Having arrived at Margate station, there was a definite shift between the commuter rage of London and the people almost sleepwalking on and off trains at the seaside station. Walking towards the faded splendour of the promenade, the beach was immediately visible and sprawling with the tide so far out it looked like it could be the horizon. It was also deserted.
Suprisingly, there were so few tourists in Time Out’s “best seaside town of the year”. This made for optimal wandering conditions as there were no crowds, no queues and no one getting in my way on the pavement. I had the entire beach to myself.
The divide of Time Out’s Margate and the struggling seaside town’s underbelly is stark. The strip has two halves: one side has scaffolding concealing dusty windows and empty buildings while the other has flat white havens and oyster shuckers.
In the old town, the beautiful cobbled streets are peppered with independent shops flogging wares aimed at young families, be it baby grows, floaty dresses or children’s books.
Poking my nose into a few of the charity shops in Cliftonville felt more like stumbling into somebody’s front room much of the time, not least because of the overly familiar conversations playing out inside.
There was a strong sense of community in the neighbourhood, with people beeping at each other or tipping a nod to someone else over the road.
I had a look down Northdown road for somewhere to grab a coffee and read my book – and was spoilt for choice. There were an abundance of expensive coffee shops but I settled for Oast, which sold the croissant loaves, pistachio pastries and a range of coffees.
It was at this point I almost ran out of things to do as my main reason for going, The Turner Contemporary, was shut.
I went on a weekday, and should have planned ahead, but it seemed a shame the main gallery would be closed during peak season for no particular reason.
So I made my way back to the seafront; people watching here unearthed an almost comical range of characters, from tipsy men parading their dangerous looking dogs around, to mums with their car-sized prams as well as retired ladies meeting up for what looked like book club.
Eavesdropping on a conversation in a shop I heard that a “massive fight” broke out on the beach the weekend before – on what was the hottest day of the year. Both parties laughed it off and said “it wouldn’t be a hot day in Margate if it didn’t”.
However, what I felt in Margate is that people are living in close-knit harmony to the backdrop of a sandy beach – but this may just be on weekdays.