WILDEN MARSH AT A DISTANCE!
This is the first time I’ve stayed-put within the grounds of a hotel when on holiday. My exercise regime is walking up and down the many stone steps between my room, the restaurant and pool bar. I’ve perfected the art of making two and sometimes three pints of beer last four to five hours. On all other holidays I have been out and about enjoying the scenery and photographing things. My dslr camera has not seen the light of day since I packed it last week.
The hotel is intimate and built on the side of a cliff, with lifts and tunnels cut into the Rock connecting different levels leading, eventually, to various pools and the hotel’s own Mediterranean beach. Small yachts, large super yachts of the rich and famous, fishing boats, and cruise liners regularly cross my horizon on their way to destinations I can only imagine. It might be the amount of effort needed to get out of the hotel that has discouraged me from wandering further afield: that and the fact that the beer is no cheaper outside.
At breakfast and dinner, I look out across the shimmering Mediterranean Sea; it is always shimmering. At night a large, bright moon rises to light my room and balcony. Although very hot outside in the daytime, the room is comfortably cool without the gently whirring air conditioning unit.
I wonder why I’m not bored and fidgety. It must be the intimate nature of the hotel and it’s pleasant and restful ambience…I don’t know. Perhaps it’s the view that kind of suggests I won’t find anything better outside. It’s a new situation for me; maybe something has fundamentally changed within me. It might be that I need a restful holiday, but I have been unusually fortunate to have had a few holidays this year: Kingham in Oxfordshire, a salt marsh at Landshipping in Pembrokeshire, Vermont in America, Paris, here on the Med, and Cyprus to look forward to next month.
Wilden Marsh is never far from my mind. I carry most of its memories on my IPad, and my blog is only a key tap away; it’s not like the real thing of course, but it keeps me in touch.
Note to burglars! Please don’t call at my house whilst I’m away: Spike is at home looking after the alligators.