I'm not going to lie, I don't believe I ever thought about the fact that because there is a state called "New Jersey," there must be an older place called "Jersey." As it turns out, that older place is
Jersey Island, which couldn't be any more different than the U.S. state. I arrived in the middle of the night, but when I looked across the street from my accommodation at the
Ommaroo Hotel the next morning, the situation was nothing like "The Situation." A few brave women, far from JWoww and Snooki, were taking an early-morning dip (left). Later in the day, when the tide went out, it was more obvious that they were actually swimming in the
Havre des Pas Lido, not just English Channel surf (right).
I didn't watch for long, though, because I came with the goal of biking the entire
Route 1 Coastal Route, which I nearly did. When I set off from the Victorian and Regency rows of
St. Helier to find a rental bike, the skies were overcast (left). Luckily, by the time I got around the harbor and on the road, the sun was making an appearance (right).
From the main city, I headed east to
Le Hocq, a much less-populated stretch of beach that is dotted with defensive towers (left). Efforts are ongoing to preserve the
round towers, which include ammunition magazines and gun decks, but some have already been protected by becoming part of residences (right).
As I rounded the island's southeastern corner, I came upon
Gorey, which I recognized from a distance due to
Mont Orgueil Castle (left). The medieval fortress is perched over the harbor, where I nearly stopped for a
cream tea (right). But knowing how far I had to travel and seeing the hill I would have to climb to get out of the town, I pressed on.
My next stop was
Rozel, an off-the-beaten-path fishing town (top). This detour was planned so this hungry woman could eat at
The Hungry Man, a harborside food shack (bottom left). I soaked in some sun and sipped in some tea while I ate a sandwich made from a well-known island delicacy,
spider crab (bottom right).
On my way back to my hotel, I ran into some specimens of the island's other famous protein,
Jersey cattle (left). I knew I wouldn't make it around the whole island in one go, so I used the scheme of
Green Lanes, back roads whose speed limits are set at 15 mph to discourage cars (right), to cut back through the center of the island, so I could explore St. Helier before nightfall.
With my rental bike properly secured, I strolled through downtown. The main drag is
King Street, whose French equivalent, just in case you can't see in the photo, is Rue de Derrière, which made me snigger (top left). The island is nearly as close to France (465 kilometers) as it is to England (356 kilometers), and it has long had French influence. Eventually, I stumbled upon the
Central Market (top right), where inside it was easy to forget whether the flags represented the Union Jack or the Tricolour (bottom left). The same flags were flying above a giant crab in the
Fishermongers' Market across the street (bottom right).
Downtown funnels into the harbor and
Liberation Square, created in 1995 to commemorate the 50th anniversary of the island's freedom from German occupation (top). The last British forces left
Fort Regent, on Town Hill above the square, in 1940, and not long after, the Nazis moved their headquarters into the
Pomme D'or Hotel. Across from the hotel, crews were setting up the finish line for the
Jersey Marathon (bottom left). The next day, when I returned my rental bike a block away, I caught a few competitors heading into the chute (bottom right).
For dinner, forgoing French cuisine, I chose the Sri Lankan restaurant
Unawatuna, right down the street from the hotel (top). But that was only after I stopped at a few pubs during my downtown wanderings. First, I watched some rugby at
The Lamplighter (bottom left), and then at
The Post Horn, I tried an
IPA from the Channel Islands' only brewery,
Liberation Brewery (bottom right). Jersey is so small that, after dinner that night, I stopped at
The Cock and Bottle for one last drink, and I ran into and made friends with the guy in the background behind my beer in that last photo. One last drink turned into many with his group of friends -- as well as many hugs at the end of the night.
Somehow, I managed to make it up early enough the next day to cycle the other half of the island. I pedaled west to the second-largest city on the island,
St. Aubin (top). Its waterfront is full of cute cafes, but it wasn't time for a break yet. I cut inland for a bit until I reached the southwest corner of the island, which is graced by
La Corbiere lighthouse (middle left). After I rounded the point, I rested, allowing myself a coffee break as I watched hang-gliders drift over
St. Ouen's Bay (middle right). As you can tell from the hills in the background, there were quite a few challenging climbs as I pressed on to
The Priory Inn, where I followed the short path to take in
Devil's Hole (bottom).
Luckily, the road back was mostly downhill. A few times, though, I did have to divert from my direct route in order to avoid the marathon. Once I got back to
St. Aubin's Bay, I steered clear of the runners in the final stretch by roosting on a picnic table at the
The Lookout Beach Cafe (left). The cafe's name refers to its view not of the race but of
Elizabeth Castle, which is accessible by foot during low tide (right). With the tide high, it was high time I headed home.
