Exodus in Plastic Ballet Flats

In hindsight, wearing a cashmere cardigan and flimsy £4 flats to hike around the Cliffs of Dover was a poor decision, but there was nothing to be done about that because I was quite a journey away from my flat. When my companions and I discovered a steep trail down to the shore after exploring the top of the cliffs, we couldn’t help but make the descent.

I steeled myself, preparing for the difficult journey—a narrow dirt path that weaved its way back and forth a stretch of about fifty feet. And, as though that leg of the venture wasn’t difficult enough, actually touching foot on the shore required a climb down a rickety metal ladder, something I was sure would be my downfall. However, after nearly an hour of navigating the difficult path, we made it to the bottom of the cliff safely to find a sand-less beach strewn with algae-covered boulders, what seemed to be the rusty remains of a boat slowly becoming part of the landscape, and of course, chunks of the striking white chalk that give the cliffs their distinction. The landscape in front of me looked almost like a different world compared to the rolling grassy hills above. Aching feet aside, I was in paradise.

For as long as I can remember I have loved beaches for their opportunities to explore. While white sand and clear water is perfectly enjoyable, it is not what interests me most. I love looking for faces in the driftwood or finding a rock perfectly eroded into a sphere by the crashing waves. There’s something invigorating about staring out into the vast ocean to watch the waves crash onto the shore in perfect rhythm. Yet when I breath in the salty air, I am calm. I guess that’s how you know you’ve been awestruck—feeling two opposite emotions at the same time.

The shore we explored in Dover is no exception to all of this, of course. I could have stayed on that beach for hours, collecting stones and shells, climbing boulders, investigating the boat wreck, and straining to see France just across the water from us—so close, in fact, that my cell phone thought we were actually there. However, we had a steep journey back to the top and a train to catch. So, with a noticeably heavier purse, I looked out at the ocean one last time before we began the ascent to the top of the cliffs, once again cursing my poor choice of attire and willing my cheap plastic flats to grip the rungs of that ladder.

I made a mental note to return as soon as I had the chance. Next time I’ll make sure to bring some sneakers.