After a very few hours of sleep woke up early and was surprisingly organised. Got to Gatwick in good time. The hop over fortunately very brief although I did have the obligatory bout of existential horror for a couple of moments.
Nice taxi driver to the Saints Bay Hotel, talking about what it is like to return to the island. He worked at sea for years and had his own rituals for returning. I checked in quickly at about 1:45pm and soon had my boots on, then marched up to Icart Point to begin a big walk. Very still hazy weather, and all afternoon there was the rumble of distant thunder that never reached the island.
Despite being in the place I love the most, I found myself in a violently bad mood. Not quite sure why. Perhaps triggered by yesterday's tomfoolery at work. But I think it suddenly hit me how incredibly stressed I'd been feeling for months on end. If meditation is about bringing the mind home, there is something doubly powerful about bringing yourself home physically and mentally too.
Took this strange mood out by stumping up and down the cliffpaths hardly noticing anything. Pausing only for a slice of Guernsey Gâche at the kiosk by Saints Bay and then from then hurried in the stifling heat over the cliffs down to the beach at Moulin Huet. This is where I learnt to swim as a child. Perhaps it was because I got so hot climbing the cliffs but the water felt freezing. Shamed by some pensioners happily swimming about I plunged into it. My ribcage completely seized up and I could not breathe for several seconds. When my breath returned I used it to yelp in horror. I ended up in the water for about 20 minutes though.
Much clambering and and cliffpaths and stairs later I returned to the hotel for a quick snooze. Got up to have a single beer and a plate of Guernsey crab salad, which was excellent. After this walked back throught the little roads and ruettes heading for the graveyard to sit with my grandparents for a bit, which I always do when I go back. Walking here sets off so many tripwires of memory. This evening noticed a distant uncle's initials in a wall he'd built in 1952.
Strode up the lane where the ghost of a she goat is supposed to lurk, and past my grandparent's old house. The plants in the hedge are the same, and I found this comforting.
After sitting in the graveyard for a bit, opted for an early night feeling very tired having been so stumpy on the cliffs. Me returning in twilight from the graveyard and my favorite "door into nothing" on the Icart Road at twilight too.
Nice taxi driver to the Saints Bay Hotel, talking about what it is like to return to the island. He worked at sea for years and had his own rituals for returning. I checked in quickly at about 1:45pm and soon had my boots on, then marched up to Icart Point to begin a big walk. Very still hazy weather, and all afternoon there was the rumble of distant thunder that never reached the island.
Despite being in the place I love the most, I found myself in a violently bad mood. Not quite sure why. Perhaps triggered by yesterday's tomfoolery at work. But I think it suddenly hit me how incredibly stressed I'd been feeling for months on end. If meditation is about bringing the mind home, there is something doubly powerful about bringing yourself home physically and mentally too.
Took this strange mood out by stumping up and down the cliffpaths hardly noticing anything. Pausing only for a slice of Guernsey Gâche at the kiosk by Saints Bay and then from then hurried in the stifling heat over the cliffs down to the beach at Moulin Huet. This is where I learnt to swim as a child. Perhaps it was because I got so hot climbing the cliffs but the water felt freezing. Shamed by some pensioners happily swimming about I plunged into it. My ribcage completely seized up and I could not breathe for several seconds. When my breath returned I used it to yelp in horror. I ended up in the water for about 20 minutes though.
Much clambering and and cliffpaths and stairs later I returned to the hotel for a quick snooze. Got up to have a single beer and a plate of Guernsey crab salad, which was excellent. After this walked back throught the little roads and ruettes heading for the graveyard to sit with my grandparents for a bit, which I always do when I go back. Walking here sets off so many tripwires of memory. This evening noticed a distant uncle's initials in a wall he'd built in 1952.
Strode up the lane where the ghost of a she goat is supposed to lurk, and past my grandparent's old house. The plants in the hedge are the same, and I found this comforting.
After sitting in the graveyard for a bit, opted for an early night feeling very tired having been so stumpy on the cliffs. Me returning in twilight from the graveyard and my favorite "door into nothing" on the Icart Road at twilight too.
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