Last Updated on January 13, 2026 by Karis Tavernier-Nicholas

Some might say the city of Brighton and Hove is East Sussex’s coastal cosmopolitan gem. From Victorians promenading along the seafront, to modern-day Brightonians taking advantage of the beach as their back garden, to day trippers venturing down the Laines, I think it’s safe to say Brighton’s cobblestoned lanes have been, and continue to be, well-trodden. On one especially breezy September day, I was one of those day trippers venturing out for a day at the seaside.

We followed the mini exodus that had disembarked from trains arriving from London Blackfriars, Victoria and London Bridge, flooding out of the main exit of the train station and following the road straight down to the beach and Brighton Pier. About ten minutes into the twenty minute walk, we diverted away from the crowds to follow our own path down a quieter lane to the seafront. From there, it was off to Hove.

Brighton Promenade Walk

I’m no stranger to Brighton, having had the closest thing to a break there – i.e another day trip – during the Covid years when lockdown was lifted and a day trip during a mini heatwave was the closest thing you’d easily get to jetting off to warmer climes. Hove train station had been my mum and I’s initial destination. But that day, for an unknown reason, train after train was cancelled and we diverted our travel to Brighton instead.

It’s not the longest of walks to the adjacent town Brighton teamed with to formally become the city of Brighton and Hove in 2001, but the weather that day made it tricky. The day was a windy one, to say the least. Summer had come to an abrupt end and – although the autumn equinox had not yet reached us – the weather had turned to what it does best in the UK, that being chilly with the constant threat of rain.

The sky was a canvas for scattered grey clouds, intermittently releasing drops of rain and threatening to offer more. Momentary outbursts of sunshine did little to warm my arms through the sleeves of my jumper, and it wasn’t long before I’d whipped out my scarf to awkwardly clash against my summery clothes. Above us, seagulls appeared suspended in the sky, in a period of stasis, as the wind did much of the heavy lifting under their wings.

The wind slowed this native Londoner right down, which was just as well because what was I in a rush for? Some of my best experiences when travelling is when I do so at a slower pace, but it’s something that doesn’t come naturally to me. Maybe I’m too used to the hectic pace of London and the idea of needing to constantly go-go-go as soon as I set foot outside my door. But it’s something I often have to consciously remind myself to do.

By the time we eventually veered off the promenade and found our way onto the start of Church Road, the main high street in Hove, I was more than a little ready to duck into the first café that looked welcoming enough.

Mon Café, Hove

Like a beacon of light in a dark night (i.e. the threat of hanger), Mon Café’s sign hung aloft, large and somewhat imposing over others, beckoning me over. I found my feet picking up pace like I’d just found the mysterious location of ‘X’ on a treasure map.

With a quick glance over the menu outside, we ducked in, took a table nestled away near the window and ordered coffees. We thought we’d pause and rest for just a moment. But the warm, calming ambience of the café – with a small party of women celebrating their friend’s birthday and a trio of other visitors at tables around us – and with its friendly host, our growling stomachs soon had us prowling over the menu and making a larger order: orange juice, two sausage sandwiches with side salads, followed by a delicious cremé bruleé.

By the time we set off again, it was inching past three in the afternoon and school children were spilling out onto the streets like ants. As the streets were becoming fuller and more chaotic, we hopped on a local bus to bring us to another part of the city we hadn’t ventured to before.

Brighton Marina

The 1X’s final destination saw us standing near white cliffs, leading – some distance away – to Seven Sisters cliffs, brightening up the continuously greying day. As the name suggests, the Marina is full to the brim with boats, and all kinds of them: sailing boats, fishing boats and small yachts were clustered together, most docked at that hour, with fishermen slowly walking home.

The marina was otherwise quiet that day, no doubt somewhat hampered in vibrancy by the weather. It was a place that was easy to imagine would be relaxingly tranquil during warm, balmy summer evenings, maybe having just finished a delicious meal in one of the many restaurants framing the waterfront, people-watching from one of the outdoor tables, while listening to the soothing lapping waves steadily roll in. And – according to one local we spoke to – that really is what it’s like.

Brighton Centre, The Laines and Seafront

With the evening drawing near and in much need of another coffee, we jumped on the bus back into the city centre. Rush hour was in full swing by then, and dodging the locals trying to get home and the leftover school kids hanging out in Boots was no easy feat. We eventually cast off to North Laine, where, I think it’s safe to say, a dedicated vintage shopper would have a field day. North Laine is a trendy hotspot in Brighton, reminding me somewhat of Shoreditch and Brick Lane in London.

Further towards the seafront are the Laines, a series of winding, narrow streets where an array of restaurants, antique shops and kooky boutiques are on offer. Normally, these lanes are bustling – as we experienced during our previous visit to the city – but, considering it was a weekday evening, much had already closed by the time we reached it.

Finally, we followed the sound of the waves through the jagged lanes, making our way to the seafront once more. We walked in the direction of the famous pier as the last of the evening sun disappeared behind the clouds, pausing a moment in one of the seafront hotels for a quick coffee before dashing off for one of the few trains which hadn’t been cancelled. The weather had completely turned for the worse as we bid bon voyage to Brighton.