Coming to Brighton

I have already been in Brighton for a week and I'm just getting around to starting this blog.

It's not totally my fault.  I arrived at Heathrow and almost immediately had to get on a bus that took two hours to get to Brighton.  Then it was a taxi to 49 Warleigh Road.  Having not slept at all on the plane I was beat.  I took a nap right away and then a few hours later slept for about ten hours.  You would think that would cure me of jet-lag--but you would be wrong.  I still am feeling the effects--or could it be all the hills here?

The flat was a bit of a disappointment.  I expected bare bones accommodations--but I also expected that it would be sparkling clean, which it most definitely is not.  The people who live here live like Spartans.  I can find only one towel--and three forks.  There are no closets to hang things--just shelves. And the dishes are not clean and the pots still have some food stuck to them.  Perhaps when you live here long enough you don't notice, but as a visitor, I definitely do.  I am going to try to resist the urge to leave the place cleaner then when I found it.

Here are some pictures, which ironically make it look pretty nice.  It's really not bad--just not very clean.

Notice the non-working TV set.  Apparently it went on the fritz a week before they left, and watching little TV themselves, they did not think it a very big deal that it did not work.

That's all my junk on the chair beside the bed.  And I brought my own little pillow from my house--I thought it a bit over the top but now I am very glad for it.

The one towel hangs over the glass door.  The flat only has a washer so I am a little concerned about how I will get my clothes--and that towel-- clean.

The "closet".

I'll spare you the pictures of the dirty pots and pans but here is a sampling of the lack of cleanliness.  A window sill in the living room.

OK, enough of that.  The more I am here, the less I notice, which is good.

Here is Warleigh Road, my street.

 A short walk to the London Road takes you under what looks like an old aqueduct and is also the train bridge coming into town.

 I thought this was interesting.  Just a street down from Warleigh is Yardley Road and the next street is Gerard.

Can't really explain the big bug.

The second day I was here, I walked to the supermarket and got some food and staples.  Then I got out of the store and walked exactly the wrong way from home.  By the time I got home I had been up and down so many hills that I had to take another nap.  It was soon after that that I got a bus pass.

I went down to Brighton pier which was bustling but I forgot my camera.  And I got a new burner phone with a UK number that I gave to Ada, if there is an emergency.

To call Brighton crowded does not really do it justice.  On some days it is difficult to walk down the street in the city center.  And that was especially true on Saturday when there was a gay pride parade.  Now I have nothing against gay people, but the thought of a gay pride parade and all of its flamboyance just made my jet-lagged brain pulsate.  So early in the morning, I took the bus up the coast to Eastborne.  We passed a lot of really lovely coastal towns like Peacehaven and Newhaven.

Eastborne has its own pier, a smaller version of the one in Brighton.

It gives you a great vantage point for seeing the seafront in Eastborne--as well as providing opportunities for a bit of gambling and eating/drinking.

Like Brighton, the beach is stony and so there are few sunbathers.  But it does have the advantage of having very shallow water quite a ways into the sea (in this case, the English Channel).  The town is apparently still owned for the most part by an earl or duke who rents out the seafront buildings to others on very long leases.  He does not allow any shops or cafes on the road--so finding a place to eat with a nice view took a while.  I ended up at this place--quite a ways down the beach from the pier and on a deck on the beach.  And I forgot my hat/sunblock so I got a good sunburn on my forehead for my trouble.  I am peeling it as I write this. (Sorry, gross, I know)

One other thing about Eastborne--the pride is reflected in a lot of small things, including the gardens

and even the railings on the "boardwalk."

I went back to Brighton as the festivities were winding down.

The next morning I rented a car and drove to Bristol to see my cousins.  More on that in the next post.