We found Dover at the end of a couple hours of train riding. The trains were pleasant enough. Rocking gently along the English countryside, sitting in a "suite" of six seats facing each other with a small table, we talked, played games, watched the pastoral scenes of horses, sheep and wheat fields gliding by and dozed.
Dover itself turned out to be something like Dodge City, KS. It's got a tiny little bit of "touristy" things but mostly it's just the locals trying to eke out a living. And while they're eking, they're not bathing too often or reading their copies of Ms. Manners or any other books of etiquette. We arrived around 6:45pm. We walked through the center of town and over to our B&B. We checked in, dropped our backpacks and walked back into town. The wind was chilly and the gulls were crying. Lots of the shops and restaurants were closed already. We saw several groups of local teens sitting on fences, smoking cigarettes, trying to impress the members of the opposite sex. We ate some dinner at a place called Eight Bells. Didn't hear any bells.
After the fine meal we strolled up to the castle gates and then down to the seawall. We were again greeted by the locals... a shirtless man, accompanied by two women of sturdy build, all three of whom we'd seen in the city's center earlier, walking at a pace that suggested they were late for a meeting with the Queen, though I imagine it more likely they were scheduled for a full debriefing with some lager, an amorous couple who were swimming, completely nude in the frigid English Channel, a pair of fisherman with giant fishing poles and hip waders, and a smattering of strolling older folks, who seemed content to remain clothed and dry... thank goodness.
We got a candy bar at a BP (how local is that?) and walked back to our room. We slept well, despite the seagull convention outside our B&B and the alarming amount of automotive traffic on the street in front of our little house.
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