Rye, England: is it famous for being the home of Rye bread? Surely you, the intrepid reader, have wondered this. Tragically, this is not the case, as it just comes from a West Saxon word for island, as it used to be right on the shores of a bay in the English Channel.
It’s no longer on the shores of the English Channel due to siltation, but when the sea rises, maybe it’ll be back on the shores again! Now there’s a salt marsh and a lot of birds and some interesting smuggling and murder history.
We are here because I googled “cutest English towns” and eliminated all of the ones without a train station (I don’t mind left-hand driving but Rhett prefers train travel), and then looked to be sorta southeasternish. Voila, we have Rye (no Rye bread). It is home to the incredibly charming cobbled Mermaid Street, which is where our B&B is.
I have wanted to try a real-ass British B&B because I haven’t done this thing before. Now is my chance: our B&B (the house with two front doors) is small, run by a really nice lady named Rachael, and according to internet reviews, her breakfasts are legendary.
I have experienced the bed, and it is now time for the breakfast. She did not disappoint. The breakfast served in the large, welcoming kitchen was amazingly delicious.
Today we wander the sights of the little formerly-coastal town, as I already went inside almost every shop yesterday. First stop: the church (St Mary’s), because it’s closest. It’s small but has a lot of pretty stained glass and carved things. It’s been on the site since at least the 1200s, though it’s been rebuilt once or twice (as you do).
This church has one of the oldest working clock towers in England in it, which has a bunch of bells that chime the hour sometimes. Allegedly the French came and stole the bells in a raid in the 1300s, and of course, the townsfolk stole em right back. The bells in the tower today aren’t the stolen ones.
You can climb up the bell tower for a mere £5, and of course, I do this thing. They have aggressive warnings about claustrophobia, narrow spaces, and low ceilings. Since Rhett has bonked his head enough for one trip, he sits this one out.
You first go up some normal-ish stairs, and then you come out into a tiny, tiny walkway with narrow stairs at the end. I could barely stand facing forward here. They weren’t kidding about the narrow bit!
Up another set of twisty stairs, and you get to see the gears in motion. There are all kinds of ropes that say don’t touch (I want to touch….)
The rest of the stairs up to the top of the tower would be better characterized as a ladder. You go up a few more until you’re in a room with about 6 bells. There are aggressive signs up here that say small children and people who behave recklessly (teenage boys?? Influencers??) should stay inside. Neat.
You go out a very diagonal door in the sloped roof and bam, rooftop. You can see all around the cute little town and out to sea. The walkway is pretty narrow so I can see why you’d ban tiny people and reckless ones from going out there.
Just around the corner is the Rye Castle museum & Ypres tower. It’s done many duties over the year – military fort, jail (gaol), and as a residence, too. The little museum shows you artifacts from the military, smuggling, and jail history. It also includes a little women’s prison area, which was apparently one of the first of its kind.
Rhett’s favorite fact was that longbowmen would hold their beards in their mouths when they shot their longbows. Tragically the longbow was out for maintenance, so we couldn’t pull it as a test. Also tragic, his beard is not long enough to be held in his mouth.
We moseyed around the town a bit more, stopping for a warm-up tea at the Apothecary coffee. I also discover fresh orange juice in the grocery store, and even more chunky hummus (naturally spelled houmous here).
Wonderful Indian food for dinner (it’s no dishoom). It was good at being properly spicy. We got one poppadom. The man seemed medium offended that I would deign to touch the bill so Rhett paid.
Our last full day in Rye is spent in Dover! Famous for the white cliffs of dover, made of chalk. This is like an hour away on the train, but I go because I’m close and it looks pretty.
Fun Dover fact, there used to be a chalk ridge that connected England & nearby Calais. I naturally googled this and subsequently got lost down this rabbit hole.
It is windy and cold and I regret leaving my winter hat (it’s May, I won’t need that. WRONG). Many people are bundled up. We walk from the station up to the cliffs (~40 minutes), and then hike out to the light house. There is some debate between me & Rhett about whether it’s 50 minutes round trip or 50 minutes one way. The map is unclear about this as there is no scale. I don’t bother to check my phone.
You can see where this is going because there is no way it’s the good outcome, especially because it’s very windy and cold today. The cliffs are pretty and I think tea thoughts as we march along up and down the clifftops.
For the record (this record), it was 50 minutes one way. At least there’s a nice tea shop at the lighthouse and the tea room is A++ quaint.
We consider going to the castle but it’s a bit further out than we planned and we’re already kind of tired, so we head back to Rye.
Our final evening meal is at the historic Mermaid Inn, just across the street from our hotel. It was (re)built in 1420 and has lots of secret passages used by smugglers in the 1700s. We’re at the Giant Fireplace bar, which has a giant fireplace in it, and a priest hole up the chimney to hide a smuggler. I was also too poor to stay here, and am happier we have our little B&B instead.
Back to London for us on Thursday morning, after a wonderful send-off breakfast from Rachael.
