Bournemouth, 18th August 2011 10:00am

Bournemouth likes to advertise itself as the "UK's No.1 of Seaside Resorts". They may be right. Bournemouth seems indeed to be far better maintained than other seaside towns; it's got nice parks and gardens, a long and clean beach and a variety of pretty cool places for food and drinks. It's also the first place I've visited on this trip that has a lounge on the seafront. A bar or cafe with proper wicker chairs, chill-out sound and enormous cappuccinos in square-shaped cups. That is what most of the seaside resorts are lacking. Wherever I traveled I thought to myself that a fortune could be made by the establishment of such a business. So, in Bournemouth I finally found one and remained there for the better part of the afternoon.

One of the stunning facts about Bournemouth is that its population consists mainly of Spanish students on a language course. Insofar, it could be compared to holiday destinations such as Rimini or Benidorm, wherer the Tourist-Local-ratio is by rule of thumb 20:1 in favour of the Germans and English, respectively. Indeed, catching a local in Bournemouth is not an easy task. However, I met a couple in a cafe but had to find out that they were not strictly speaking locals. Our dialogue was quite interesting, though:

• Me: So, you're not locals then, are you?
• He: Nah, not really, mate. I just moved 'ere a couple of years ago. I'm from Bradford.
• Me: Oh, well then I can understand why you moved...
• He: ???
• Me: Ah, anyway... (to his female company) And you are his wife?
• He: Yeah, she's me wife, Monica. I met her on a dental holiday in Hungary.
• Me: (did he just say 'dental holiday'?) I see; yes, I believe I've heard of those holidays.
• He: Right, yeah, ye know, I got some dental surgery done there.
• Me: Mhm...
• He: Ye know, mate, I'm just tellin you, it's f***ing cheap s**t that, no good at all!
• Me: (slowly) Oh, is it?
• He: Yep, so that is, mate. --- Oh look, there's me bill comin. Alright, was nice talking to you mate. Cheers, mate. Take care, mate.
• Me: Yes, you too, Bill. (damn, why did I call him Bill?!)

Well, it's always good to meet such people. They make you feel somewhat less crazy and out of place. After this little encounter I returned to my hotel, which was run by a lovely old couple who collect frogs (not real ones, but almost every item in their living room, kitchen and breakfast room was frog-shaped). I had dinner at a Greek restaurant actually run by Greek people. That meant authentic quality food, not Moussaka "with some gravy on it". And although there was the famous Bournemouth Air Show on the next day, I set myself to leave Bournemouth in the direction of Weymouth.

The next morning, when I woke up, it was raining cats and dogs (not frogs, though). Torrential rain throughout the night meant that half of Bournemouth was flooded by 10am. This because the city centre lays in valley basin with clouds building up on the ridge around the town, so all the water was flowing down the hill into the centre. The rainfalls were so heavy that I took a taxi to the train station. On our way, the driver had to take a large detour up the hills because there was no possible way through the centre (a couple of dauntless drivers had attempted but the deep puddles had cut their engines off and now they stood in the middle of the road; no way through there!). Once I arrived at the station, a rail warden told me that the station was partially flooded, too. Trains were still running but the ticket office wasn't. He told me to board my train and buy a ticket onboard. But throughout the journey to Weymouth, no conductor was in sight and so for once I traveled completely free. Hail to the rain!

Keep walking...

johnniewalker