‘The crowds in this seaside town amazed me

At some point over the recent long weekend, I dusted the cobwebs off my bicycle and decided to take a trip along the north Kent coast. And it proved a real eye-opener. From just outside Margate, I pedalled along, weaving in and out of the dog walkers, families and runners pounding the sea walls.

I passed seafront cafes doing a brisk morning trade, families setting up deck chairs, beach hut owners carrying out repairs; all the while the sun shone. How very pleasant it was. There was the quiet calm of Minnis Bay and its broad, sweeping sandy beach - pints being supped outside the pub which shares its name and multi-seat bicycle contraptions being hired out to young and old alike.

On I pedalled, taking in the air, pondering why cycle seats are so uncomfortable. At some point, the shoreline morphs from golden sands to pebbles. You can’t, I reflected, beat sand, say what you like.

Then Reculver, which while you may think its magnificent ancient towers pull in the punters, I can confirm it is, in fact, the large kids’ playground next door that appears to be its biggest draw. Onwards, then, and Herne Bay heaves into view. I’ve not visited the place for many a year.

But, crikey, it’s changed. As lunchtime approached, the place was surprisingly rammed. I say surprising as it had always struck me in the past as being the poor relation to neighbouring Whitstable; more old-school, down-at-heel seaside town rather than one pulling in the big crowds.

I was wrong. The paths started becoming so busy I was forced to leave the cycle route and take to the sea road, Central Parade, to make some headway. However, the peaceful progress of the ride was then shattered by the incredibly loud amplified music blaring from somewhere near the Vibe nightspot.

Or perhaps it was from there...

keen to keep my eyes on the road, I couldn’t be sure. It was what, I imagine, a town on the Costa del Sol must be like when the Brits descend en masse in the peak summer months. Just without the baking hot sunshine.

Or rowdiness. But, fair play to the place, its pulling power has clearly been enhanced – and the pier looked vibrant and busy. My overriding memory of it was with that ugly old white and blue sports centre which used to sit on it.

Now long gone and replaced by various stalls which suggests a future visit is in order to properly explore its offering. My preconceptions of the place lay in tatters. Herne Bay, it seems, is doing something right (assuming, of course, you like loud music).

Onwards, I arrived in Whitstable – its approach apparent by the somewhat cliched emergence of people on old school tricycles on the sea wall. A brief stop for refreshments and then a return journey. The music was still blasting out.

But get this, Herne Bay seemed to be busier than its high-profile neighbour. And that’s saying something. A more varied stretch of coastline you’d be hard pushed to find.

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