2003 Letter from Brighton: From Portsmouth we went to Brighton, about 40 miles to the east. Another seaside town (like Blackpool) but not so tacky. We had hoped to use the Park & Ride to get into the city, but we simply couldn’t find it in the place marked on the map. Then we had a difficult drive into a very crowded city. Fortunately, there was a sign for the Racecourse, and Ron remembered that was where a campsite was located. Miracle of miracle, he found the campsite. It wasn’t suitable for us at all. Getting to the public transit required a long walk. The warden told us to go down the road to Seaford (!) where there was a campground. Right down the road was miles and miles away, but we were already committed so we continued until we finally found the very nice campground. And discovered that the train went from across the street into Brighton every half hour. All’s well that ends well.

Brighton is a city with many hills and rows and rows of rowhouses on all of them. From the crest of one of them one feels that one is in the midst of a tank trap, or in the mouth of a gigantic lampry eel, those creatures that have concentric rows of teeth with which they fasten on their prey. Brighton’s claim to fame is the Royal Pavillion – which is a remarkable looking palace – built in the 1700’s but sold by Queen Victoria when she built or bought a palace elsewhere. The only reason we wanted to go to Brighton was to see this extravaganza. We were not really interested in seeing the inside, so we just walked around the outside and bought the book showing the furnishings!

Walked around quite a bit, going into antique stores and through the street markets. In fact, we had a very nice day and didn’t realize until we were on the train that we hadn’t seen the beach at Brighton. An oversight that may never be rectified, but only one among many.

Back to Brighton
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Intrepid Traveler
 
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