Dad and I dropped off Andy at Heathrow, took the train to Poole, then spent the night there. In the morning we saw a little bit of the seaport, then took the ferry to Jersey.
Pictures taken through the dirty ferry windows look like I took them in 1973 with a kodak instamatic camera.
The ferry bumbled along the coast for a while, then went out across the Channel.
My first glimpse of Jersey was this odd structure, one of many bunkers built by the Germans during their occupation of the islands in WWII.
The capitol, St. Helier, was decked out in English flags. I was surprised by this, since I wasn't sure how English the Jersey people considered themselves. Apparently even in England you'll only see English flags during big international sporting events.
The Jersey people's nickname for themselves is "crapaud." Jersey is the only Channel Island with toads.
At a steakhouse (the only restaurant we found open at 7:30) we watched the Netherlands act thuggish while Spain danced around them and battled to a tie. We left as overtime began around 9, and the sky was an unreal color. (We saw the rest of the game in our hotel.)
School began early the next day, so this was really the last day of the vacation.