Arrival

We have lost something with air travel. I watched a short documentary about the island before I came, filmed in the days before the airport was open. It showed a five day trip to a dot in the ocean, isolation and remoteness reinforced by the journey. And on arrival, navigating around the massive black-cliff coastline - dark and sheer to the water - seeking the safety of the harbour on an island that is obviously prisoner to the sea. Today I got in an impersonal metal tube at one chrome and glass airport and six hours later got out at another. That journey like so many others.  No character to the voyage giving a sense of place, no sense of awe and discovery on my arrival. I landed at one of the most remote islands on the planet and yet I could have been anywhere.

But I am glad to be here. And I am glad for journeying with Emma as it has eased my travels, especially at the enthusiastic immigration and customs point. And there is still the impact of first impressions. Stepping out of the tiny airport I was immediately reminded of the Falklands: wild, windswept and barren, surrounded by rising craggy brown-red rock, the runway and car park the only flat, obviously carved out from the surroundings. But it turns out that this is an island of more 

varied landscape. The thirty minute drive to Plantation House took us through savannah-like terrain, empty save for dry grass and clusters of prickly pear - a touch of Africa - before entering a likeness of Britain’s narrow and winding green lanes. We followed high along edges of steep valleys, like wilder parts of the Lake District but with the lush green foliage and humidity a reminder of rain forest. Somewhere along the way the incongruity of a single British 'Give Way' sign. And the back end of the journey took us through Longwood, a cluster of simple, low slung houses, brightly coloured but fading, their appearance and their gardens' contents seemingly evidencing a 'make do and mend' culture - for me an image straight from remote Central American villages. It is hard to pin down where this place reminds you of in the kaleidoscope of landscapes.

Plantation House overlooks long sloping lawns, a distant view of the sea framed by the sloping sides of a wooded valley. It is a house of grandeur with an impressive Georgian frontage. Closer inspection shows the evidence of a harsh maritime climate, faded paint and seeping rust stains but it stands proud in its surroundings of trees and gardens. Inside it is a collection of fine rooms, spacious, high ceilinged and oozing history. I explored the house before settling in the library, feeling immersed in that history in a more personal way than I ever have when visiting stately homes as a paying visitor. For two weeks I will be a guest here, absorbing the atmosphere and fabric of this building and for that I feel very privileged.