Quests

I guess I must be settling into life here when I have nothing new to write for more than a week. Nothing very blog-worthy has happened, although I watched Mary Poppins for the first time in many years on Tuesday night with my friends. That’s exciting, right??? No? Fine, let’s move on.

On Wednesday, I went to Rottingdean, a tiny town about 15 minutes west of Brighton with the Photography Society. Or more precisely, the two members who showed up. There was supposed to be another person there as well, but he couldn’t make it since he was occupying a building on campus to protest budget cuts, and police wouldn’t let him leave. I’ll admit, that’s as good an excuse as any.

Apparently, the Netherlands isn’t the only place to find windmills on this continent because our mission for the day was to locate and photograph a famous and slightly confused historic windmill, a.k.a Smock Mill, a.k.a. New Mill, a.k.a. Beacon Mill. Make up your mind already, please! The sun was shining, and I couldn’t see my breath, so I think we picked a good day to go. The bus was late, but when it finally arrived, we sat on the top deck and had a lovely scenic drive through the countryside. We took the bus to the end of the line and then walked up a hill, right next to the oceanfront. Imagine my surprise, after huffing and puffing my way to the top of the hill, when I discovered this:

Yes loyal readers, that is indeed a golf course. This supposedly historical treasure, built in 1802, and painstakingly resorted some time after that, was surrounded by a golf course. At least I know my dad will visit me now…Still, I managed to have fun taking photographs, even while keeping an eye out for flying golf balls. The windmill was apparently not always as peaceful as it is today. Back when it was first built, builders found a skeleton at the site, and it was something of a local pastime to try to set the poor windmill on fire for a few decades, apparently. Still, it survived and was finally rewarded by being on the outskirts of a golf course. Isn’t that what every windmill aspires to?

We walked along the cliffs for a while after that and then went back into town. Rottingdean is a really cute village, and even though all the cute English villages I’ve visited are starting to blur together in my memory, I never get sick of them. Rudyard Kipling happened to live in this particular village for a while, so we walked around his gardens, which could benefit from some flowers. I know it’s a novel idea for a garden, but something to think about anyway.

After walking by a disproportionate number of banks, we naturally had tea. (Okay, I admit, I relapsed and drank hot chocolate. Old habits die hard.) This particular place claimed to date from 1589, but I’m a little skeptical…After that, we took the bus back into Brighton and called it a day. And what a day it was! Windmills, golf, hot chocolate and sunshine; what more could you ask for?

Something about the streak of sunshine we’ve had here brings out the tourist in me, so on Thursday afternoon, a friend from my WWI class and I explored Brighton in search of a legacy of the war. We’re supposed to take a picture of this elusive something or other and bring it to our next seminar. I’m not sure we found the perfect picture, but it was nice to walk around the pier, which I had not yet explored. Brighton really is a pretty town, and I hope I’ll appreciate it more as soon as the weather turns a little warmer.

That night, I went to my German friend Tina’s for dinner, and she made delicious scalloped potatoes for everyone. We all went out to The White Rabbit (don’t you love British pub names?) for a drink after, and it was a good end to the week!