An Un-spoilt Beauty.
Recently, after assuming that the West country was infact the most beautiful area in England, I have discovered the treasures of another British area which I can safely say is as wonderful and as un-spoilt as Cornwall and Dorset.
In a 'spur of the moment,' decision I hopped on the back of my fathers Triumph for a day trip around the Isle of Wight. He is always telling me about how beautiful the island is, but to be honest my fathers idea of beautiful is far from what I make it to be. It was his chance to show me his 'hide-aways,' and small cafes where I know for sure he consumes cups upon cups of cappucinnos, to the horror of his girlfriend.
Despite a rather pricey fare for the Portsmouth to Isle of Wight crossing, about £46 for the two of us and a motor cycle, the journey was pleasent. The sea was calm and we cruised out from under the large, grey covering of clouds and drifted into a summer paradise of azure blue. From the ferry I could more or less see the entire side of the island, which was covered in miles and miles of untouched sand and forests which led onto un-civilised coves. I could make out dozens of muddy festival goers, eagery waiting for the ferry back home, with thier wild, un-tamed hair and grubby feet.
On arriving on the island, I was immediately impressed. The roads were quiet in comparrision to those across the sea, and despite being a very English island, I couldn't help but feel like a foreigner. We cut across the island towards Ventnor and detoured across acres and acres of rural farmland and lush forests. The very few houses that there were in this particular area were beautiful. As we slowly rode along, I glanced up towards the cloudless sky to be welcomed by a magnificent Honey Buzzard. It soared from tree top to tree top, owning the sky and all that was in it. The sheer size and wingspan of the bird took my breath away. Birds of Prey are becoming increasingly more common in Kent and Sussex but in all the birds that I have seen, that particular bird was the most impressive. This tells us what a effect an un-spoilt land can have on wildlife.
We arrived in Ventnor, and this was the place which my father thought would really impress me. He was right. We cruised the bike slowly down a spiralling road, towards a small, fishermans cove. It was so incredibly Cornish and despite the towering white cliffs which surround a majority of the island, the water was incredibly clear and effortlessly took on the colour of the sky. We parked the bike up and took a seat to admire the pure beauty of the place. Half a dozen villas and old fishermans houses dotted the small road that ran beside the waters edge. I could not believe that we were still in England. The area felt so continental. The white houses had blue shutters and creeping flowers in the brightest of blooms. The waters gently lapped the shore, barely disturning the sand beneath it.
We headed towards the centre of Ventnor for a spot of lunch in a pub which my father bragged about. 'The Spyglass,' was perfectly situated on the waters edge. Live music bellowed out from a corner of the outside eating area as the afternoon sun beamed down. The atmosphere was buzzing, and it was an atmosphere that i've only ever experienced abroad, perhaps in Mallorca.
Before our day-trip came to end we headed back along the West coast of the island, a more rugid coastline, home to the Needles. We pulled up at Freshwater Bay, notoriously known for it's fantastic swells and surfing community, which was a landscape that I never thought I would see so close to home. The giant cove curved around the inside of huge, white cliffs. Althought the waves at the time were not impressive, when the wind picked up they came rolling in, and crashed against the miles of white sand. I never imagined that I would find the equivalent to Fistral Beach more or less on my doorstep.
After that short visit to the Isle of Wight, I now have plans for my first, independent road and hiking trips. Being a teenager I am always on the lookout for new ways to stretch my boundries and travel away from home, in search for new people and more exciting lands. Although this story isn't your average disaster story, or informative news bulletin, it is an insight on my personal experience on a trip in the British Isles. I would recommend this trip to anyone and everyone, whether British or not, however I would take a tent and spend a few days to really explore the island.