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Andrew Feinberg
White House Correspondent
Waiting for buses outside of cities is a bit like gambling.
When our first bus dropped us off in unknown Colchester territory in the blazing August sun, it looked like we’d be waiting around 15 minutes for our next ride, so we decided to walk to the following stop to enjoy the weather.
Not a minute went by and our bus hurtled past us in a way I can only describe as mocking. Silly townie girls relying on technology; the dread started to set in. Luckily, around 20 minutes later, rather than the stated 70, we were blessed with a bus. You can’t help but admire a place that keeps you on your toes.
The same can be said of the White Hart Inn on Mersea Island – a mystical place that at certain times of the day, depending on the tide, is inaccessible. An aspect that adds an undeniable sort of quaintness. Thanks to the bus palaver we were very nearly excluded. The fact we weren’t made it feel all the more special.
Having nearly drowned in Hastings the week before – if no locals are in the sea and the waves are looking choppy, take this as a gentle warning – I was keen to reclaim my love of open water. Luckily, 60 seconds from the inn is a charming little beach with calm ripples, sand rather than crappy rocks (sorry, Hastings) and lots of shells and sea glass for collecting. Perfect for working up an appetite.
Dinner, as is so often the way, was a mix of fabulous and average. My sister’s seafood roll was stunning, crammed full of lobster, prawns and crab and oozing with sagey mayonnaise-y goodness. I could only look on with envy over my rather chewy steak – clearly it hadn’t been rested properly as there was a little pool of blood underneath – and triple cooked chips, which just weren’t, unless they’d been cooked three times over an oil lamp. The onion ring was nice and crunchy, though, and so were my sister’s fries.
To be fair on The White Hart Inn, they sell themselves as a place for seafood and oyster lovers, so jokes on me for fancying a post-swim steak. Their oysters are glorious, fat and creamy, and as our exceptionally lovely waiter told us, from just down the road. This area is pretty famous for them and it’s clear to see why. I also loved the octopus, perfectly grilled, smoky and delicious.
A chocolate mousse with cherries and biscotti was tasty, if a little forgettable, but the extra carafe of rosé we were brought could have been responsible for any dessert-based amnesia, in fairness.
We slept wonderfully thanks to the cloud-like beds (or perhaps it was the aforementioned rosé) and finish off the experience in the morning with a really good cooked breakfast – bacon, French toast and maple syrup for me, avo and eggs on toast for sis. This time, we take a cab home.
Mersea Island really feels like a best-kept secret: there are cute pubs, seafood shacks, quiet places to paddle and sunbathe and it’s really, really beautiful. The White Hart Inn is a fanastic place if you know what to order, so stick to the oysters and seafood, avoid the steak, and you’ll have a splendid time.
The White Hart Inn, 1 High St, West Mersea, Colchester, CO5 8QD | 01206 583212 | whitehartinnmersea.co.uk
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