Damn, forgot to bring my camera. The cliffs were stunning. The copper bronze cliffs bathed in the evening sun; kissed by the white crests as the sea lapped at beach and blessed by the blue sky.
The trip along the twisting roads was enjoyable as the as the charcoal serpent that was my guide cut it’s path through the green fields to Shanklin home of a number of quite surprising restaurants.
I turned on a steep bank and turned a corner to be greeted by a rainbow or colours; four huge kites played in the strong coastal winds trying to break their tethers from wake boarders below, pulling and denying the colourful spirits their freedom.
Each time I glanced to the hedge row, it was evident that nature although tender and nurturing during summer months was far less forgiving in the winter months; the heavily thorn-ed guardians that enforce the boundaries look old and tired, the strong northern winds stripped their green uniforms their stance not upright and proud but in a continuous fight with the winds, frozen in time with a significant lean to the north.
After browsing the various menus in the restaurant I decided to have a Salmon Tagalatelli bathing in a rose sauce at the Mad Cow II, only marred by a mouthy chef and shouts from the kitchen.