By Joan Lerch

Eighteen days, eight flights, one overnight train, one helicopter, a private boat, and more than a dozen taxis in three countries. Was it intrepid, exhilarating, chaotic or crazy?

Yes.

The adventure began with a wedding invitation in 2021. The bride was my friend Jo and the venue was St. Saviour’s church in Guernsey, Channel Islands — without question my favorite place on the planet. Long before the The Guernsey Literary and Potato Peel Pie Society book and the film that followed, I fell in love with this magical island. The 4,000-plus mile trip could be daunting. But a wedding? And a reception at the 5-star Old Government House Hotel? I would swim if necessary!

Alas, Covid cancelled the trip.

So, rewind and regroup. With the itinerary already in place, Jo and her husband, Mark, invited me to stay with them this summer, luring me with the promise of my own en suite accommodations in their 300-year-old granite farmhouse in St. Saviours, on the west side of the island. Their secluded property (accessed only by the narrowest of lanes) backs up to Auberge Du Val, a superb restaurant where everything is farm-fresh and delicious. (Our walk to Auberge took us past the restaurant garden where much of the menu originates.) Oh, and did I mention Guernsey butter? The cherished cows live just down the cobblestone road.

The highlight of my stay was a trip to nearby Sark on my friends’ marvelous boat, Coup de Foudre — translation “love at first sight.” It’s a quick 20 minutes from St. Peter Port harbor and the weather was simply sublime.

Nestled just 30 miles or so off the coast of France, Sark, like Guernsey, has its own set of laws, its own parliament, and a population of about 500. It is separated by a narrow sound from the private island of Brecqhou, owned by British billionaire Sir Frederick Barclay.

I had read of the mock-Gothic castle built by Barclay and his late twin brother, David, but I had never seen the hidden property when exploring Sark on foot. Our day trip gave us the perfect vantage point just off the coast, while we indulged in a lazy, oh-so-French lunch of pâté, cheeses, and of course, generous pourings of wine — on this trip, a Chateau Musar Gaston Hochar 2015. The castle, even from our distant perspective, was every bit as impressive as I imagined.

Howth Castle, owned by the St. Lawrence family since 1177.

Leaving Guernsey is always difficult, but I had a “first-ever” experience ahead — an overnight trip from London’s Paddington Station on the Riviera Night Sleeper to Penzance, Cornwall. The train departed at 11:45 p.m., which meant an opportunity to explore Paddington without the usual bustle and noise. The sleeping quarters were cozy but comfortable and the rhythmic rumbling of the train ensured a deep slumber.

My Penzance home was Warwick House, overlooking the promenade and close to everything. Owned and run by the husband-and-wife team of Alison and Garrin Webb, the Regency period guest house offered the warmest of welcomes and served an award-winning breakfast. It’s an ideal base from which to explore the magnificent St. Michael’s Mount, the Minack Theatre, and the picturesque villages of St. Ives, Mousehole, St. Just-in-Penwith, and of course, Land’s End.

St. Michael’s Mount, my original inspiration for visiting Cornwall, is home to an ancient castle that is still the home of the St. Aubyn family. (Because the castle can only be accessed on foot during low tide, I booked a boat ticket in advance, just in case.) The crooning of swooping seagulls was the dreamy soundtrack to this dream-worthy isle. After a short exploration of the small village below, I set off to explore the castle — a rugged climb fueled by determination and the previously mentioned hearty breakfast.

To step through the massive doors of the castle is to be instantly transported through time. The Smoking Room, the Gun Batteries, the Library — every space is rich with centuries of history. A small medieval church dedicated to St. Michael, originally built in 1135, is still used for Sunday services. Views from the terraces to the walled gardens below are dizzying and dramatic.

After spending a glorious hour or two wandering through the castle, I headed back to the village for lunch, which, of course, included Cornish ice cream. Almost lulled to sleep by sunshine on the expansive lawn, I made certain to set my phone to alert me at 2:15, when the tide would be low enough to walk back to the mainland. It was wet, slippery fun, but I still managed to video my toes splashing through the shallow seawater.

The other must-do in Cornwall is a performance at The Minack, the breathtaking open-air theatre carved into cliffs overlooking the Atlantic. It is the work of the visionary artist Rowena Cade, who built the theatre herself, beginning in 1929. Rowena and her gardener, Billy Rawlings, cut huge boulders by hand, maneuvering them into place onto the slippery slopes, where, she once explained, “a careless step would have meant a ninety-foot fall into the churning sea.” She worked on the theatre until her death in 1983, just short of her 90th birthday.

Getting to the Minack involved yet another steep climb from Porthcurno, where I met other gasping visitors. Taking my place on the concrete seating, I was delighted to share my perspective with a massive, sweet boxer named Caesar. (He watched the stage intently, until he curled up for a nap.) I’ve seen “Evita” in different venues through the years, and always loved it. But “Don't Cry for Me Argentina,” accompanied by the gentle splashing of the ocean, is an experience I will never forget.

Of all the coastal villages I visited, Mousehole was my favorite. Pronounced “mow-zel,” it is charming and not overly touristy. (St. Ives, on the other hand, was so absurdly crowded that I left after less than an hour. I would later hear this sentiment expressed by English tourists who had the same opinion.)

Next stop, Dublin, for a quick two-day visit. Now more than two weeks into this odyssey, I was cranky and ready to go home, until I arrived at the absolutely superb Ariel House. Set in the leafy residential suburb of Ballsbridge, this luxury hotel is truly deserving of the description. When I was escorted into the beautiful suite, complete with bay window, dressing table, and — of course! — an elegant canopy bed, all weariness instantly dissolved. The staff was marvelous, the breakfast equally so.

Dublin, like most large, international cities, is alive and buzzing with people and noise. While some travelers love this frantic energy, I was more enchanted with the seaside town of Howth, about 20 minutes away by train, eminently walkable and uncrowded.

Heading up yet another rocky cliff path a few steps from the harbor, I passed a magnificent property that is on my next-time wish list. Tara Hall is a fabulous Regency building overlooking Balscadden Bay, and was featured in the film “Love, Rosie” starring Lily Collins. (By chance, I stumbled on to another film site just down the road, where Howth Castle, home of the St. Lawrence family since 1177, had security guards, movie trailers, and “crew parking” signs everywhere.)

After returning to town (I think I logged about 25,000 steps a day on this trip), I had a lunch of prawns, fresh from swimming in the Irish sea but now swimming in butter that I happily mopped up with homemade bread.

Eighteen days after leaving home, I climbed into a taxi at 3:00 a.m. for a British Air flight home. The BA business-class seats were comfy, and the delightful Belgian Air flight attendants, sensing my exhaustion, kept me awash in champagne. But for the most superb trans-Atlantic flight experience, I still prefer the American Airlines Flagship routes. Maybe it’s the down comforter and the lay-flat seats. Maybe it’s the free-flowing Bailey’s Irish Cream, private shower rooms, and great food in the Flagship Lounge.

Lots of miles, lots of pictures, and fabulous memories. Now that I am recovered, I can’t wait to go back.

To the Pond, the Channel, and the Irish Sea