From the white cliffs of Dover
16 June 2017 | Dover England
Three countries, two days. Holland to France, France to the UK. And now we are in Dover. Soon we may get to turn off the motor and sail, we hope by Saturday the wind will turn at least a little so we can work our way along the English coast to Portsmouth for a crossing back to Cherbourg in France. We have not had any imperial involvement since the passport official at the Hamburg airport. Upon arrival in Dover two separate groups of border control agents stamped and inspected our documents. They did not want to come aboard, and we were so ready to offer them tea. Yesterday was a day of thinking about WW2 as we came to Dover from Dunkerque. Both seem to be under the weather so to speak. The shipyards and the attendant steel mills in Dunkerque are either closed or operating well below capacity. And Dover is the first place we have had a sense of hopelessness, despite a major harbor renovation. No irony but a major part of the financing was from the EU. This morning we walked to Dover castle, a truly impressive structure that dominates the country side, as it should as it was built to do just that and has been doing so for a mere 2000 years beginning with the Romans, major additions as recently as 1000 years ago. The history of the castle attests to the fact that we never seem to learn, it has been a world at war for a very long time. This is the UK which is the best place in Europe to get a haircut, which I did for the very reasonable cost of seven pounds not including the tip. It was a very thorough and complete haircut as the barber who is a bitter barber, wanted the opportunity to talk and vent his frustrations with Dover. His disappointment in the place is due to his feeling of being an outsider in a community not welcoming to outsiders. It was sad to hear his story for both him and the community. The U.K. sometimes makes me feel like I am looking at the USA of the near future. Dover reminds me of Wick but with the wounds more recent. It is still a sea side resort, but the hotels are somewhat like the many old ladies on the streets. It is the first place in a long time that we have seen homeless people. Wick and Dover while both economically depressed are not the same. Each is like the twin handmaidens bitterness and despair. In Wick there was the elderly woman who upon finding out we were traveling to the Orkney Islands became misty eyed as she said " The Orkneys I have always wanted to go there." For her it was almost as if the place, Wick with its deep despair had become a doldrums from which she could not escape. While the bitter barber seems to stay in Dover now as a matter of defiance or obligation, he claimed to have come from a much better place for love. The question is how does a community rebuild it self after economic collapse or the pounding of war? Does the grip of either of the sisters make the task different for each place? Or are these conditions the result of those whose ties to the place weaker or whose motivations stronger have left to make a better life, and if so what will become of the former homes of the many millions of people on the move now? In my mind the archetypal British sheep breed is either the Suffolk or Hampshire with black heads and white bodies. Yesterday at the castle there were sheep with black bodies and white heads, perhaps the place is battling deeper demons then just a change in people's seaside resort preferences.
