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| Journal - |
| May 5th, 2005 > tourists, restless natives, weed & improper use of torches |
| There are several things you need to know about tourists. Normally intelligent people take leave of their senses when away from home, even if only three miles away. Everyday activities suddenly become a subject of sheer wonder when on the island of Herm. To my annoyance, whether mowing grass or changing gas bottles over, a small but interested audience always forms. Unlike the circus, for example, they are not kept back at a respectful distance but rather insist getting as close to the action as possible, shadowing my every move.
Though the wheel has been around for a while now and to my knowledge the ones here are not that different from wheels the world over – tourists have a distinct appreciation for them. Such is their awe, they stand spellbound as one or more steadily approach their toes, seemingly powerless to move out of the way. There is an unwritten rule, if you happen to be a Herm tourist. It says that when a tractor with trailer is approaching, one must quickly find the narrowest part of the track to stand on, in order to fully appreciate the wheel. This rule can be better put into practise with two or more tourists, when they can split either side of the narrowest gap, thus restricting my passage still further. Strangely, all pedestrians experience the desire to peer into the trailer and run their hand along its length as it passes by. Work time has been filled with much variety. The weather has been very changeable, daily visitor numbers are reflected drastically in this. We await the tourist season to start with vengeance, kind of like the calm before the storm. And so on quieter days when rain arrives instead of tourists, I have taken the opportunity to finish early. I guess we should enjoy it while we can. Of course, daily life goes on irrespective of weather – cargo still needs to be brought in, rubbish and empty beer barrels still need to be taken out. Grass is growing faster than it can be mown. Herm seasonal campers are a breed apart from your average backpacking, single tent with roll-mat type person. They have begun to arrive these last two weeks, to occupy their respective sites, which they rent for the entire season. Most of their ample gear is stored here, and there lies my first problem. You know, if someone is leaving a property or perhaps moving work place, sometimes they like to leave a surprise for the newcomer. It may take the form of a kipper carefully stowed behind a heater, or super-glue in the locks. In this case, the former warden found it particularly funny to stow the equipment in reverse order. Many hours have been spent clambering over the top of bbq’s, picnic tables and various other camping parinaphalia. Clearly none of this gear is intent on coming out alone, for whichever part you pull on, assorted tables and chairs all want to come too. |
| The Channel Islands have, I believe, the second largest tidal range in the world. It’s huge, in fact – varying from 0.2 metres to 10.2 metres during a spring tide, which happens in cycle with the phases of the moon. Despite spending the first half of my life surrounded by sea, I’d never really taken a great deal of notice; it was either in, or out. But here, knowing what the wet stuff is up to is as important as deciding whether to put shorts on in the morning or not. So just like I look out the window when I wake to see what’s going on in the sky, I also glance at the tide-tables to decipher whether meeting the first boat of the day will be a doddle at the harbour pier, or a hassle at the low water landing. Because getting cargo and people off at the low water landing (Rosiere Steps) is the greatest hangover cure I have yet discovered. Everything must be carried up the steps (apart from people), often a large trailer load of fresh produce and laundry bags.
Last week was a neap tide – in the ten days or so leading up to full moon, the tidal range is acute with the sea neither going out very far nor coming in too close. As we enter the new moon phase, we are into extreme spring tides again, thus going out incredibly far and virtually lapping at the doorstep at high. When out, a whole new world is revealed twice in every twenty-four hours. In fact, the island nearly doubles in size at low tide. It’s a beachcomber’s paradise, with countless rock pools to investigate and plenty of opportunities for rock jumping. |
| I don’t have a particular problem with weeds. Indeed, some types of weed have many uses. Though I have discovered at cost, there is a sizeable population of very sinister ones here, intent on taking over the entire island and possibly the world. Top of my hit list is Hogweed. It is a large evil smelling thing that does a very good job of imitating the perfectly friendly Alexander plant. When any part of the Hogweed is broken, it squirts a clear juice over its captor. Within a couple of hours, a painful blister forms later to scar which will remain on the skin for several months. I had the misfortune to discover this in my teenage years, when clearing around a fence wearing only shorts. I looked like a leper for several months and I swore that I would personally tackle the Hogweed empire from that day on. My battle has continued here, at Hogweed HQ, and despite wearing protective clothing from head to toe I have still been scarred on my hands. The fight continues. |
| It’s been three weeks now, and I am very happy. It’s just such a unique experience in every way. I am kind of in the travelling frame of mind now, despite not being strictly on the road yet. But it is an adventure, being out of my comfort zone and thinking about things differently. Will the honeymoon period end? Probably, at some point – July and August will be hectic when this site apparently is fully booked every day, and every camper feels they deserve the undivided attention of the warden to solve the most menial of problems from jammed zips to lost foot-balls.
People come and go on Herm. The last month has been a settling in period for seasonal workers. Everyone seems to get along well; naturally a few distinct groups have formed within the various departments who work odd hours. Some have found island life not to be for them, others have proved unreliable or just plain weird. In fact, I have already attended a worrying number of leaving parties. I view this place as a kind of large scale Big Brother experiment. During this last week of unsettled weather and the overbearing feeling of the calm before the storm, the natives have been restless. As people get to know one another, relationships are formed, and broken. People talk more about what is bugging them, and a few times I’ve thought it’d be fun to film all of this. But does the world need another reality TV series? Hell no. But all in all, the partying largely continues unabated. Staying away from the two watering holes has been my goal this week, and one which again has ended in dismal failure. It simply can’t be done. The island has witnessed the arrival of a new first engineer, a man whom I will probably keep very busy over the coming months with various items of bent or broken machinery. Is there no limit to The Wander Years? From now on, each time you’ll get to meet at least one seasonal worker – and maybe even the occasional native if I can tame one. |
| 1. Name: 2. From: 3. Age: 4. Why Herm? 5. How do you fill your day? 6. Best party trick, or special talent? 7. Herm veteran or Herm virgin? 8. Favourite place on the island? 9. Porn Star Name? (first pet name & mothers maiden name) 10. Where do you go from here? |
| the seasonal camper store - half empty! |
| Herm Harbour at low tide - click to enlarge |
| click to enlarge |
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| click logo to visit Herm |
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| click logo to visit Herm |
| Contact me like this: |
| Snail Mail - Timo (campsite warden), Administration office, Herm, Guernsey, Channel Islands, UK |
| mobile sms - UK 07781 437 481 International +44 7781 437 481 |
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| You remember the picture of the lurve shack in the last journal? It’s a small cabin in the middle of the campsite, and my humble abode from now on. The name has evolved from various camp wardens of a promiscuous nature, over the years. I feel the full weight of maintaining this reputation over the coming season; I am after all a strong believer of tradition. From now on, the question is, Lurve Shack or Heartbreak Hotel? The property has been undergoing a mass-personalization lately. The garden and bbq area has been transformed from dense jungle to exquisite socializing area. My intention is to build a small deck, and I am on the hunt for suitable timber. Having travelled here light and unexpectedly settled for the next five months, I have again begun to acquire items of a material nature. The second hand computer was essential for these journals – in fact I am beginning to think I may need to travel with a laptop in future. It’s so much easier to write at my own (slow) pace, rather than while watching the clock in an internet café. I also invested in a small fishing rod, while a wet suit and a hammock are next. |
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| Vikki Southampton 24 Why not? The Harbour Gift Shop, drink lots of coffee and talk to little old ladies! I can bite my own toenails. Virgin The Mermaid Inn so far, for the beautiful Breda beer! Fred Skeats I'm going to travel South America |
| sorry Viks - but its time to reveal the photo you never knew we had! Vikki was helping in my vodka training, and as my tutor she came off rather badly! |
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| People Profile |
| The Wander Years today brings you yet another regular feature; taking a brief look at the various services that keep Herm spinning on the globe along with the rest of you. Regular, at least until I run out of ideas. Why bother? Well, they are all mostly beautifully small, and demonstrate quite well what it would be like to live permanently in this community. I can’t resist kicking off with one of my favourites, the island prison. Built during the late 18th century quarrying period, it competes with the neighbouring island of Sark for the title of smallest prison in Europe; I’m still looking into this, but every person I ask offers a different answer. Of course, wherever there were miners, quarry men and sailors, there was alcohol. Put these together on a small island, and the necessity for some sort of jail is clear. During this era, it was in regular use and though maintained as an official prison, contemporary inmates admitted to the single cell are few. It was, however, pressed into use just a couple of years ago when a particularly rowdy drunkard spent a night at Her Majesty’s pleasure before being handcuffed to the first ferry out in the morning. |
| The official prison of Herm - click to enlarge |
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| The Herm Hilton - all lawn mowers should be locked up! |
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| A subject of much pub-time debate lately, a notice I spotted while temporarily staying in one of the self-catering cottages. A torch is mounted on the wall above each bed, in readiness for a not-so-rare power cut. The notice threatens a twenty-pound fine (that’s about six thousand US dollars at current rates) for ‘improper use of the torch’. We haven’t got very far with this, and I encourage you to visit the message board with any suggestions. Meanwhile, I must go – I see another ferry headed this way; I need to move the tractor before another hundred people gather round to admire the wheels. |
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| a recent boys trip into one of the old mines - click to view |
| Small is Beautiful |