There are places that first dream, and then randomly find them. With the town of Ba-Island (the locals pronounce the name Burgh Island in this way) is just such a case. I myself can not get there. We need a well-trained Virgil. Thick guides (in thin islands are not even mentioned) in the search, of course, can help. And in most of them, Ba-Island is honestly listed as one of the most beautiful sights of the coast of the western part of Albion.

I must say that this place has everything to become, according to the current environmental criteria, terribly fashionable. The beach here is surprisingly clean, from the top of the island in good weather, you can see the westernmost cape of Great Britain, the food is only organic, a half hour drive to the nearest farm. However, the authors of the guidebooks are well aware that sending a person without a car (even if with a car) into the wilderness of South Devon in search of a tiny cliff is beyond any colorful descriptions. Therefore, do not focus on this attention, sparingly getting rid of the mention of the address of an expensive hotel in the style ar dekolocated on the island.

Everything will turn out only if you really need to be on B-Island. When you agree to do a long three-hour journey from London to Plymouth with your Japanese girlfriend to visit her Japanese girlfriend who married an Englishman, you absolutely do not assume that this Englishman, out of courtesy, will not spare the hour and take everyone to see the mysterious and quietest Ba - Island. Without a single tourist, without a single supermarket, with a panoramic view of the ocean (as from expensive adaptations of Jane Austen's novels). Here, even in the midst of the summer season, only residents of nearby ancient Norman towns like Totnes come to rest. Well, rich guests from aristocratic London circles seeking solitude. Of the pleasures - besides the air and the view of the sun with the moon at the same time - only fresh ale in the only local bar. At six in the evening the water cuts off the bar with the island from the land. Then to get to the habitable part is possible only on the so-called water tractor. This exotic transport is a hut on chicken legs. Only instead of chicken legs huge wheels that can pass through the sand under water. The hut is controlled by a stoker, who constantly throws something into the engine. Judging by the thick black smoke, it is possible that this is wood or coal. Water tractor runs in any weather. It is sent as soon as at least four people are typed. These four usually return to the hotel, the night in the suite which costs £ 500.

The hotel is remarkable not only for its chic rooms and the obligatory dressing of guests in evening dresses for dinner. Guests with small children are not allowed here, so as not to disturb the general solemnity and gloominess of the place.

The British, as you know, are masters in cultivating mystical moods. At the Burgh Island Hotel, for mysticism, like decades ago, is Agatha Christie, who once loved to visit here for recuperation. Well, gossip with dignitaries. Forces recovered as quickly as new stories were composed. Deserted island and sheer cliffs inspired her to the plot of the detective story "Death under the sun." Here, in the hotel, already in our time, a film from the series about Hercule Poirot was shot in this story.

This hotel looks ominous and bourgeois. Roses, mahogany, smoky glass collection vases. Extreme right behind the doors of the hotel, on the paths to the top. Sheer cliff fences in principle. And if it rains, then climb up to view through binoculars installed for a review of the coast, in general, is unlikely. Looking down on the waves is scary to horror. Happen that - no one will hear. Neither Agatha Christie, nor Hercule Poirot, nor the owner of the only bar on the island. The island should be noted private. And the walk is not hotel guests are allowed only on strictly designated routes. Violators of private territory, as far as is known, no.

Apparently, this is the secret of the island. A subtle cocktail of private and public, snobsky and democratic, civilized and wild, artificial and natural. It seems to be visible, but hidden from all. Agatha Christie, of course, famously knew how to twist the plots. But, to be honest, there wasn’t much to come up with here. The place itself prompted.