the famed white cliffs, sunrise, snow

For Easter holiday, a few of us ventured to Dover, home of the white cliffs.  This is more or less the view that greeted Julius Caesar when he wandered over to Britain in 55 B.C.  (Photo credits to my talented friend Austin.)

Developments over the last two thousand years:

My friends decided that it would be a good idea to get up and watch the sunrise from the cliffs the next morning.  We calculated we'd need to get up at 4:30 to hike out there in time.

4:30 a.m. came, quite quickly.  We pulled back the curtains in our hostel room (oh wait -- there weren't any curtains...it was a scantily furnished sort of place) and --  "Hey guys, it's snowing!"

After some articulate dialogue we decided to hike out anyway.  We layered on our clothes, Heidi-like, and stuffed food into our sacks.  We also stuffed a comforter into a backpack.  (It was that sort of place - we were sure we wouldn't get it dirtier than it already was.)

The short of it is, we were out there on the cliffs when the sun rose, but we most certainly didn't see it happen.  After we figured it was up, we huddled into a cave.  We spread the comforter over our laps and ate granola and scones and apple pies with our fingers.

Yes, it was fun.  Although the remembering of it is perhaps just as enjoyable.