Isle of Man Weekend

The cry of gulls on a grass-scented breeze...

 This was my first and last impression of the Isle of Man when we recently visited the island for a weekend summer break.

 

Tantalising view of Port Erin as seen by cows

 

It’s a really simplistic description I realise, but I have to say for a place that has had more tenants than you can poke a three-pronged stick at, the whole island maintains this beautiful sense of tranquillity and space.

It’s just so uncrowded that you wonder where all the people are hiding. Everywhere we went (outside of the mildly busier towns) people greeted us with an open smile like they were very pleased to be living there.  We returned their enthusiasm happily!

 

All modern amentities

 

In fact the island has a LOT to offer, especially for the outdoorsy types, but also for those interested in history, wildlife and also the arts- I saw a lot of very beautiful local art and crafts during our stay.

And of course the whole island is one gorgeous scale model of a much bigger place- it has mountains and valleys and woods and rivers and beaches and cairns and castles and gorgeous cottages and bays full of colourful fishing boats. Is it noticeable that I would clearly move there? Absolutely!

 

Fenella appreciating the arrival of summer

 

For years I have wanted to visit the Isle of Man. I am already a keen Anglophile, so how could I not be intrigued by a place that sits in the sea, surrounded by England, Ireland Scotland and Wales, and yet be a place confidently and completely its own self?

My husband Fil has family history there too, 400 years of it; reason enough in itself to visit the place while we are living for a time so close by in Hampshire.

Left to book our accommodation, I pick Port Erin on the island’s south-west coast. The pictures of it’s pretty little bay win me over easily against the bigger towns. I reason that the island’s transport system is supposed to be good, so where we stay doesn’t matter too much.

At a fragile hour, my husband Fil, one of our sons Flynn and I, fly over from Southampton to Ronaldsway airport, Ballasalla. It's on the east coast and just 11km south of Douglas, the Islands capital ( may I say again how much I love small airports over large!).

 As always, as we head toward our accommodation, I am glued to the window, taking in all the new sights around me. It is a summer’s day, cloudy but promising to clear and the villages and towns we pass look like we are in for some treats over the weekend. I try and think if the countryside reminds me of anywhere else and funnily over the next few days I will find areas that remind me of all the countries that surround the island.

Our hotel The Falcon’s Nest looks like a rather faded beauty, but sits in a perfect spot overlooking the beautiful bay and so we instantly forgive her. Inside the hotel is a touch old and faded but in a way that my husband Fil and I actually quite like (old glory days deco). I always wish I could afford to patch these old seaside beauties. It's sad to see them crumble away.

 

A Room With a bloody nice View

 

13 year old Flynn is pleased to have a large room all to himself in the family suite. I take a happy picture of the sea-view from our window as the clouds begin to disappear.

 Ooh, it’s looking mighty nice outside! I rush everyone to explore as soon as possible. Our precious time on the Isle of Man is ticking away!

On dropping us off at the hotel our Scottish taxi driver had apologised to us for the slightly higher fare, explaining that it was a public holiday.

 Somehow, we have arrived on the most important Island public holiday- Tynwald day. Tynwald is old Norse for ‘meeting place for the assembly’. (Wiki):Tynwald meets annually at an open air ceremony at Tynwald Hill at St John's, the Lieutenant Governor of the Isle of Man presides, unless The Queen as Lord of Man or a member of the Royal Family, is present. Here, all laws are promulgated and special petitions are received. Boring politics done in an interesting way!

 

Church of EpiPen

 

Needless to say because of this, Port Erin was very quiet and most things in town were closed.

 Fine by us as there is so much to do anyway. We decide to visit nearby Cregneash which is a gorgeous working village owned by the Manx National Heritage (we are delighted to discover our National Trust Membership is valid here).

 

Better weeds than I have flowers

 

Everyone working in the village is dressed in traditional clothes. I’m not certain what year it’s all set in but lets say, pre-electricity and pre-motor anything. All the little whitewashed stone cottages burn peat fires and are fitted out just as they would have once been. People give demonstrations and are happy to chat. I wring information from an obliging blacksmith- not something I normally get to do!

 We watch a fascinating short film on Manx Heritage and the village itself.

 

Cregneash, enough to make you want to unplug your phone and wear hemp

 

The Manx brown four-horned sheep called Loaghtan  are kept in the village  and we meet our first, Born-on-the-island Manx cat.

Manx  lamb- blissfully unaware four horns will soon sprout out of it's head

 

There are wildflowers everywhere, especially growing out of the side of the dry stone walls, with enormous bumblebees threading their way among the blooms. The area is very scenic and you can easily believe you have gone back in time.

 

Dragging the boy 'round Man

 

We decide to walk back to Port Erin from the village, where we climb a hill to see an ancient Cairn (I prefer 'fairy ring'!) and have the most amazing view over the hills and can see the ocean on either side of the island.

Man and fairy ring

 

There are public footpaths dotting the whole island (although some are not tended well- VERY tall grass- not good for the height challenged!) and we have a great walk back with a hilarious run-in with calves who were very curious about us, then decide they are a bit nervous after all and form a very neat row of bovine curiosity behind us.

 

We like to watch

 

On our return into Port Erin, Fil bravely takes a brief dip in the Irish Sea (joined only by the brave- children!)and we finish our day with fish and chips sitting a little hill overlooking the beach- magic!

 

Fil,( the dot furthest out from the shore), not avoiding hypothermia and basking sharks

 

One of the best things about the Isle of Man is getting to take a steam train as your mode of transport (think Sodor and Thomas the Tank Engine).

 

Port Erin, future home?

 

On day two,after a splendid early walk along Port Erin beach, we took the earliest steam train up the east coast to Castletown.

Modern transport a must

 

 I love the sound of steam trains- the sharp whistle always sounds like an expression of exuberance by the trains (I know, I’m putting faces on those trains!) and the summer air blowing in our little timber windows smelt like cut hay-mmm J

 

Walking into Castletown

 

Castletown is a beautiful town on a river that goes into the sea. There are hanging baskets of bright flowers everywhere and swans swimming in the river between the colourful fishing boats.

 

Men being manly amid blooms

 

Overlooking it all is Rushen Castle which was built for a Norse king in the 1200’s. The town has lots of Georgian building and has a walled feel to it, but is very pretty.

 

Castletown begging to be painted

 

Back on the train, our next stop is the isle of man’s capital, Douglas with it’s long crescent of Victorian buildings along the seafront esplanade.

 

Douglas

 

 Behind that is a small city- modern buildings mixed with old. After the countryside and villages I don’t warm to it, but the Manx Museum we visit was excellent and I wished we could have stayed longer.

 Back down to the waterfront for an ice cream as we walk the long esplanade north to catch the electric cable car to our next stop.

 

Turkish delight, coconut lime, banoffee

 

As we walk, horse-drawn trams trot past us- not surprising as the city has a very long seafront.  

 

Cor, does this pleasantness have an end?

 

From Douglas we wind our way up the cliffs (with great views back to Douglas) in our little open-sided carriage. It’s fun but has nothing on the steam trains for both comfort and nostalgia.

 Laxey is our destination and it is here that Fil’s ancestors lived for many years, working on the lead mines. But firstly we jump from the electric tram to the vintage electric cable car and get a ride all the way to the highest point on the Isle, Snaefell.

 

Old Mill café ,Laxey

 

 I am thrilled we have such a lovely summers day to do it. On a clear day you can apparently see the surrounding countries beyond the sea, but our day is a little hazy.

We don’t mind at all as you can still see for miles over the island and it’s incredibly beautiful.

 

Smiling because we didn't have to walk up here. beautiful Snaefell view

 

Back in Laxey we now have time to explore the town a little. Our day is really a world-wind tour as we have a lunchtime flight the next day (our choices were 12:30pm or 8:30pm!).

 Laxey looks like a nice village but the whole place is overshadowed by the huge and impressive water wheel, the Lady Isabella. The wheel is enormous, a wonderful piece of engineering used to pump water from the mines.

 

The Lady Isabella, a buxom old lass

 

Once again our National Trust card gets us in for nothing (though we always donate a few gold coins). We climb all the way to the top of the wheel which I do NOT enjoy! The pretty setting is no salve to my nerves against the movement of the wheel mixed and the height of the whole thing with it's very low railings! People have gotten taller you know! (actually we did notice a lot of short people on the island- maybe I DO belong there!)

 

My worried face atop the Laxey Wheel

 

As we leave we stare at an enlarged old photo of miners on a board, wondering if any of them are Fil’s ancestors. Probably not as 400 men at least worked there. The family were Dickinson's and also Bridson's. In several places on the Island we see buildings and street signs with these names which we think is pretty exciting.

 

Fil excited to see his name, Flynn not so much

 

From Laxey we catch the last leg of the cable car to Ramsey in the north. Everywhere we go the towns are quiet as though mostly empty. I keep wishing we were staying until the Monday so I could see what the island might be like on a work-day! Surely nowhere is really this quiet?

 

Ramsey

 

Ramsey is another coastal town on a river with a fleet of fishing boats. This town has more of an estuary feel to it. The background of hills beyond the town is lovely as is the town centre. I see a few alternatively dressed people about and wonder if Ramsey might be an artists sort of town.

 

Cable car into Ramsey

 

 

For the first time we notice groups of youths about, some obviously up to no good.

A group of four of them get on our bus. Though they are only probably between 12 and 14, a couple of them have very filthy mouths and we are sitting only seats away. When we object to them about their language (we are pretty open minded so trust me it was bad!), we opened a right can of worms that almost spoilt our journey to Peel on the West coast.
After two complaints to the driver, the kids are made to sit down the front and have their travel cards removed. It’s all very unpleasant (especially when we realise they too will get off in Peel!) but in the end I just feel sad for the two in the four who are the main culprits. One smelt like he had been drinking and I kept thinking: what kind of lack of support or guidance have these kids had experience with? I mean you can see that anywhere but it's just not a great way to start out in life.

Peel, nice town

Luckily Peel itself is a beautiful town and we are mostly able to forget the youths on the bus.

 

Peel beach. Not too shabby

 

 The town boasts  the islands other fortress castle on a rocky outcrop called St Patricks Isle (where the saint is said to have visited and brought Christianity to the isle of man ) right on the river mouth of a bay. The stone structure is HUGE and was where the Vikings held power until it was moved over to Rushen in Castletown.

Peel castle, one heck of a lot of bucket-fulls of sand

 

By now it’s getting late and we've been on the go for twelve hours. Thank goodness for UK long summer days! We need to get back to Port Erin and want to do so before dark so we have only a brief look at Peel before we reluctantly move on.

Back in Port Erin there is a gorgeous golden sunset over the bay and Fil and I sitting enjoying a wine and ale.  Watching it we are feeling very restored in all things good (of course I’m planning in my head how I can live here!)

Something that goes very nicely with Pinot Grigio

 

On our last day it’s Sunday and the Isle of Man is one of those yesteryear places where most things except chain supermarkets and pubs are closed- which I think is nice.

Consequently once again it is quiet around town and we decide that the best way to spend the last of our time before we head to the airport is to walk up to the nearby Bradda Glen, just up the road.

 

We didn’t get to visit any of the renowned glens on the island so this is an attempt to see one before we go.

As we walk along the cliff-tops, we are suddenly confronted with the sight of an enormous old concrete sea-bath, long in ruin.

We guess that in the islands tourist hey-day these baths served the tourists, who possibly got in the way of fishing craft in the bay. ("No, put 'im back in the water, it's just another Englishman)

It’s such a sad and wrecked monstrosity that I’m saddened it could not be fixed. (something to do when I return!) We assume it was wrecked in stormy seas at some time after the boom and left to rot in it’s tiny bay on the shore.

Port Erin...again...hey I liked it!

 

Bradda Glen turns out to be a modest sum of trees along the coastal path, with nice picnic areas and seats to enjoy the views south across the bay. Apparently basking sharks are a common sight around the isle and seals too, though none spring conveniently from the water for us then and there.

 

No matter how many ales I have had I will always land on my feet.

 

The morning is humid and overcast and in a way fitting for our leaving as I am sad to go. It’s been a lovely weekend, though in no real way just to all the island offers, but we have enjoyed it very much all the same,

When we finally board our plane and take off, the sun finally breaks through the clouds and we are treated to one last glorious view of green patchwork, golden mountains and salmon pink cliffs, and then it’s gone -back to being it’s own little secret in the middle of the sea.