By Douglas Kruger
Quick question: when we think in terms of tourism, do we see ourselves as ‘Jersey’? Or do we see ourselves as ‘the Channel Islands’? The answer could make a marked difference to our positioning efforts, potentially even swaying decisions about major infrastructure projects.
Let me illustrate.
Last week, my sister landed in the Island for a visit. We rattled off our list of local wonders, adding enthusiastically: ‘We’ll take you to all of them!’
‘How about a trip to Guernsey?’ she asked. ‘Could we go there for a day? Maybe do their Park Run, too?’
Our enthusiasm faltered.
‘Uh… Actually… (head scratch)… it’s not that easy to get there…’
‘Oh. But isn’t it really close? I thought you could see it from here.’
‘Sure. You can practically throw stones at them, and some might argue that you should. But it costs more to fly there than London.’
‘You have got to be kidding me.’
‘Nope. And there are ferries. But the timing can be weird, and often unreliable. It’s not actually that simple to just pop there and back. Particularly not on the same day.’
‘Well, that’s incredibly weird.’
A fair assessment.
I favour a solution akin to Florida’s overwater highways. Built on raised columns, they soar for miles over the Atlantic Ocean and Gulf of Mexico, adding a unique design signature to the region. I even think they look pretty. Often described as a ‘marvel of engineering’, the roads stretch some 113 miles, connecting the mainland to the keys. Traffic breezes effortlessly in both directions.
Imagine simply driving to Guernsey. And we don’t need 113 miles of tar. 40 would do it.
I find it strange that it hasn’t been done already. How much stronger would both islands’ tourism numbers look if potential visitors knew they could easily do both islands in a single day?
How much more casual trade would occur, as we patronise their restaurants, and they ours? (I’m told McDonald’s alone is a major novelty for Sarnian residents).
How many other forms of business deal would suddenly become viable, if ships and aeroplanes could be erased from the cost equation? And how much might all that additional casual trade be worth to our combined GDP?
With even a slight shift in perspective, we would see how much value there is in presenting ourselves to the world not merely as ‘Jersey’, but as ‘the Channel Islands’. A quicker connection would facilitate that reality.
Nevertheless, I understand the obstacles. For one, I get the compulsion to preserve sightlines in what is roughly the prettiest place on earth. While I maintain that even roads can look elegant, there are alternatives to building above the seascape. Namely, tunnelling under it.
It’s expensive, to be sure. But Sweden’s below-sea tunnel is self-funded, and perhaps that’s the key.
The Oresund Bridge, which connects Sweden to Denmark, is a combined railway and motorway. It starts off like Florida’s above-water highways, but then plunges dramatically below the waterline, becoming an underground tunnel. This design not only preserves natural ecology, but also keeps existing traffic lanes clear, on and above the water.
It also becomes an excuse for endless social media photos. Instagram snaps might already be our strongest form of marketing. Imagine adding a dramatic highway that disappears beneath the waves between our two islands. Substantial numbers of visitors might head here just to see that. I’d even add a place to stop and snap shots in both directions: west toward Guernsey, east toward us.
And yes, construction of the Swedish project wasn’t cheap. About £2.5 billion. That’s almost as much as a month’s childcare in Jersey. But as a toll road, the project is entirely self-funded. ‘If you build it, they will pay.’
It’s also worth mentioning that Sweden’s version includes a railway track. We don’t particularly need that. And ours could be shorter. Has anyone ever run the numbers to see if it’s feasible?
Put it this way: it will eventually have to be done. Can we genuinely imagine that a hundred years from now, there will still be no easy access between the two islands? It seems inevitable to me.
I can’t wait to show my sister around Jersey. I wish I could show her around the neighbouring island too. But I’ve been here for two years now, and I still haven’t been able to swing it.
If it were a ten-minute car-trip, we’d do it tomorrow. As it is, she might miss it entirely. And what a shame that would be.
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Douglas Kruger lives in St Helier and writes books to keep himself out of mischief. When the seagulls aren’t shrieking, he records them too. They’re all available from Amazon and Audible.
