My plans have started to change. Southampton was my next destination, but they did not have any hostels. No one had anything nice to say about the place, so I decided to just do it in a day-trip from Bournemouth. Turns out that city did not have any hostels either. To abandon two cities in a row was a bit too much, so I booked the cheapest hotel I could. Apparently, that means a guesthouse.
Within minutes of arriving in Bournemouth, I realized that it was another resort town, like Brighton. Thus, I was certainly not going to settle here and there was little reason for me to do anything at all. In fact, after that miserable stay in Brighton, it was time to take a few days relaxation and regroup before the next hostel in Cardiff. What this amounted to was walking along the beaches, reading, watching some TV (Anime), and I altogether abandoned my planned trip to Southampton.
There is one really important sight in this area. The neighboring town of Poole has sandbanks, which are not altogether very common. I had never seen one before and did not know what to expect. The guesthouse owners said to simply walk along the beach for 6 miles and I would reach it. That seemed simple enough, though not terribly easy in these shoes. The walk along the beach has a map at every big entrance, so I largely knew where to go. However, when I reached the sandbanks beach peninsula there was absolutely nothing there. I kept walking along the beach hoping to reach the other side of the peninsula, but private residences started blocking the way. After a short detour, I finally reached the coast again, but there was no longer any beach. Instead, the sand was wet, sometimes above, but other times immerged in less than an inch of water. The entire cove was this way. Obviously, this strange geography was The Sandbanks.
This was really an incredible find. I was very curious what the sandbanks would feel like. They looked rather delicate. I presumed that they were a protected resource and venturing onto them would be altogether illegal. Eventually, I could not resist and stepped out. The texture changes often, much like the surface of Solaris. On the whole, it is very much like walking on Jello in a crusty bowl to prevent the infinite wobbling. I did not venture very far out, but anticipated that I could walk all the way to the wave-line even in my weather vulnerable shoes.
As I continued farther along the cove, taking pictures every few feet, I saw a family parking their car. The small girl of around 4-years old seemed to ask her father if he would permit her to started walking alone. He consents and she starts walking directly on to The Sandbanks, heading as far out as she can. I approach him and ask if I can also go out on The Sandbanks or whether they are a protected resource. Father says that they are not very delicate and publically open, only it is not the popular season or else the sand would be quite full. I thank him and begin my journey into the sands. Definitely a worthwhile memory. Hopefully, I can retain it for a few years.
Other than discovering new geography, not much happened except another tragedy: I could not find a book to read. I was finally finishing Wuthering Heights, my “native authors in their native countries” read and needed another book. Apparently the area did not have a single used bookstore. I went up and down all the new bookstore bargain aisles looking for a price I was willing to pay, but could find non. The tourist information center said that a few charities stores were nearby. I arrived at the Salvation Army one shortly before it closed and found “one of the top 5 scifi books ever” for 1 pound. The quote was from the author of Game of Thrones, so I was happy for the find and did recognize the author from my Top 100 Scifi Books list. I bought it, then went next door to pick up some dinner. It was some type of fresh fast food, which is not terribly fast. I decided to read the back of the book in the meanwhile. The first sentence revealed to me that I had already read this very same book not four months ago. My memory had clearly failed me again. Not only was I now still without a readable book, I had just gone through a small series of emotions, enough to be worse off than before. Luckily it turns out, I have been carrying these old New Yorker magazines around with me my whole trip. They largely went unnoticed because they are quite small and remained unread since my initial flight out of my homeland. That, along with the saved Wikipedia article on Cardiff, Wales, would be enough for the 3.5 hour journey to my next country. Hopefully, they have a used bookstore and a nice, quiet hostel.
Out of the 6 or 7 cities I was considering living in, there are only three left: Cardiff, Bristol, and Birmingham. Sadly, no one has had anything good to say about Birmingham. On the contrary, everyone absolutely adores Bristol, so it is an encouraging first choice. If it does not work out, I am in a heap of trouble. I do have some open time after Birmingham, which I have not yet decided what to do with. I could abandon my city criteria of living close to continental Europe, as I would probably fly anywhere I was going anyway. That would open up at least three more cities: Newcastle, Edinburgh, and Glasgow. It might be prudent to wander out that way anyhow, since working in Bristol will not make such far destinations easily accessible. That is the tentative plan. Bear with me…
