I arrived about ten to and as I stood waiting patiently at the gate, more people started coming in, all of them families. I tried my utmost to practice ultimate social distancing throughout and succeeded in avoiding the little sickness machines.
I'd been to Rutupia twice before - in 2011 and 2012. It's an open space with parts of wall on three sides and some remains of foundations here and there. Experts differ, but this is one of the places mentioned as a possible site of the Roman landing place in 43AD and it was certainly one of the most important harbors for a couple of centuries.
Towards one of the walls (which was built around two hundred years later), were the remains of a "mansio", a building that was at times a hotel and clerical offices. There was also the foundation to a huge arch that at one point greeted travelers from the continent and also marked the beginning of the Roman road onward to Canterbury and London.
Informative panels, ftw!
I walked around almost the whole perimeter. My legs were aflame towards the end, but I took it slow and easy.
After about an hour of idly strolling through the grounds and reading the highly informative placards put up by English Heritage, I set off towards Deal. Again, I had to cut that little project short, because I suddenly remembered that I had booked a noon visit to Dover Castle.
I'd also been to Dover before, in 2011, but back then I had been too tired to go see the war tunnels. Of course, they were closed now, due to the Corona virus. Meh!
I shot this video of the Keep and the surroundings in the courtyard:
The Romans built a lighthouse here and there may have been an Iron Age hillfort too. The present structure was started during the reign of Henry II, one of the most magnificent fucks to rule this island.
I shot this video inside the apartments. I apologize for the turning of the phone, I'm not used to these blasted contraptions:
Colorful furniture in the Royal bedrooms.
A map of the known world, such as it was.
Great Hall vibe.
More functional room...
From the basement.
Views from the roof.
I also shot a video up there. Again, sorry for the twisting and turning:
That building that looks like it's leaning against another one is what remains of the Roman lighthouse tower. I've been inside it, there's not much to see.
I strolled around the giant keep in the middle of the castle proper for about an hour before going to their café, where I bought chicken salad sandwiches, a small but very tasty lemon drizzle cake and scones with butter, jam and clotted cream. That last part was divine; it was gluttony in a small bite.
By now the rain had gone from periodical drizzle to really pouring down as I swept up the last few crumbs of clotted cream from its all too small container. I therefore went into their small but well stocked shop and spent a good half hour and almost 75 pounds in there and it was only by sheer force of willpower that I didn't give them my life savings.
Meanwhile, the rain had become even worse. I walked until I found shelter in the gatehouse together with another couple but after about a minute or so I mutter "fuck this" and set off for the car.
I regretted my decision about two steps into the pouring, soaking, English precipitation but there was only one way to go: Forward. Stoically, I walked as fast as my rotund body and poor legs would allow and five minutes later, drenched through like a drowned (fat) cat, I collapsed into the relative safety of my car.
I was not impressed with the English weather.
However, the Gods of travel still had one, nasty surprise up their sleeve. When I got to my hotel, which I had stayed at in 2011 but completely forgotten about, I found that I was now placed at the very top of the establishment.
So, I had to carry all my shit up the rickety, narrow stairs not once, but twice. Leaving anything was out of the question as Dover is notorious for petty theft. I had already been asked for money once by a panhandler and I did not like the way she looked at my car and my luggage, so no, everything had to go.
On the first trip, I hauled my large suitcase up the stairs. It was quite big, so maneuvering it up those narrow stairs was both difficult and exhausting. It was an excruciating ordeal, but I finally made it to the top, gasping like a fish on land when I finally dropped my stuff in my small room.
However, the second time was even worse. This time, I only had with me my computer case and my smaller suitcase; pound for pound it was lighter and easier to carry. What I hadn't counted on was that by now, my legs were shaky, and I was already out of breath.
Dear reader, it was horrible. Not for a no doubt fit, swell, beautiful young specimen of the human race such as yourself (for I expect nothing less of my readers) but for ME? An overweight, mortally out of shape, neuropathy-ridden fatso? Hah!
I walked and carried, walked and carried for what seem like an eternity. My legs were by now so tired and literally shaking that I had to put my things a few levels ahead, then drag myself up by leaning on them. Repeat and rinse, repeat and rinse. The last flight of stairs I was almost crawling.
Completely wrecked by the physical effort I swore never to repeat it more than necessary and so I didn't leave my room at all that afternoon and evening. I ate the four biscuits provided to me by management and a bag of chips (crisps) I had bought a couple of days before. That had me covered until the next morning.
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