Summer hasn’t been the most summery in the UK, a close meh most of the time, but the sight of blue sky on my horizon called to me early Sunday morning when my husband and I were talking about making a run for it to Broadstairs for the day.
Viking Bay happens to be one of my favourite beaches, and no sooner than I thought about it, I was fixing up to leave ASAP. Time for a trip to the beach!
It never ceases to delight me to get out of London. An imperative made known to me by my bioresonance practitioner who, after some sessions and analysis of my reports, urged me to consider moving out of London entirely for the sheer energy bombardment this city has on me. Living by the coast is one of my life long dreams and being immersed in water in some way is always a go to yearning, surely a sign to take my cue and leave?
Wondering about this, about how often that depressing feeling looming in the shadows of ordinary daily life presents as a glaring red flag. Living in London presents many challenges and strife, as I’m sure it would do anywhere, but it’s something I’ve never quite been able to shake. Living abroad at times has proven to be immediately relieving of this silent burden and I’ve always felt better when I’ve been away for a great stretch.
For now though, a day in Broadstairs was just what the doctor ordered.
The drive down to Broadstairs is enjoyable after reaching our familiar service station stop for that average coffee and snack run. I welcome this stop when I haven’t planned an impromptu trip like this and prepared a bag of food for us.
Experience has taught me it’s better to eat on the way than at the beach because the intimidation tactics of England’s seagulls giving off mafia vibes really ain’t the one. They’re always watching and approaching with their beady eyes on you, waiting for the opportune moment to strike a beakful of whatever you’re trying to eat, even flying off with the lot if they got you good enough. And by the looks of them, they would rob your grandmother no questions asked for a munch! You’ve been warned.
I do love this part of England. Sleepy streets and inviting guest houses, I often daydream about staying for a while on my own. Just enough to catch a restful break and take in the fresh sea air until I start to take it for granted.
My favourite local place to visit is Morelli’s, a popular vintage ice cream parlour that’s been around for absolute yonks. No matter the season or weather, diners at Morelli’s indulge in the delightful joy of classic ice cream creations you’d expect with a classic English twist – like the knickerbocker glory, or the yummy banana boat.
For me, this visit was about grabbing some quiet introspection time and so I settled at my table with a pot of earl grey and my journal, savouring the moment of penning my thoughts with the hustling sounds of ladies bussing tables and crowds ordering cones to enjoy outside.
Along the promenade the winding gardens are full of blooms; plenty of benches to sit and enjoy a cone of ice cream before it drips down your wrist; those sheltered seating with ornate wood and wrought work that look quintessentially English, and a gorgeous grand stand where a dedicated brass band plays.
On this occasion ‘Moon River’ carried through the air, lifting my spirits as we meandered our way down to the beach, pausing to enjoy the views.
I would’ve liked to have stayed longer in my beach bubble, found my journaling groove and deep breaths of the sea air soothing me into a relaxed state of mind, body, and spirit, but the boys had enough of the quiet contemplation of this trip.
Back in our car and ready to go home, I took snapshots for photo journaling some other time and banking this memory with the reminders to do this more often. Afterall, daydreaming is an invitation to see to it that you get to do the things that bring you joy. More please!
