Canterbury

I took a comparatively lazy day for once while in Canterbury. In the international house where I'd couchsurfed, I talked with a Polish couple over breakfast. We mostly discussed the recent plane crash that had killed the Polish president and 95 others the day before. 

I started my tour of the city by walking along part of the old wall and viewing its impressive gates.

I was mostly in Canterbury to see three religious buildings that compose the Caterbury World Heritage site. The first was St. Martins, which is historically important as the oldest parish church in Britain in continuous use. It was founded nearly 1500 years ago, and interesting because of that, but despite medieval updates it wasn't much to look at. In fact, I walked right past it and on for an extra kilometer before realizing I'd missed gone too far.

Next up was the ruins of St. Augustine's Abbey. An excellent audio tour discussed the architectural and historical significance of the site as abbey and royal palace. 

The crowning jewel was, of course, Canterbury cathedral, the center of British Christiandom and a major site of pilgrimage. 

A modern artwork commemorates the murder of Archbishop Thomas Becket that occurred here. 

The Normans knew the secret to keeping people subdued with a sense of awe: high ceilings.

The gardens contain ruins.

The grounds also connect with the prep academy King's School, which has an attached Norman staircase nearly a thousand years old. 

I had a pleasant stroll through the rest of the city and an excellent Lebanese buffet before striding onward.

After the leisurely tour, I boarded a train to London.

Dover

I witnessed Dover's famed white cliffs on the way into the city, but was mostly there for - you guessed it - the castle. It was a fair walk up the steep hills to the castle's gates.

The defensible position on the narrowest crossing from continental Europe has been occupied for a long stretch of time. A Roman lighthouse still stands atop one of the hills within the walls, and a Saxon church was built beside it in order to use the former lighthouse as a bell tower.

The castle itself had an excellent exhibit on the Plantagenet family history. The second language on the displays was now French, which made sense given the proximity to the Chunnel. The whole interior was made to look like the castle would have in its heyday, but somehow did so without being hokey. 

I was also impressed by the World War II ere tunnels. The tunnel system under the castle was started as medieval counter-siege secret exits, expanded to include underground barracks for the Napoleonic wars, and then reinforced and expanded again to house the command center of Operation Dynamo, which organized the evacuation of British and French troops from France when the country fell.

I glimpsed the white cliffs again on my way to Canterbury, where I met up with my couchsurf host for a night of cooking naan bread pizza and watching Pulp Fiction. 

Battle Abbey and Rye

Contrary to what one might expect, the Battle of Hastings did not actually take place in Hastings. It took place a few miles away at a previously nameless stretch of land that was afterwards dubbed Battle. William the Conqueror had an abbey built there by order of the pope to honor the loss of life in the 1066 battle. Of course, the Normans being who they were, they of probably would have erected a huge stone building there anyway to awe the natives into submission. The abbey is partially ruined.

The actual battleground is now full of daffodils. 

Despite the somber setting, I couldn't help laughing at the grave of a furry. I seem to have been taken by words in general that day, since on the ride over I kept being amused by the announcements that the train was going to Battle, or seeing the signs for Battle station.

Despite train delays and the need to take the bus where the tracks were under construction, it was still only mid morning by the time I backtracked through Hastings to Rye. The town has undergone remarkably little change since medieval times. The cobblestone streets are lined with timberframe houses from the 1400s. 

It was a hot day, so I acquired a liter of icecream for the ride to Dover. 

England's South Coast

I left the hostel before any of the people who ran it were up, so forfeited my deposit for a much needed early start to the day. I quite liked the pubic transit advertisement I saw in Exeter's bus station. 

I soon arrived in Lyme Regis on Jurassic Coast, so named because the eroded cliffs have exposed the Jurrasic layer  of the compressed earth, exposing numerous fossils. I debated with myself whether or not I would attempt to sift the sand for fossils while I enjoyed the views of the cliffs and ocean. I opted to visit the dinosaur museum instead. It was quite good, especially for a small town museum, and was full of fossilized dinosaurs that I hadn't even heard of before (and I recently brought up pachycephalosaurus in ordinary conversation with friends). 

My busy day continued with a ride out to Dorchester. I visited the museum, which contained more fossils and an exhibit on Maiden Castle, the largest Iron Age hillfort in Britain. It thrived from about 500 BCE until the Romans captured it in 43 CE, which we know because of the Briton skeleton with a Roman cross bow bolt in his spine that archaeologists found there. I left my pack at the museum while I headed out to Maiden Castle itself. I had to run in order to get there and return before the museum closed. The four mile jog in the shade-less heat was exhausting, but the view of the fortifications was worth it. I wasn't able to take a picture that captures it well, but I assure you, it actually was quite impressive.

Corfe Castle, on the other hand, could not be more picturesque. Even from the bus stop it was amazing.

The castle was besieged during the English civil war, leaving the castle that perfect mix of ruined and preserved.

The wicker dragon was clearly placed here for the entertainment of small children - and me.

The gate was blasted so that the two halves are now considerably different from each other in height, depth, and angle.

Obligatory tourist photo. I couldn't tell you why I took this despite my usual pains to eschew tourist stereotypes.

Thatch roof cottages! Actually, the village just outside the castle gates had quite nice stone homes, but still, thatched roofs.

Having thoroughly soaked in Corfe Castle's magnificence, I took a series of buses and trains to Eastborne. I missed the check in at the youth hostel by eight minutes because it was a mile away from the train station. I took this in stride. I ate a fourteen inch pizza by myself to recharge, then headed onward to Hastings. I wandered the beach town, through the main street and past closed amusement parks, and up onto the cliffs across from the small ruined castle. There I made myself a nest under the sparse branches of a thorn bush and slept quite comfortably until being woken at daybreak by birds and early morning walkers.

Cornwall

Perched upon the stunning landscape of Corwall's North coast is Tintagle Castle, the birthplace of King Arthur. The current ruins were raised in the 1300s, but the foundations of an older fortress lays beneath. The peninsula outcropping certainly does look defensible in addition to beautiful.

Fortified positions on each side of the isthmus offered impressive views of each other.

In the tourist trap town of Tintagle, I indulged my sweet tooth on blackberry icecream before visiting the  and apple crumble afterwards, then with walnut and maple fudge. Upon discovering that I still had time before the bus arrived, I asked the visitors' center which shop in town had the best Cornish Pasties. When both of the women who worked there offered a different opinion, I of course bought both and did a taste test. If I recall correctly, one had better filling and the other had a better pastry covering.  Beyond being delicious, pasties have an amusing role in Cornish folklore about mine sprites known as 'knockers'.

I had hoped to see Penzance that evening as well. Unfortunately, the bus schedule was horribly incorrect, and my bus rides - complete with unwritten transfers - seemed to drag on and on as any chance of seeing the city vanished. I was able to stop by Truro, the region's capital. I of course visited the cathedral, one of the newest in Britain. 

I took the train out to Penzance despite the futility, only to arrive five minutes before the last train back to Exeter. Since I had a rented room in Exeter, couchsurf plans in the week ahead, and a lot of ground to cover before then, I reluctantly headed back the way I came, staying in the same hostel I had begun the long day. I didn't make it back until 1:30, stayed up for an hour because I'm an idiot/internet addict, and then got a couple hours sleep before heading out at dawn towards the Jurassic Coast. 

Exeter and Okehampton

I started out just past dawn in order to view the town wall, the street art pieces, and the cathedral. The town walls included a niche with a memorial because the old town was targeted for bombing by the Nazis.

I broke my fast with pasties and olive bread from the Thursday market, then wandered the narrow alleys lined by timber frame houses.

The most well known of these is called The House That Moved, an inverted layer cake of an edifice that looks like a strong wind would demolish it, much less transit to a new location.

From Exeter I took a bus, viewing Launceston castle out window on the way to the ruins of Okehampton castle. From what's left you'd never guess that Okehampton was once the largest castle in Devon. Only the Norman motte and the shattered walls of the inner keep remain. There's a pleasant walk along a stream from town and back. I think I stayed longer than I would have otherwise because my castle obsession wouldn't let me skip any parts of the audio guide. 

My day had really just begun. I bused back to Exeter so I could venture forth into Cornwall.