling with bed bugs and diseases. But the local person must be cute (and so must their home) for this to work out. It takes some research, but I have successfully found an incredible B&Bs in Paris, Amsterdam, and now the Isle of Wight.

Sue, our host, turned out to be as sweet as her homemade jams she served at breakfast. And our accommodations were larger than both of our flats combined with 2 double bedrooms, a sitting room, library, an enormous bath, and a full tea service complete with a fully stocked "biscuit box" for our enjoyment. And boy, did we enjoy it.

She even had a copy of "Wightlife Magazine," for us. A magazine whose title, when taken out of context, sounds extremely racist.  I flipped through looking for activities to do on the island, and found Godshill, a "chocolate box" village with thatched cottages from the 16th century, ice cream parlours, and tea rooms. We were on the next bus there.

Someone actually lives here! 

The view of the town of Godshill

As if the scenery wasn't enough to make you melt, we found homemade blackcurrant and cream ice cream. The village was like a page out of a storybook and I started imaging myself quitting my job, moving to the Isle of Wight, and running a scone shop out of a little thatched cottage. It sounds like a nice life, right?

We spent the rest of the day exploring the Southern bit of the island before heading back to Yarmouth to the local pub, the Wheatsheaf Inn, where we got pint of cidre, fish and chips, and throughly enjoyed being the only tourists in sight. It was packed with Wightians on dates, hen-dos, and of course getting completely and utterly drunk. After devouring a raspberry crumble with custard sauce, we checked the clock and realized it was 11pm! Sweet Sue had offered to pick us up from dinner since the bus stop was about a mile from the house, but it was far too late her to call her and none of our new pub friends were in a condition to give us a ride either.

We reluctantly hopped on the bus, thinking the walk from the stop surely couldn't be that bad. It was quite dark, so we checked with the bus driver before the exited to make sure we were at the right stop.

"We're staying at the Golf House, do we get off here," we sweetly asked?
The bus driver's eyes nearly bugged out of his head and he said in a concerned tone, "that's miles from here!"
"Well Sir, we don't have any other way there," I replied. "Is it just straight ahead?"
"Yeah," he said, and then after a long, pensive moment he added, "it's scary..."

This bus driver was a 60 year old, grown man.
"Maybe the dog'll protect you," he said as the doors closed behind us.
Little 5lb, 2 ounce Herbie was passed out in my arms.

I don't think I've ever walked down a long, country road in the pitch black alone before. It was kind of scary, but also kind of exciting. I was more afraid of a cow popping out of the shrubbery than an attacker, but luckily neither did and we were tucked in our cozy beds before we knew it.

We woke the next morning and had the breakfast of our lives!
Sat in the sunny porch room, at a fullly set table with doilies and china - our feast began.
Fresh squeezed OJ, fresh fruit salad, greek yogurt, french press coffee and of course - teas to start.
The next course was toast. Thick, freshly baked, warm, delicious, wholemeal toast with sweet cream butter made on the isle and Sue's homemade jams: gooseberry, raspberry, blueberry, and orange marmalade.

After eating 4 slices of toast (one with each type of jam), I was stuffed - but it was time to select which cooked breakfast we wanted. I just went with some scrambled eggs, eggs straight from the hens in Sue's backyard - which came accompanied with a basket of freshly baked croissants and pain au chocolat - but in one of the rare times in my life, I was too full.

Afterwards, we needed to do some walking. Alot of walking actually.
The Isle of Wight is known for it's gorgeous costal paths, rolling hills, and sandy beaches - so we went to see all three. We started with a walk to the beach, where we let Herbie run free like a loon, then continued all the way to Alum Bay, where we saw what is called, for reasons I don't understand "The Needles." We walked all the way down the costal path to the tip of the cliff overlooking it, and the views were simply stunning. It was hard to believe it was England at all! We were so high up that the wind was quite intense, and as a result little Herbie needed to be carried along the path since we sincerely feared he might blow away.

Herbie was not into the hike

After 4 hours of hiking uphill, we had our appetites back just in time for tea. So we took a detour off the costal path through the meadowy hills towards The Warren Farmhouse, which has one of the Top 10 Best Cream Tea's in the whole of Britian, according to "The Guardian. " 

Naturally we had to go and judge for ourselves. 

The scenery on the isle was like a painting. The strong winds so fiercely blew across the tall grass as we walked along the path that it looked like the hills were alive. The little farm was the only thing in sight, like a stone mirage in the green oasis. Sometimes it is so wonderful to get out of the city and just immerse yourself in nature. To be somewhere where you only see blues, greens, and browns and the air is so clean you becoming conscious of how wonderful it is to simply breathe in and out.

The Warren Farmhouse

We each ordered a strawberry tea, which was 1 scone (instead of two) a pot of tea, a bowl of fresh british strawberries, all accompanied by homemade jam and clotted cream. I thought one scone would surely be enough, but when we'd both finished we looked at each other and agreed a second was in order. It was simply to delicious to not go back for seconds. Everything from the flour, the butter, and the milk was farm-fresh - and what a difference it made. The Delft chinaware put an extra little smile on my Dutch face as I soaked in the beauty around me, felt the sun shining, and savored each bite of Britain's best scone.

Jolly Good Cream Tea at The Warren Farmhouse

We knew we were the only tourists at tea, because everyone else munching on scones was casually chatting with about their sheep and swapping homemade jam recipes. We sat at our lacey table for an hour after we'd finished discussing how cream tea is definitely the best idea that England ever had. 

With just a few hours left until our ferry departed back to the mainland, we headed back to the Golf House and Sue drove us into town where we hung out in our local pub, The Wheatsheaf until we boarded the ferry, The crowd was almost exactly the same as the night before, so everyone recognized the two Americans and Herbie the wildly cute dog instantly and be were able to say goodbye to all our new alcoholic friends. 

I was very sad to leave the Isle of Wight. I found the Wightians to be the friendliest English people I have met yet, and so enjoyed an authentic experience in a quiet English town. I have since told every English person I know that I visited the Isle, and they all are all now planning weekends away of their own. I guess it takes someone American to tell them what is worth seeing in their country, no matter how "far" away it may be.