The late great travel documentary pioneer, bon viveur and Jersey resident Alan Whicker once said of the island: ‘Here one feels close to the seasons, each natural phase becomes a personal event and the daily sight of a wide expanse of water as it changes from turbulent to turquoise brings balance and serenity, balm to the soul.’
He was not wrong. Growing up here, I fondly remember trekking down to Beauport Beach before the world woke up: a horseshoe arc of white sand that cradled a bay so still it felt like a prehistoric secret. Whicker, who over a 30-year career dressed in Dougie Hayward bespoke suits with a cheeky moustache shelved atop an infectious grin, had seen just about everything the world had to offer and yet like a homing pigeon, always found solace on this tiny rock off the coast of Normandy.
While the island shows evidence of Neolithic inhabitants at the ancient site of La Hougue Bie, it would take an ’80s detective to put the island on the map. Bergerac – a detective drama steeped in Jersey’s moody cliffs and twisting lanes – etched the island into the imaginations of millions. John Nettles’ rumpled charm turned every cove into a crime scene, every pub into a plot twist. Now, the rebooted series, which premiered in February, sharpens that lens anew, layering modern gloss over the island’s timeless bones, which – if steeped long enough – would produce something akin to a French consommé, such are the island’s Gallic roots.
Jersey’s real soul, though, is its landscape. Those beaches I knew as a kid? They’re still the island’s crown jewels. Beauport feels like a private Eden; nearby Portelet Bay is as breathtaking as anywhere, framed by cliffs and punctuated by a rocky islet topped with a lone Martello tower (and home to the excellent Portelet Bay Cafe which can lay claim to the island’s best pizzas). On the east coast, the monolithic St Catherine’s Breakwater protects its neighbouring shorelines from tempestuous waters and is now home to the Sauna Society’s beautifully handcrafted wildhut sauna with panoramic views. Then there’s St Ouen’s Bay, a five-mile sweep of surf-pounded shore where the wind howls and the Atlantic roars. Beyond the coast, the interior unfurls into green lanes and verdant wooded valleys. The island’s soil has famously given life to Jersey Royal potatoes and today organisations such as Scoop, a sustainable cooperative, are ensuring that the island protects its natural resources for future generations, nurturing biodiversity and minimising waste.
The island’s size – nine miles by five – makes it a paradox: small enough to feel intimate, vast enough to lose yourself. If you want true escape, take a kayak out with the tide at La Rocque on the southeast coast and cruise for miles as the receding water reveals a hidden world of rock pools and kelp forests, with just the sounds of sea birds for company.
And then there’s the food. Once, Jersey was content with its creamy milk and potatoes. Now, the island’s palate is stretching. St Helier’s waterfront buzzes with spots: days start at Dandy, a small indie barista bar where you’ll find the best coffee on the island, and end at spots like Bohemia, the Michelin-starred fine-dining experience headed up by chef Callum Graham, or Samphire with its glorious alfresco terrace. The Oyster Box on St Brelade’s Bay brings a taste of the sea to one of the most popular bays on the island, while Ocean, with its lofty perch above St Ouen’s Bay, crafts equally as elevated cuisine.
The new Bergerac might lure you here, with its glossy crimes and familiar vistas but Jersey’s real draw is older, wilder. It’s in the way the sea carves the coast, the way history seeps into the soil, the way a morning swim at Beauport can still feel like yours alone.
Ryan Thompson is a UK-based menswear and lifestyle writer, whose work has appeared in, among others, the Financial Times, Mr Porter, The Rake and Ape to Gentleman
