This is how the story went: By accident, a long established port city of England (called Bristol) met a rural seaside town of France (preferred anonymous). The illegitimate child from the love affair, Guernsey, inherited the taste of salt in its wind, the fog and the blended demographic culture.
Like Bristol, Guernsey has a beautiful harbour in St Peter Port, visited and dwelt by wide range of boats, ships and ferries.
The wind is strong and salty. The air is foggy. And the story lines are mysterious.
Most people in Guernsey speak English while most street names are French. St Peter Port has a stereotypical English high street with familiar shops and brands. But further outside St Peter Port, say St Martin, roads are barely wide enough for one bus. Yet I saw a bus and a truck driving pass each other under some magical spells. Houses are nothing similar to identical terrace houses of England. They are high stone-fenced bungalows in different colours of walls and roofs. If you go a bit further, say take a 40 minute boat trip to Herm, concreted roads are replaced with muddy paths. Herm is absolutely rural with massive fields and empty beaches.
Herm also has a harbour of its own, which formed by two flights of steps and no official sight. Just an example of how different Herm is to St Peter Port. Yet they are two parts of the Guernsey Jigsaw glued by the fog.