LOVE ISLAND
THERE’S SO MUCH MORE TO JERSEY THAN POTATOES AND BERGERAC, AS LINDA STEELYARD FINDS OUT
I’M lying on soft, golden sand, smothered in factor 50, while the scorching sun tries hard to burn me to a crisp.
The only sounds I can hear are the hypnotic lapping of the teal sea, and two distant conversations in gently-spoken French.
Occasionally, a plane soars overhead, taking holidaymakers back to wherever they’ve come from to visit this lovely corner of the world.
And then someone says, “That seagull stole a sandwich!,” and I remember I’m not on the Cote d’Azur, but the British Isles.
I knew nothing about Jersey before I visited, other than it grows posh potatoes and has toffeecoloured cows which produce nice cream.
I had no real idea of where it was either. For those who are equally geographically challenged, Jersey is one of the Channel Islands, which are nestled in a nook of France.
France is so close, in fact, that you can see its coast from some of its beaches, which partly explains why the Nazis were able to occupy the islands so easily during the Second World War – they pretty much just stepped across.
On the other hand, the coast of England is more than 100 miles away.
Jersey is nine miles across and five miles north to south. It has absolutely loads to offer – far more than I ever imagined – from tucked-away rocky coves to wide, sweeping beaches, pretty villages, fishing ports, castles, interesting bars, coffee shops and restaurants, independent boutiques, a calm and soothing atmosphere and, being so southerly, a great climate.
It also has a fascinating history, being, as part of the Channel Isles, the only part of the British Isles to
be occupied by the Germans in the Second World War.
You could easily spend a week on Jersey and still have loads of things left to do. Alternatively, because it is so compact, you could visit all four corners in a day.
Jersey is a Crown Dependency, which means the Queen is its head of state but beyond that it pretty much does what it likes. It is self-governing, has its own laws, tax legislation, road signs and driving rules. Don’t assume the right of way is yours just because it would be back home.
The health care system is completely different to ours; as it is not part of the UK, Jersey does not have the NHS.
So although its culture is broadly British and its main language English, Jersey’s location and independence mean it is markedly different from its mainland cousin.
The French influence is huge, obvious and everywhere. Street names range from St Saviour’s Road to Le Chemin des Basses Mielles, for instance. It helps add to the feeling that you’re “abroad”.
And its southerly location means it has higher average temperatures than the UK, and is drier. England was grey and chilly when we left Poole. When we arrived in St Helier, the air was wonderfully warm and everything seemed so much brighter.
You really do feel like you’re far, far away from the UK when you visit Jersey.
Our home during our visit was the magnificent four-star Hotel de France. It opened in 1866 as the Imperial Hotel, but closed in 1880 because it was “far too grand”. It became a college, and a training school for German NCOs during the occupation, then lay empty for several years before opening in 1954 as Hotel de France. Our spacious, modern, clean, comfortable room was in the hotel’s peaceful spa extension, and had a balcony where we often sat at night, enjoying a drink and looking at St Helier.
Our days began in the hotel’s breakfast buffet, which offered everything from cereal and the components of a full English to gherkins and slices of cold meat.
The largest town on Jersey, St Helier has everything you’d expect to find in an upmarket city – independent department stores with long histories, stylish boutiques, fancy cafes and loads of restaurants – and is worth exploring.
A stone’s throw away to the west is St Aubin’s Bay, a wide sweep of beach with Elizabeth Castle at one end and the picturesque St Aubin’s Harbour at the other – one of countless places you just have to stop at when you see them (and where we somehow managed to find 18 hours of parking for 85p). We languished away a wonderful afternoon at one of its sundrenched waterfront pubs.
Jersey has a wealth of beaches – whatever you like most about a beach, you’ll find one here that fits the bill. St Ouen’s Bay takes up most of the island’s west coast. Restaurants are dotted along it and it is popular with surfers, but it is so vast you are guaranteed to find a peaceful stretch.
I fell in love with St Brelade’s Bay, a relatively small beach with immaculate gardens, and the location of the aforementioned seagull incident.
Jersey had me hooked almost as soon as we’d driven off the ferry, but its culture is what made me decide, by the time we had to leave, that I’d fallen head over heels for this little island.
It is calm, clean and civilised.
We didn’t see any litter or graffiti. We heard no raised voices, day or night. People were unerringly polite and friendly. Nobody got lairy in the pubs.
Driving is, in the main, slow and courteous – we rarely got above 25mph, which would be torture here, but feels perfectly normal there.
Stalls of Jersey Royals and other veg and fruit with honesty boxes were dotted along the roads outside farms and homes, illustrating the trust residents have in their fellow islanders. In a nutshell, Jersey is like someone has taken the very best bits of UK culture – patience, friendliness, politeness, the desire to be trustworthy and trusting, and a love of neat gardens and queuing – and sprinkled them with good weather, winding country roads and a massive dollop of Francophilia.
The journeys to and from Jersey on the ferry were straightforward, and we were very pleased to have our car with us throughout our holiday. The island appears to have a decent pubic transport network, but the car meant we had absolute freedom to go where we wanted whenever it took our fancy.
I always hope my holidays in the sun will go on longer than they are supposed to, and that happened on this occasion. Because the Atlantic Ocean decided to have a tantrum, our scheduled ferry home was cancelled. Operator Condor Ferries kept us fully informed by text and e-mail, and we were booked on the same crossing the following day.
We took advantage of the extra 24 hours by cramming in visits to all the nooks of the island we hadn’t yet visited, and found Plemont Beach, a dramatic, secluded, rocky bay with a wide sweep of beach and a cafe which takes its name - a fabulous little place which deserves its great reviews.
Also discovered on our whistlestop, final-day tour was Rozel Bay and its highly-rated cafe The Hungry Man.
There really is something to discover in every nook and cranny of this island, which everyone – and UK residents in particular, because for us, it is especially fascinating – should have on their “must visit” list.