{ Guernsey: Post 1 }

Dear Sidney  . . . 

 I’ve been in Guernsey only twenty hours, but each one has been so  full of new faces and ideas that I’ve reams to write.  You see how conducive to working island life is?  Look at Victor Hugo – I may grow prolific if I stay here for any length of time.

. . .  Juliet {The Guernsey Literary and Potato Peel Pie Society }

My passport now has five stamps in it: Nicaragua, Canada, London (twice), and Paris.  And I've got the jet lag to prove it.

(Kudos to the Atlanta airport, by the way.  Nothing makes me appreciate it more than seeing other airports.  Despite being one of the busiest hubs for commercial traffic, it is possibly one of the most efficient, organized, and clean. Other than perhaps the Guernsey airport, which consists of three rooms: the one in which you arrive, the one in which you check baggage, and the one in which you wait to depart.)

We took the red-eye out of Atlanta Monday evening, and despite Delta’s complimentary red felt blanket and gauze pillow, not to mention the Benadryl I brought, I didn’t sleep a wink.  By default, neither did Tim.  Instead, he played trivia against the other passengers in the plane, and I watched The Black Swan.  And then felt confused as well as exhausted.

Perhaps I should’ve bought the duty-free Delta Barbie.  

In the morning, the male flight attendant said, “It sure is good to see someone smiling at me this early rather than scowling.”  I was actually smiling at the coffee he was holding.  Had I known it would be my last cup of regular drip coffee with half n’ half until returning home, I would’ve made him give me the entire pot.

Upon arrival in London, we waited in the longest line in the world.  (Bear in mind that I had just crossed five time zones.)  The girl behind me kept poking me with her papers and I wanted to scream: I HAVE NOT SLEPT AND I NEED A SHOWER.  STOP TOUCHING ME.

Instead I made a mental note to mention my unfounded irritation in this blog post.

Aren’t you lucky.

For a mid-morning pick-me-up, I ordered a Flat White at Costa in the airport.  It is basically a latte.  It tastes just as it sounds.

A few hours later we finally arrived in Guernsey, where we were handed the keys to our rental car (a packaged deal with our hotel), and given the following instructions: The speed limit never exceeds 35 mph; upon arriving at a filter, proceed as you would at a four-way stop; good luck.

Driving on the left side of the road was quite an adjustment (even for me, and I wasn’t the one driving).  Not to mention the fact that there are probably a total of five road signs on the entire island, so we were hopelessly lost on our way to the hotel.  I know for a fact that we passed by a certain hair salon at least twice (which, as it happens, was located almost directly across from the hotel itself).  Also, the roads are extremely narrow.  I got in the back seat because I was positive that we would be flattened between the rock wall on one side and a miniature dump truck on the other.

But for all that, Guernsey is quite possibly the most beautiful place I have ever seen.  (Photos to come in Post 2.)

At long last, we arrived at the Hougue du Pommier 

(it took me the entire trip to learn how to pronounce this).

Located in the rural parish of Castel, the Hougue du Pommier is a three-star 1712 Guernsey farmhouse-turned-hotel.

The terrace at the back of the hotel was covered in lilacs and they smelled incredible.

Shacks on the hotel property.

We took showers and then drove to the coast, where we had dinner at the Rock Mount Café and watched the waves spray over the rock wall beside the road.

I briefly wished we were going to stay in Guernsey for the entire trip.  Who needs Paris when they’ve got the Channel Islands.  

P.S. If you haven’t read The Guernsey Literary and Potato Peel Pie Society, by Shaffer and Barrows, you simply must.  It’s why we decided to come to Guernsey.

To be continued . . .