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Oct '25 ā¢ Community CafĆ©
š¦ From London to Eastbourne: A Birderās View of the Unexpected
When I moved from London to Eastbourne seven years ago, I didnāt expect to stay. I thought of it as a pause, a coastal breather before the next chapter. But Eastbourne has a way of quietly convincing you. It doesnāt shout. It hums.
As a birder, I quickly learned that this town is more than its postcard pier and pensioner clichĆ©s. The lakes here are alive. Grey Herons stalk the shallows like old men in trench coats, while Goldcrests flit through hedgerows with the urgency of caffeine-fueled poets. If you know where to look, and I do, youāll find almost every species that calls this corner of Sussex home.
Beachy Head, with its white chalk cliffs, often gets mistaken for Dover. But itās ours. And itās wilder. The wind up there doesnāt just blow, it sculpts. And the birds ride it like theyāve read the manual. Then thereās the Cuckmere Valley, iconic in its own right, where the river meanders like a lazy signature and the birdlife is so abundant it feels curated.
History here isnāt just in books. Itās in the soil. Hastings sits on the horizon, a reminder that the Norman conquest of 1066 happened just inland from where I walk most mornings. You can feel it if you listen long enough. The past doesnāt whisper here, it lingers.
And yet, London is less than two hours away. Brighton, just thirty minutes. Weāre close to the noise, but far enough to hear the birds.
So hereās my invitation: tell us what makes your place sing. What do you see that others miss? Whatās ordinary to you but might be exotic to someone else?
Letās celebrate the overlooked, the under-described, the real. The person behind the place.
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š¦ From London to Eastbourne: A Birderās View of the Unexpected
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