Whitstable

Pastel beach huts line the shingle in rows that stretch toward the harbour where oyster boats still land their catch. Whitstable has traded on shellfish since the Romans, and the air holds the faint metallic tang of a working port.

Whitstable's oyster beds have been worked since at least the first century AD, when Kentish Flats oysters were shipped to Rome; the native season runs from September to April, and the summer oyster festival — a tradition revived from the town's ancient trade — triples the population for a week. The harbour's weatherboarded net stores now hold galleries and seafood kitchens, opening onto a coast where the tide retreats so far the sea seems to vanish, exposing the Street — a natural shingle causeway walkable until the water closes it. Tankerton Slopes' grassy clifftop looks across the Thames Estuary, and the high street's vintage dealers, fishmongers and bookshops have survived the town's slide from working port to weekend destination with their character intact — London is an hour away and knows it.