So,
it came to be that Tigger found herself sitting on the floor of a
rather marvellous room, the sunlight streaming through the window,
her friend working away beside her, and, without even really trying,
she solved a mystery that had been puzzling her for quite some time.
Why was
it that her bag had retained such a delightful smell of Frankincense
for the past week or so? Well, that would be because the lid of the
bottle of Frankincense she'd put in a little over a week ago (and
completely forgotten about) had broken and the contents of said
bottle had emptied into the fabric of the bag. Hence the smell.
Mystery solved and various bits of “sensible” typing-type work
possible, the mood struck to write of the various wonderful
adventures she'd been party to of recent times. And where better to
start than an utterly fabulous holiday to Corniewallie.
*
I've
been aspiring to “get into the swing” of holidays for a few
months and in August the need became more acute so I delved into the
recesses of the internet and found myself a surfing weekend in
Cornwall – which was made significantly more attractive by the fact
it would be hosted at a spa hotel, involve some yoga and be with a
bunch of other people who fancied said surf weekend. Just a few
months prior to departure day I also got myself my very first
motorised vehicle (officially it's a car, but in my mind it's more of
a van-car, but I can't legitimately call it a van, so, well, it's a
motorised vehicle. My
motorised vehicle, in fact) making the adventure even more exciting
and granting it many more possibilities for brilliance.
[plus the drive was broken in each direction by an overnight near
Keele on the way down seeing a dear friend I am really enjoying
seeing more of, and a “tea and cake” stop near Newton Abbott on
the way back. A 5 hour stretch seems infinitely more manageable than
a 7 hour stretch]
Cornwall is utterly gorgeous. And rugged. And brilliant. And
fabulous. But the absolute highlight of the weekend was on Sunday
afternoon when the surfing-weekend bit was drawing to a close (the
others mainly heading back to London – and work on Monday) and I
found myself in Cornwall, with a car...on a rather grey and misely
day. A friend had suggested an adventure a little way down the coast
so I headed off. Finding the place of the adventure was very much the
first adventure but it brought me to the town of Perranporth. My
first “falling in love with” moment was spotting a small house up
about 3 or 4 “flights-worth” of outside steps. It looked like a
mini castle. It was obviously empty and made all the more romantic by
a rusting hulk of a Morris Minor slowly being taken over by brambles
and other greenery at the bottom of the steps. But my, the best was
yet to come.
It wasn't cold but the dampness in the air meant there weren't many
folk about. I had my brand-new walking boots on (huzzah!) and decided
just to amble along and head for the coastal path along the top of
the cliffs. But first: the beach.
If you haven't been to Perranporth, and, more importantly, to
Perranporth beach, I have one word for you: Go. The “mouth” of
the beach from the landward side is fairly understated with nowhere
really “on the beach” to park. Meaning driving through
Perranporth you could be forgiven for thinking the beach was utterly
hidden. But walking out on to the beach all of a sudden the cliffs
draw back and the most stunning expanse of cliff-lined beach appears.
Breathtaking. And this is in grey clouds and miselyness! The sand,
even on that grey Sunday, was sun coloured and, well, words can't do
it justice. That expanse, the sense of space, the power of the cliffs
and the continual ebb and flow of the water – a memory that is
still fresh in my mind and will stay with me many moons to come. And
that was all within half an hour of arrival!
It has been a LONG time since I've done much cliff-top walking and
I've missed it. Tromping along that afternoon – spotting the few
other people on the path, the waves pounding below, the path ambling
and diverging and coming back together – was an utter treat. The
adventure related to a cove which was utterly water-sodden by the
time I reached it but alerted me to the fact that the funny “vents”
I could see as I meandered were in some way related to the old
tin-mines of the area. A very definite human impression on the
landscape but one that was filled with mystery and history. The
brilliance of being away from cars and roads – and just proceeding
under my own steam.
The coast in that area has lots of little coves meaning plenty of
headlands – and the sense of, well, excitement, of rounding another
headland, seeing another vista, wondering how many more I'd see
before I decided to meander back – brilliant. The exposed rock was
leaching iron (and “rusting”) in many places and at one point I
thought I was approaching a cliff-top graveyard...but no, it was
(most likely) part of the old tin-works. There were remnants of walls
and buildings, but what actually used to happen there remains (for
me, at least) a mystery.
Heading back to Newquay (where I had a B&B for the night) I found
myself utterly wiped out but even the next morning of having an hour
of two of just meandering around Newquay was great. I saw the “house
on a cliff” (reachable only by a suspended foot bridge which passes
high above the main Newquay beach) and had a realisation that my
weird sense of intimidation around surfers (that they're so
incredibly cool) is just in my head. There were so many surf shops
that all of a sudden I realised it was just another fashion – and
although on the base of a “cool” surfboard in a “cool” shop,
it did bring me an absolutely brilliant quote:
“Carpe
Diem Does Not Mean 'Fish of the Day'”
Monday
morning also brought me a series of wonderful events in a brilliant
eatery called The
Beach Lamb Cafe.
On Saturday night the whole surfing group had gone there for the
evening meal and I had utterly fallen in love with the place. They do
a range of food but along with meat they also do great veggie and
vegan meals – and as I was leaving they mentioned their breakfast.
Now, breakfast was included at the hotel but as I was staying in a
B(&B – but the second B wasn't included) on Sunday night I
realised my opportunity for vegan breakfast had revealed itself. And
my, it was AWESOME. Best vegan breakfast I think I've had ever.
Yumcious. All the usuals but also some gorgeous “scrambled tofu”
and great company – there were a lot of “regulars” coming in at
that time of day (one of who I even managed to buy a screen print bag
of an owl from, perfect for the friend I was seeing later that day)
and I ended up joining in their chats. A very pleasant way to start
the day.
And
then – wow – the Lost Gardens of Heligan! AWESOME. I'm on a
mission now to find out much more about the history of the gardens
(there are plenty of books available – it's just getting to them
when I already have a stack of books about 2 ft high next to my bed)
but the amazing work that's been done – and continues – is
utterly inspiring. Covering such a great expanse, the gardens range
from woodland and “jungle” (which I didn't have time to explore)
to a wildlife hide and the very beautiful managed gardens near the
house providing an inspiring array of horticulture. One of the
highlights was the pineapple glass house – which traditionally had
been heated by manure being put underneath. Apparently pineapple
“rearing” was the height of 18th
century horticulture. Brilliant.
I was joined at the Lost Gardens by the friend I dropped off on my
way home and, despite the various downpours, we had a lovely few
hours. I very much hope to revisit the gardens several times over the
next 12 months and spend more time exploring (and found a caravan
park within about 15 min walk of the gardens which holds much
potential for a week away with friends) but they have definitely
helped stoke the gardening interest within me. And who said names
never made any difference?
Ambling home I felt my first “with car” adventure had been a
distinct success – and the immense sense of freedom having a car
had provided was truly wonderful. I'd bought my Berlingo (who has yet
to be named, other than “The Golden Chariot”) as my “holiday”
car. Having resisted buying a vehicle for so long I have very much
done so in an “eyes wide open”. Yes, it's true I do not need a
car to survive. But I am increasingly of the opinion that having The
Golden Chariot is enriching my sense of being able to “just do” -
and will be a great asset to having adventures not bound by the
limits of our public transport system. My plan is also to have a
“forest fund” - and that for every penny I spend on the Chariot,
I'll match it in the forest fund to be used, as and when, to plant
trees and other brilliance. A kind of very personal kind of
offsetting. Which, in itself, is rather marvellously exciting.
The Chariot has also been helping a lot with clearing stuff from my
basement left by the previous occupants. Now I'm in Morecambe
full-time just the act of spending an hour or two sorting through
bits is a lot easier (hurrah!) and having a vehicle to get junk and
cardboard and just plain rubbish out and to a place where it'll be
dealt with is great. I just need to put some bike-hooks up in my
“front room” in the basement and it'll be all set up to house the
rapidly multiplying bikes that live at the house.
Continuing the freedom theme, last weekend saw a trip down to
Liverpool to celebrate a friend's birthday. It was somewhat of a
surprise party and as well as being really rather brilliant (I got to
go to The Egg, which is always a winner, plus we went on the Duck Bus
and I relocated The Chariot without – too many – difficulties)
having a car meant I had a lot more flexibility to keep my own time,
rather than being confined to trains and the like. And I could stow a
birthday cake in the back. I've yet to dig out an air mattress and
look at the feasibility of actually sleeping in it but I'm sure
there'll be time for that, yet!
So, overall, I'm having a rather marvellous time. The sky is blue.
The sun is shining. And I get to meet a garden (and its owner)
tomorrow that I may be able to help tend. Hoo and, indeed, rah.
[And given it this started with talk of a surfing weekend: the
weekend bit was good fun, with a great group of people – but
ultimately I came to the conclusion that surfing may be fun but
hasn't grabbed me sufficiently to get “into surfing”. It's given
me the confidence to grab a board and have a play if I get the
opportunity, but generally I think I'm happy just playing in the
waves]
