Advertisement
Published: November 1st 2007
On the cliff path
Our shadows on the cliffs as we look out to sea from the path running around the Pentire Penninsula.Due in Newquay on the Saturday to meet up with friends, but faced with limited buses, I decided arriving early was a better option than arriving late. A nasty shock awaited me when I went online in Bournemouth to book my seat, though: the only direct journey was already full! An extremely roundabout overnight route back through London would deposit me in Newquay at an ungodly hour of the morning, but given my record sleeping while travelling, I knew that would be a
looong night, and was keen to avoid it if I could...
Worried but refusing to panic, I headed to the station anyway, to throw myself on the mercy of the bus driver. My heart sank when I saw the queue waiting to get on, but the driver was lovely. He let everyone with tickets board, and then counted the passengers inside the bus, compared the numbers to the passenger list and his pickups further down the route, and said it looked like there were some no-shows, so why didn't I grab a seat?
I hopped on for a relaxing drive down the coast through Weymouth and the little town of Bridport, where I picked up a
The Huer's Hut
This ancient building once housed Newquay's "Huers" - watchmen high up on the cliff, who scoured the seas for signs of pilchard. When the man on duty saw the fish, he would raise the hue and cry, then signal the fishing boats to the best spot. life-saving mushroom and egg sandwich at the most unprepossessing refreshment stand ever. As we pulled out of the station at Exeter I caught sight of a bag closely resembling mine sitting alone on the pavement, and I spent the whole ride to Plymouth vehemently telling myself that there was no reason for my bag not to be on the bus, and anyway didn't mine have a red label not a blue tag? Didn't it?
At Plymouth, I collected my bag (phew!) and transferred to the bus for the trip down the Cornish peninsula. It was a massive double decker coach, and in a front row seat on the top deck I had a bird's eye view of Cornwall in the fading light. I stayed that first night in Newquay in a "surf hostel," which was pretty basic for the price I paid for it, and unbelievably expensive over summer - in season, supply can't meet demand, so summer accomodation in the Newquay is a seller's market. (Anyone into real estate should get in there!)
In the morning I was hungry and grumpy, trying to find a member of staff to check me out of my room, when I
A new friend
He is trying to persuade me not to go - unfortunately I had to catch a bus, so I couldn't sit on his sunny wall and stroke him forever. met an angel. Though no-one had told me then night before, the hostel served breakfast. I was late for it, but the angel sat me down next to some cereal and disappeared into the kitchen. A few minutes later she was back with a massive hot plate of baked beans and scrambled egg on toast. I don’t know if it was because I was so hungry, or whether it truly was food of the Gods, but I think that was the best breakfast I’ve ever had, and I ate every last bite. (It also made the steep price of the room kind of almost worth it.)
I walked across town to the B&B the girls and I were booked into. Finding things in Newquay without a map is not easy. The signs all point the wrong way - mostly back the way you've come. One helpful local offered to guide me, because she had "lived here my whole life, dear." I accepted gratefully, but unfortunately she had not an idea in the world where Visitor Information might be. Accosted by people wanting my signature for their cause and jostled by shoppers snapping up the end of summer surf shop
Tolcarne Beach
Newquay is surrounded by strings of sandy beaches, and renowned as the UK's premier surf resort. The beaches are certainly wide and exposed enough, but we saw no waves while we were there. bargains, I was hot and cross when I spotted the damn place up on the hill right behind the street I'd been traipsing up and down.
Rockpool Cottage was much easier to find. It's owned by a veteran surfie, who gave me a wonderful welcome and let me wait in his lounge til the room was ready. I discovered a wireless signal, and when the girls arrived a little later I was hard at work emailing, catching up with important blog reading and facebooking, and following the NZ vs Portugal game online.
Once Julia and Amy recovered from the train trip, the three of us took off for a walk through town to the headland beyond. Fascinated with the ugly concrete block of beach huts, we climbed down onto Tolcarne Beach, and wandered about taking photos of the beach, each other and the white mass of the bathing huts with their brightly painted doors. We found a cave to explore as well, but during the five minutes we looking at the rocks the tide advanced, and we found ourselves damsels in distress behind a foot deep moat! The channel we would have to walk through was rising rapidly,
Caught in the act
Me, taking the previous photo. Thanks to my stalker, Amy, for the pic! and Amy made the snap decision to take off her shoes and socks and wade. Jules and I dithered, trying to find a way around, but eventually gave in and rolled up our jeans... guess who fell into the water on the way out?
We continued our walk a little way, before turning back to find food. Along our street we found a large pub with great sea views, and Amy and Julia settled in for aperitifs while I made a quick detour back to the cottage for some dry trousers. After the feed we found we we ready for an early one, and put ourselves to bed; Amy to sleep, Jules to read, and me glued to the internet.
In the morning breakfast was brought in for us, and over tea and toast we held a summit to plan the day. We'd already discovered the buses in the area were not to be relied upon, but our efforts to hire cars were met with no success, either - so it was to be a day on foot. This time we went the other direction, over the golf course (well, through it, in trenches!) to Fistral Beach, where
Making a break for it
Julia and I finally accept that there's no way round, and follow Amy's lead in taking off our shoes. About 20 seonds later I slipped on the wet rock and fell in. (Thanks to Amy for the pic. Luckily she didn't snap me falling!) a very boring surf competition with no waves was underway. At the tip of the Pentire Penninsula we bought ice creams and sat to eat them in the watery sunshine and strong wind, before heading back past the area's lifeboat house and the thirteenth century Huer's Hut, a remnant of the early fishing town. Back on our own street above the harbour, we found a very funky little café serving home made breads and soups, and serving Bundy gingerbeer!
The nice morning had degenerated into a squally afternoon with the promise of rain, and we judged a movie might be in order - but the fates were against us again! The nearest cinema to Newquay is in Truro, which is a £60 return taxi trip away, (we checked.) We all wanted to see
Atonement, but we couldn't justify what would amount to a ticket price of £30 apiece. DVD it was, and we repaired to Blockbuster to hire some to watch on my computer Harry, getting a bit greedy and choosing three. (Has anyone else seen Terry Gilliam's
Tideland? It is cinematically beautiful, but it's got to be the strangest non-David Lynch film I've ever watched. Very, very weird.)
Wow, look at those waves!
A surf competition in almost completely flat water, Fistral Beach, Newquay - the UK's Surf Capital! The next day we made a lazy morning of packing up, and bundled ourselves onto the noon train for Par, where we separated, the girls bound for London and me for St Ives. The weather was still a bit iffy, but I had heard of the famous micro-climate and artist's light, and I saw the evidence that afternoon - surrounded by swirling, stormy clouds, the town itself was golden, standing out like a beacon against the backdrop.
I spent the afternoon visiting the Tate St Ives and the Barbara Hepworth Museum & Sculpture Garden, before taking an evening walk around the harbour up to the headland, where a tiny chapel braves the elements. Every second shop in the town centre behind the harbour is an art gallery, bursting with local talent. Pubs and fudge shops elbow for the spaces between. The narrow cobbled street and constant glimpses of sea through the buildings lend an atmosphere all the town's own - it is small and isolated, but it's pretty and cheerful rather than grim.
The next morning I had an early start, taking my place on an open-topped bus around the coast to Land's End, the most westerly
Camera madness
Julia tries to ignore me and Amy while we indulge our snapshot obsessions on Fistral Beach. point of the British mainland. To complete the circuit of the Penwith Peninsula, I changed there for the bus to Penzance, where I found a B&B just behind the station, and kept going. Travelling around the bay past the offshore castle on Michael's Mount, I changed again at Helston and went out onto the Lizard Peninsula. Winding down the peninsula I caught glimpses of the massive satellites at
Goonhilly Satellite Earth Station before arriving at the tiny town of The Lizard.
Although the rock of the area is called serpentine, and the shape of the peninsula is sometimes described as a reptilian, it's mostly accepted fact that the name is derived from the Celtic Lys Ardh, meaning high court or high place - suggesting the area was settled many hundreds of years ago. I walked the short path down to the Lizard Lighthouse and admired the crashing waters and sheer cliffs of the most southerly point of the British mainland. The weather was gorgeous, and I took a table outside at The Most Southerly Café and had a traditional Cornish Cream Tea. This consists of a pot of tea and two enormous scones with lashings of jam and cornish The longest slipway in the UK
The lifeboat house is just behind me, and Newquay is down the peninsula to the right. clotted cream. It was so delicious, and left me so full, that the mere contemplation of further food that week made me queasy.
Before the bus came, I walked down to Church Cove, where the caves around the point were once a smuggler's hideaway. On the way I made a furry friend who got rather annoyed when I had to leave him behind, as it was fairly obvious to him that I had been sent specifically to stroke his back until he dismissed me. The day was drawing to a close, and it was dark by the time I had made it back to Penzance, but when I talked myself into doing some laundry I was rewarded with a wireless signal at the laundromat. After a dinner of pot noodles, with brocolli sneakily boiled in the kettle and mixed in as a nod to nutrition, I started getting set for my next trip: to Tintagel - the legendary seat of King Arthur!
Advertisement
Tot: 0.154s; Tpl: 0.013s; cc: 13; qc: 63; dbt: 0.0832s; 1; m:domysql w:travelblog (10.17.0.13); sld: 1;
; mem: 1.3mb
