From London, you drive south for about two and a half hours.
The road opens wide near Ashford, then narrows again,
becoming quieter as the landscape starts to empty.
By the time you reach Dungeness, the air feels different —
flat, dry, a little like being nowhere.
They call it Britain’s only desert,
though it’s really a stretch of shingle and weather.
There’s an old lighthouse,
a scattering of wooden cottages,
and boats that seem to have been left mid-thought.
Parking is easy, almost casual.
You stop the car where the road fades into stone,
and start walking.
The wind carries the smell of salt and iron.
The ground moves slightly under your feet —
small pebbles, shifting with each step.
There’s a house you shouldn’t miss:
Prospect Cottage, black timber and yellow window frames,
once home to filmmaker Derek Jarman.
He planted a garden here, not despite the landscape,
but because of it — a mix of driftwood, stones,
and wild plants that somehow learned to stay.
It’s a good place to think about the kind of beauty
that doesn’t need permission.
Further down, the RSPB reserve stretches out like a pale map.
A few paths lead between the marsh and the sea.
If you walk far enough,
you’ll see the miniature railway that still runs,
a small steam train crossing the open air like a toy.
Hyojin with her Happy Shetland Pony keyring.
Dungeness isn’t a place you visit to do much.
It’s more about standing still,
about looking long enough until things start to make sense.
The weather changes quickly —
light, wind, silence, all in one minute.
Then it settles again.
On the drive back to London,
you realise there isn’t much to say about Dungeness,
only that it stays with you —
a kind of blank space that keeps its shape.
