This was our final day on Guernsey, transitioning back to (where else?) Saint-Malo. Although clouds threatened in the morning, the weather continued to hold for us. We started the day out a bit cheekily with tea and Hob Nobs on a little rock point on the north shore of the island you can’t reach at high tide. We also checked out one of the several Neolithic sites on the island–a “passage tomb” made of enormous rock slabs perched on pillars. This one apparently had seen at least 3 epochs of burials. Guernsey originally also hosted several megaliths, but they were mostly cannibalized by enterprising stone masons starting in the 18th century (easier than quarrying!).
After stopping at the lovely old Vale Church, we rode on to a pleasant breakfast at The Kiln at Oatlands Village, a restored farming complex that in addition to the café now also houses several little boutiques and mini-golf. Rebecca’s chocolate sold us some cute and delicious chocolate “ormers” (abalones), and we admired the large-format chocolate cows (see below: she says she ships all over the world, so get your holiday orders in soon! We basically ate the bright-yellow Guernsey butter whenever we could, along with the cream and milk from the butter-fat-rich Guernsey cows–amazing stuff.)
From there we circuited the northern point of the island, which used to be a separate island at low tide; it’s flatter, less-treed and more open than the main part of the island, with a smattering of water-filled quarries and Neolithic sites. Stopping at one of the island’s frequent farm “honesty boxes,” we passed up the fresh eggs and potatoes in favor of 2 pints of the absolute best raspberries we’ve ever eaten. Then, we cycled down the east coast back to St. Peter’s Port, where we first took a rest in the pretty Candie Gardens (which features a big statue of Victor Hugo in a garden planted with popular plants and flowers from his day) and then picked up supplies for a picnic dinner on the ferry. We checked in Cheryl’s bike and waited for our Condor ferry to the mainland, during which time I enjoyed a chat with e-bikers Jenn and Darrell, lifelong Jersey residents over on Guernsey for a weekend holiday.
Jenn and Darrell turned out to be lifesavers because a delayed departure meant it was likely we were going to miss our connection to Saint-Malo; old hands at this sort of thing, they steered me to Kelly at the information desk on board the first ferry. And thanks to Kelly and to Sergei the bay steward, Cheryl and I managed to scramble onto the Saint-Malo boat as they raised the gangway behind us like a Channel-Islands version of a Star Wars escape sequence (“Your taxi awaits, Madam,” quipped the Saint-Malo bay steward as we skidded past; I wouldn’t have been nearly as friendly given his whole crew was at the end of their shift and just wanted to get home).
Somewhat wrung out by all of this excitement on the high seas, we collapsed into bed at the Hôtel du Manoir Cunningham and fervently hoped the “planes trains and automobiles” action, as we had taken to calling it, would be a little calmer in the morning.
The Rookery 