All the outward signs are of a seaside resort (153Cong.Rec.H838)

When people think of a British seaside resort, they usually first think of Brighton, myself included. But after a recent work trip that sent me to Bournemouth, I would recommend it as a better place for some sand, surf, and sun (or clouds, as the case was during my visit). What it lacks in history -- it's one of the few UK cities younger than the United States -- it makes up for in ambiance and amenities.

One reason my vote is with Bournemouth is because of the Norfolk Hotel (top left). Its lobby is adorned with portraits of the family of the Duke of Norfolk, the building's former resident (top right). Despite its high-class heritage, I stayed in a humble but cute dormer room (bottom left), but I made full use of the swanky Victorian-style bathhouse with heated pool (bottom right).

In the evening, after the workday was done, I took a jog down to the beach then along the shore. It was chilly and drizzly, so there weren't many people on the beach to obstruct my view. Toward the east I could just make out the Isle of Wight through the gray (left). To the west, the beach huts that line the promenade heading toward Poole were shuttered, awaiting sunnier days (right).

Due to the poor weather, the Bournemouth Balloon, a seasonal attraction in the city's Lower Gardens, was grounded (left). There also weren't many takers for the Ferris wheel that had been installed downtown in advance of the Bournemouth Wheels Festival (right).

 

Unlike most beach towns, the city has a long green space running through the valley down to the sea. The Bournemouth Gardens follow the banks of the Bourne River, which is more of a creek now; in the Central Gardens, a small wooden bridge is enough to cross it (left). Further inland, a Victorian water tower that once corralled the river's waters still stands in the Upper Gardens (right).

I walked about two-thirds of the length of the gardens to get to the hip neighborhood of Westbourne, where the local Tesco is housed in a former church. I wasn't looking for groceries, though; I was headed for a delicious bowl of home-cooked chili at Geneve (left). Right across the street, I stepped into The Porterhouse because it advertised taps from Ringwood Brewery. To close out an early night, and a short but sweet visit to another lovely British town, I had a pint of the brewery's award-winning Old Thumper ESB (right).