Rye - A long weekend in Kent

When I think of Kent I think of bustling coastal towns with bright lights, crammed beaches, long drawn out dry summers in commutable London villages and the place you pass through to Calais, I am glad to say it was none of those things (aside from the long hot summer days) and I was pleasantly surprised as we drove in the dusk over the QE bridge and arrived in the dark to our Airbnb. Woodchurch was our base which was a sleepy suburb of Ashford. First impressions were good and we proceeded to drink some red wine before collapsing in bed (after a small incident including a late night dog walk and a toad)

We were awoken by what transpired to quite literally be an army of cockerels rising from their slumber (at 4.50am may I add) and we decide to get up and see what our host has left for breakfast. Something that many Airbnb owners don’t do is breakfast and I think they should all copy Vivienne's lead, there was an extensive 3 course breakfast for every day we were there including eggs from aforementioned hens. Out and about early, we hit the road to Rye, knowing little we realised on arrival this place was something special. Complex waterways weave in and out of the marshland, interspersed with dream houses you could only see in this part of the country, coloured doors, blackened wood cladding and pale red brick accompanied long hill top bungalows that would sit just as well in California, I can already see why people like it here. On arriving we quickly navigated our way uphill taking in the stone cobbled streets, wonky houses and quiet streets but did wonder throughout our visit where everybody was, considering it was a bank holiday and 28degrees this was one quiet town.

Ice cream in hand we wandered the high street which was made up of independent home shops, books stores, sweet shops and pubs. Rye does vintage/antique very well and the shops were filled with considered collections some specialising in glassware and cotton goods to mid century furniture and true foraged coastal items like fishing nets. Hours had passed and food and drink were needed so after passing the castle we dropped into the Ypres Castle primarily to cool down but grabbing food and drinks in the process. We descended the castle steps and headed back to the airbnb a little slower than before to fully appreciate the architecture. The nearest pub (the woolpack) to us was a 3 mile amble over the fields each way and we decided it would be worth it, only realising 3/4’s through it involved passing through cattle fields so Minnie spent some time in a rucksack in an attempt to calm down some disgruntled mother cows. Thankfully the walk was lovely (if not wildly confusing) and the pub was well worth the trek. The food was great, super dog friendly and we sat in the sun drinking local Chapel Down sparkling wine, which to us is what summer should be. Happy and high on bubbles we do the walk back, this time with a bit more knowledge of where we head, and speed our way through the fields before we completely lose the light. We arrive back in the knick of time and as the rain starts. 

Now I have seen storms, some of which have been asian tropical storms, but this one was something special. With the lights out it was akin to sleeping 3 miles from a festival with Queens of the Stone age as the headliners, it flashed and grumbled for what felt like hours before finally settling down at dawn. Waking a little bleary eyed we get some much needed coffee and breakfast and decide to head out before the heat cranked up again, we have a small altercation involving a nesting goose and the dog but all is resolved and we head in search of local woodland. Picnic in tow we navigate our way through the complex woodland taking in all of the wildlife and low hanging trees covering miles before settling in for a rest in the shade. The rest of the day is spent slowly trekking back and having a beast of a bbq before sunset watching and fully appreciating how good Britain is when the sun shines.

Its our final day and we reluctantly wave goodbye to Vivienne ( who is hand feeding lambs at the time) and head to the coast in the shape of Rye Harbour, we ran out of time on day one and decided we needed to go back. We park up and walk the mile down to the coast through the nature reserve, the wind blowing the cacophony of voices from neighbouring Camber Sands we are relieved our beach is deserted. We let Minnie paddle in the sea whilst we try and see France and trying to navigate the precariously layered pebble beach before exploring the rest of the nature reserve. As beautiful as the Harbour was it had a strange post apocalyptic feel with abandoned buildings, crates and boats strewn along the marshes with a variation of birds making home in them. Hours have passed and we check the traffic and figure 3pm on a Bank Holiday Monday is a terrible time to navigate the M25 so settle in the nearby Globe Inn Marsh for food and Minnie a rest before battling the traffic home. A few days later when a friend asks how our weekend was I reply immediately with ‘amazing’ there is something foreign to me in Kent as a northerner, maybe its the trek down but it felt like it could have been France or somewhere entirely European which is no bad thing, next time we head to France we will definitely be stopping in on Vivienne and Rye again.