To wit: When in Southeast England, depriving yourself of a chance to see Dover's famous white cliffs would be a big mistake. And so the towering chalk cliffs, a marvel of the country's natural landscape （and a stark reminder that it is, after all, an island） were on my agenda when I embarked on a brief driving tour of the coast. I was able to thoroughly enjoy the region’s rolling, campestral beauty in a three-town tour. Better still, I did so while leaving the modest stack of pounds sterling in my pocket intact.
Mostly intact, I should say. While I was able to keep lodging costs down by staying in cheap hotels and Airbnbs, I miscalculated on what ended up being the most expensive aspect of the entire trip: the rental car. As fans of this column will note, I've had misadventures with rentals. While my experience in England wasn't nearly as disastrous as the one in Hawaii that involved two flat tires, it yielded an important lesson.
I marched into Hertz outside Heathrow Airport in London, reservation in hand for a rental costing ￡33 per day （about $43） with unlimited miles. “You are aware this is a manual transmission, correct?” the woman at the counter asked me. I could barely contain my hubris. “Of course,” I replied, and signed the rental agreement. I had, after all, recently been motoring up and down the southern coast of the Iberian Peninsula in a manual transmission car with no problems.
But I couldn't get hang of it. The car I was driving in Portugal － a friend's well-worn but trusty Skoda － had a forgiving clutch. The new, shiny S.U.V. I was given at Heathrow （a common “free” upgrade from a standard car that’s sometimes not worth it, especially if you're looking to save money on gas）had a clutch that I couldn't get comfortable with.
Within a mile or two, a faint burning smell had me heading back, alarmed, to the airport.
Ten minutes later, the manager met me at the desk. “Well, I just drove the car around, and it's perfectly fine,” she said. She eyed me carefully. “Are you sure....you wouldn't feel more comfortable with an automatic?” I protested briefly, but caved, humbly taking the automatic － which cost an additional ￡30 per day, nearly doubling what I'd expected to pay.
After that one hiccup, things went smoothly on my two-hour drive down to Eastbourne, a seaside town roughly 20 miles east of Brighton, its more popular resort cousin. But Eastbourne’s Grand Parade, the main avenue along the coast, can stand toe-to-toe with any splendorous thoroughfare. Handsome 19th-century buildings watch over the English Channel, a wide pebble beach and Eastbourne Pier, a lovely Victorian relic. Better still, going during shoulder season （I went in April） allowed me to score a cheap room at the Cavendish Hotel, its imposing white facade taking up the length of an entire block.
The room was worn but acceptable － decidedly less grand than its outside indicated － but at only ￡44, I wasn't going to complain. I used the RingGo mobile app when paid street parking was necessary. It's cashless and fairly convenient; for a 40-pence charge, you can add additional parking time from any location via the app.
I headed out for a morning walk near the beach, the air brisk from the wind blowing off the Channel. I walked the length of Eastbourne. I walked the length of Eastbourne Pier and headed into town for a quick lunch at Gashi Fish & Chips. The food was hot and fresh and the price was right, only ￡3.95 to go （￡1 more to stay） for a piece of flaky cod and steaming French fries.
Within a mile or two, a faint burning smell had me heading back, alarmed, to the airport.
Ten minutes later, the manager met me at the desk. “Well, I just drove the car around, and it's perfectly fine,” she said. She eyed me carefully. “Are you sure....you wouldn't feel more comfortable with an automatic?” I protested briefly, but caved, humbly taking the automatic － which cost an additional ￡30 per day, nearly doubling what I'd expected to pay.
After that one hiccup, things went smoothly on my two-hour drive down to Eastbourne, a seaside town roughly 20 miles east of Brighton, its more popular resort cousin. But Eastbourne’s Grand Parade, the main avenue along the coast, can stand toe-to-toe with any splendorous thoroughfare. Handsome 19th-century buildings watch over the English Channel, a wide pebble beach and Eastbourne Pier, a lovely Victorian relic. Better still, going during shoulder season （I went in April） allowed me to score a cheap room at the Cavendish Hotel, its imposing white facade taking up the length of an entire block.
The room was worn but acceptable － decidedly less grand than its outside indicated － but at only ￡44, I wasn't going to complain. I used the RingGo mobile app when paid street parking was necessary. It's cashless and fairly convenient; for a 40-pence charge, you can add additional parking time from any location via the app.
I headed out for a morning walk near the beach, the air brisk from the wind blowing off the Channel. I walked the length of Eastbourne. I walked the length of Eastbourne Pier and headed into town for a quick lunch at Gashi Fish & Chips. The food was hot and fresh and the price was right, only ￡3.95 to go （￡1 more to stay） for a piece of flaky cod and steaming French fries.
I made the brief drive from Eastbourne to see the famous lighthouse and headland, which has its own vertiginously high chalk sea cliff, the tallest in England. I parked along Beachy Head Road near worn wooden sign that said, “cliff edge,” and showed a cartoon man falling off a ledge. I plodded through the grass and wildflowers, smelling the sea air and taking in the bright, clear day; the weather throughout my visit was wonderful.
