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02/09/16
And so it was that our 12 594km cycle ride came to an end in Talkinn/Estonia and only just in the nick of time for Jan's (now threadbare) back tyre had to be elastoplast on & over the rim, for the final few kilometers, just to get there !
We ferried to Helsinki/Finland to soak and pamper both our bottoms and feet awhile in the comfort of a lush city & taking in a few luxurious comforts before making for the UK.
To walk with some of our previous Camino Compostela mates, part of the South West (UK) pathway from Glastonbury to Penzance.
Finland & Helsinki in particular certainly turned on with typical Finish understated confidence a quiet, peaceful, calmness about everything be it seaside drinks along the foreshore pools, the cylindrical entirely timber construction chapel (simple and unnervingly calm inside), the fresh food markets, or the Suomenlinna sea fortress ferry to the island, all very orderly.
With this in mind, our free walking tour guide had mentioned would we like to try a 'speakeasy' bar, which sounded novel, and in hushed tones enumerated where this might be found.
As evening approached we hunted down the elusive
entrance, did the secret knock, small slide window is opened, acknowledged us & closed again, we waited 5 min uncertain if we had been accepted, when the actual door opened and we were beckoned in.
The decor of leather chesterfields, dimly lit plush lounge furnishings and menu of various gin concoctions including of course the world famous 'nobu' Finish gin, which we both just had to have.
Neither of us were dissappointed. On leaving we were shown the discreet back door into the alley so that during the time of prohibition, the location of the establishment would not be given away.
We arrived back in Southampton, had my boots restitched, helped Jan's folks remove some larger garden trees, walked and lunched with Rich (Jan's brother), packed our bikes at Jans folks and hauled out our hiking packs for the trip to meet our fellow pilgrim Bill (from Lake Tahoe, US) in Glastonbury.
Big, loud & massive heart Bill (ex Vietnam, and New York cop) hadnt changed a jot !
Overjoyed, he enthusiasticly showed us our b&b since he had arrived the day before. It was great to see him again.
Gladtonbury Tor, one of the most famous
and sacred landmarks in the west country. Tor of celtic origin meaning 'hill' , a place of religous, legends & beliefs pilgrimage for 10 000 years and on one of the spiritual/energy laylines meandering through the country. We would find we drossed with regular monotony to Penzance in the SW of the country.
John (old school friend of Jan) and come to think of it, druid like apperance, took us into the bowels (built 1872) of the tor, where 130 000 gallons of water pass, making it significant to life & spirituality both, from time emoreal.
With all this liquid about, we departed for a cleansing spiritual ale at the oldest 1100 yr pub in town, before making our way past 'Abbey house' & the so called resting place of 'King Arthur'.
Then it was backpacks on, down a lane, over a wooden bridge, across the field & paddock and past Saint Bride celt marker, of an age old pathway.
Through a number of thickets, over some field styes (that Bill needed leveraging over on occasion), past the Mary Michael Pilgrims Way trail marker, before arriving at the village of Athelney.
The 'wee' hotel we had earmarked
for the night, unfortunately turned out to be shut (although the proprietor advised us they had room) but to try the next left then right up the hill to 'The old post office' house - she might take us in !
With some trepidation the hostess and owner listened to our story of woe, but on seeing Jan backpack suffering, softned immediately & had room for us.
Then invited two of her lady friends over to meet with these odd old reprobates strolling around the country.
She produced an amazing array of food for both dinner & following morning breakfast for being unprepared for our arrival, fortunately we could just roll down the hill next morning again to connect with our path.
Past the umpteenth St Michaels church, through paddocks of cows rather interested in Bill, we stopped at the red phone box (now a book library) for Jan to get a book (in english at last), past the sign chicken, duck & goose eggs £1.20 per 1/2 doz - 'behind the wall', around Holly Farm House, then a rest at Creech St Michael pillbox gun station, where the home guard volunteers defended against WW2 German tanks, up
Bushy Cross Lane and we were in Taunton.
We lunched with my brother Wayne, slipped into the church tower, and sqeezed into the diminutive 1500AD oak 'Almshouse' built to house the poor.
Our course took us on to Torquay and the coast (Andrew ex UK, now lives in LA) had by now also joined us, as we made our way to the South Devon Steam Railway & its iconic station at Totnes.
After a nostalgic trip down memory lane, as we were cast back to another bygone era, we all decided to rather hike on to Buckfastleigh, than wait a couple of hours for the steam train to be readied to depart.
Back through forests, alarming unaware pheasants, down farmyard tracks and past shhep being hearded and readied for market ( told they are ready when their 'gnashers' wear out), to our freezing paddock on the hilltop for the night.
Next morning we were all early up and eager to coffee and breakfast at the cathedral, and get some warmth back in our bones. Then it wasnt long before we made our way sneeking past the 'Hounds of Baskerville' and out onto Dartmoor Moors.
Bill did however,
step in a foxhole or stumbled on a wild pony 'steamer', and was noticed teetering like a giant redwood before topling over, upending himself and unable to right himself with his sherman tank still strapped to his back.
We camped mid Dartmoor that night awaiting the werewolves, but only wild ponies came to keep us company thankfully.
On the second day on the moors, just off our path to the right we noticed 'Welcome to HM Prison - Dartmoor' although if that were the case, youde think they might brigthen it up in lovely pastel shades etc rather than the sombre cold dark dank stone bathed in grey drizzle that greeted us now.
The tracks we follow now, built 1772 for the tin and wool traders to get their wares to Plymouth, but we take the path leading to Tavistock & Falmouth, and at ladt to the coast.
The only Falmouth accomodation we could muster was a student type pension (being a university town now) of 6 to a share room, but dry & warm at least and we thankfully accepted, and we are told luckily tonite the weekly quiz, so we booked in.
By the end of
the evening & the final tallies being made, we sit praying that 'the oldies' werent going to be highly embarresed by their dismal performance against these university brains trusts, and get shown up for the ignoramus's we were.
Last position goes to (not us - phew),
2nd last position goes to (not us - raised eyebrows),
We hesitantly feel a little confident that we at least are not the dumbest in the room.
10 teams later and yet not called up, 3rd place (not us) and you guessed it (cos we didnt) ..........We Won !
1st place..........a carton of beer (to go hiking with) !
When our room mate, marine biology student woke the next morning, hopefully well pleased with his surprise windfall from the 'ol pilgrim druids'.
We brewed our own coffee that morning on a beach out of town, then around the headland to watch a military helicopter practising crew retrieval from a vessel underway at sea, just off the coast.
Across the bottom paddock of yet another manor, through a small bay side village and on to the picturesque town of Helford with shipwright arms and river sailing club just awaiting one of the masters
to create an oils masterpiece to set it in perpetuity.
Porthallow however was an entirely different kettle of fish !
Ah, yes a fishing coastal village that in times past (1832) reports of 1400 hogsheads (barrels of cured fish) landed in Porthallow in two days with 4 million pilchards to be exported to the continent. By the 1920's this was all a thing of the past.
But we did loiter long enough to join the locals for a beer and lunch at the antiquated seagoing 'Pilchards Inn' .
Then we were off again, over another headland and to yet another plush green grass paddock for the night, looking down on a glorious sunset ocean below.
Tomorrow we would round Trebarveth, Trevothan, Trevalsoe & Treleaver farms to name a few, where the Tre dates back to the early middle ages. Some of these field systems even older laid down by Iron Age people 700BC, or even Bronze Age 2500BC before them, on our wsy to Coverack, before making a well earned stop for coffee at Cadgwith.
The population must be getting taller over time, or English premises sre gradually sinking - as this is the umpteenth place, we all
need to 'stoop' (even Andrew) to refrain from crowning ineself on the entrance lintel - now at chin height !
Glorious bays, headlands, turquoise water below, crying gulls overhead made our slightly inland path to Porthleven and the campsite on the National Trust estate of Penrose & Loe Pool, with hot showers, flushing toilet and fresh water and honesty box to leave your overnight fees in, on departure, an absolute pleasure.
One last bay rounding and then onto Penzance our last stop of our annual compostela pilgrimage with our previous virgin pilgrims, Bill & Andrew.
Our last evening we did reside in what previously was an abbey, now refurbished, before making our way back to London and final farewells to depart again to our individual far flung ends of the planet.
Hopefully we would catch up with some of the other 'virgin' pilgrims that couldnt make this trip in the not too far distant future.
For us now though, the path would take us back to Australia and 'The Wedding of the Century' of Sarah & Brennen. We would go via Dubai and a brief interlude of a few days with good friend Julie 'found' or
'Budgie' Staley as her 'lost' husband had decided to jilt us at the last moment.
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Judy
non-member comment
Seats
Doesn't look too shabby! At least you had somewhere to sit!