“Low income tax, no VAT…” If Jersey were to have its own theme tune, then surely it would start off something like this. Hearing all the perks of living on this self-governing island from the taxi driver shipping us from the airport to our hotel, 15 minutes away in Saint Helier, I’m almost sold on the idea of moving there. In addition to the above, no council tax, no road tax, no MOT, Northern France and its cheap cheese and wine offerings a mere 30 minute ferry away – coupled with the fact you get proper duty free at the airport because they’re out of the EU – and it sounds like a pretty cushty place to live indeed! Not forgetting an abundance of rich dairy products the island produces from its famous cows, the delicious Jersey Royal new potatoes – 1500 tonnes of which are exported daily during peak season – and a steady climate referred to as, ‘the warmest place in the British Isles’. They even get one more bank holiday than us. Lovely jubbly!
Rather than sounding it out as a place to relocate, Adam and I headed there for a swift weekend getaway, boarding a plane at London City Airport straight from work one summer Friday. No sooner had we quaffed the complimentary champers and packet of crisps we were approaching the runway. By 8.45pm, we’re checked-in to The Club Hotel & Spa – our accommodation for the next two nights – freshened up, out of routine, than need, and heading down to the bar for a drink and bite to eat. The barman proves he knows a thing or two about the makings of a dirty martini and old fashioned, and the chef shows us how well he can whip up a fresh crab sandwich and steak and chips.
The next day, spying a hint of a sunny morning creeping through a gap in the curtains like a ninja, we’re up early and down for a breakfast of continental treats and good tea. We’d been starved of good weather for weeks, and checking on the climate back home in London, we’d have been starved further had we stayed there for the weekend, so we waste no time in getting out and exploring our surroundings in daylight.
It’s a confusing place, is Jersey. Saint Helier high street, its main town and shopping area, has all the traits of a British market town, Truro or Salisbury, say: a string of tightly packed shops and a few pubs tucked in here and there, with additional charm in the form of an undercover Victorian market selling one’s daily needs, as well as stalls catering for tourists, selling Jersey Cream fudge and Black Butter, which, as I discovered is not butter at all, but a spiced condiment made from the island’s apples (I told you it was a confusing place). Bunting criss-crosses from one side to the other, remnants from one of the many annual festivals and fetes they host, perhaps. From the accents of most of the people we pass and the dual French/English signage, we could be in Normandy, but the brands dominating the high street, are quintessentially British. Sitting at one of the pubs, it feels very local, friendly; like everyone knows everyone. Mussels and frites feature heavily on their reasonably priced menus and a good selection of cask ales dominate the taps to accompany them.
After a tour of the town, a brief recce of the nearby beach confirms where we’ll spend the next day (Sunday), for this day, it’s all about indulging in the hotel spa and later, Michelin star. I’m not sure you can put a price on a massage as good as I had. A real get in there with your elbow job, easing out the troublesome knots in my back and shoulders. An hour and a half in all and I’m more pliable than Morph, laughing at the pure joy, the simple act of the warm shirodara oil pour onto my ‘third eye’ (forehead to you and I) – the finale to the Ayurvedic Shankara Experience is bringing me. I take up a comfortable bed in the dark relaxation room downstairs, lying alone in my blissful state, until half an hour later, an enrobed Adam saunters in equally languid. A contented expression not dissimilar to The Magic Roundabout’s Dylan on his face after almost two hours of Gentleman’s Spa Tonic: massage, exfoliating, full body wrap and facial.
Dinner is in Bohemia, back in the area we ate breakfast and across the floor from where we dined in the bar the night before, a more casual set-up than your usual Michelin. But, what it lacks in pomp it makes up for in good service, and plenty of the flavoured butters, fresh baked bread rolls and dainty appetisers, you come to expect from the accolade. The odd glance of the mammoth cheese trolley, brimming with artisan French and local cheeses, ensures some space is saved for later on. First, there is the matter of eight other courses to contend with: a blur of nicely plated, faultlessly cooked fish, meat, foie gras, more fall-off-the-fork soft fish; the standout course of scallop with smoked eel, truffle, apple and celeriac creating a bit of a stir with the taste buds and the Clos Henri 2008 Pinot mingling brilliantly. I’m pleased to report Bohemia also has equally delicious tasting menus for those of a vegetarian or pescatarian disposition.
Aside from the fine dining and top class spa, this five-star has some other nice touches: an honesty bar for guests to whip up their own concoctions; a lovely little outdoor pool we couldn’t get a seat beside because it was so popular; outside sun-trap of a terrace for pre-afternoon-nap backgammon tournaments… The bedroom – a deluxe suite – made good use of the ‘boutique’ space, boasted a comfortable feather duveted-bed, cosy living area, two-person shower, and treated us to homemade shortbread at turn down.
With just enough time on our last day to enjoy Saint Helier beach before it was time to fly home, the rest of Jersey’s 45 square miles remained unexplored. Next time I’d stay for longer, hire a car and visit the other areas of the island: St Ouen’s Bay, around five miles of sandy beach to the south, attracting surfers for its waves and noted as the finest area of sand dunes in Europe; palm-fringed St Brelade’s Bay in the south and west; the rugged cliffs of the north, providing a playground for rock climbers; the 16th century Elizabeth Castle in St Aubin’s Bay we drove past, en route to our hotel, which can be walked to when the tide is out. The island’s tides themselves are something I’d like to sit and watch if I had longer to while, at 30-40 foot, dropping by 20ft in just three hours, they’re among the highest and fastest in the world, best represented at ‘Moonscape Beach’ southeast in St Clement. The largest of the Channel Islands, with all its aforementioned cushty offerings, is a must-do for those who are yet to discover it. In the words of Del, Je suis je reste!
