12 June 2016 - Tavistock Club Site, Moorshop, near Tavistock, Devon

We were off out the camp site gates this morning at 7 am, as soon as they opened. Lunch was packed in the eski and clothes and other personal items, packed in case we decided to stay further away from our little home on wheels, leaving all options open. 

St Michael's Mount

We travelled west on the A390 from Tavistock through to Liskeard, a route that seems so obvious on the map, but in reality is a windy slow road. Even with the misty rain close around us, we could see that this was a most picturesque route, and one better done at leisure in better weather. At Liskeard, we joined the A38, a better road, through to Bodmin, where we turned southwards on the A30, a dual carriageway in the main part, that took us almost through to Penzance. We turned directly south to Marazion, opposite St Michael’s Mount, a spot I had elected as our first destination in Cornwell. We had travelled about eighty five miles, taking about two hours to do so. The tide was in, which meant any access to the island would have to be by boat. Given that the weather was inclement to say the least, a boat tour simply did not appeal, so I was just happy with the photo opportunity.

I have not visited Brittany’s Mont St Michel, but have seen footage on the Tour de France coverage; enough to know that this in Cornwell is very similar. The construction on both locations was inspired by the same event; a vision of the archangel Michael, this one in Cornwell to have occurred around the fifth century, and within three centuries a Celtic monastery had been founded here. The present building originated as a chapel, constructed in the eleventh century by Edward the Confessor, who in turn handed it over to the Benedictine monks of Mont St Michel whose island was used as a model for this one. Even from the car on the shore through the misty rain, it is still quite impressive.

After a hot coffee from our thermos and half our lunch for morning tea, we travelled on to Penzance, up through the steep main streets, still to fill with the Sunday shoppers and tourists, and then found a park along the waterfront near the tidal salt water swimming Jubilee Pool. From here we had views west across Mount’s Bay to Cornwell’s biggest fishing port of Newlyn, and the other way to a fuzzy distant view of Lizard Point.  The rain discouraged us from stepping out and around the esplanade, instead we drove on around to Newlyn, continuing around the narrow coastal road to Mousehole (pronounced “Mowzle”). We wound our way around the tight little streets, catching glimpses of the magic this place offers to those lucky enough to either live here or get dropped off for a walking tour.  We continued on further up to the B3315, still a narrow road on around the coast, calling in briefly to Porthcurno to catch a glimpse of the intimate sandy bay, a gap in the cliffs, and the gardens at the top of the open air Minick Theatre, hewn into the cliff.

There were a surprising number of tourists on the roads, which was a worry, because they are really fit for little more than Smart-cars. We arrived at Land’s End to find it just as the Rough Guide had warned, a garish tacky entertainment palace that “violates the spirit of the place”. The area here at this western point of Cornwell has changed hands several times through history, the first being Robert, Count of Mortain, when he was awarded  the largest share of the territory in Cornwell in the wake of the Norman Conquest in 1066. He was but the first of many, and it is the current owners who can take credit, or discredit, for the distasteful situation there is today. Since the 1980s various entrepreneurial characters have “improved” the facilities and today there are bakeries, souvenir shops, restaurants, shows, crafts …. all catering to the tourist who was happy to divest himself of £5 for the privilege of parking and ready to empty his wallet further on frivolous entertainment. 

Initially we walked on through this little “town” to the natural area on the top of the cliff and looked out to the sea and rock formations. By now the weather had cleared a little. We took the obligatory photos to prove we were there, however these could not be taken right next to the Pole, as we had done when we reached Cape York in Australia; this is left for the commercial photographers who have a stall and fence around this landmark.

We did call into the bakery to purchase authentic Cornish Pasties for our lunch, given that we had already consumed the greater part of our sandwiches. Alas they were yet to open, but directed us to their competitor where we bought more expensive pasties baked off site. 

One can walk on either way from Land’s End, along the cliffs, all which looked quite tempting, but we had much to see and little time, back to the car we went, and onwards north through St Just, Pendeen and several little villages, through rather dismal country, reminders of past mining days, little cottage rows reminding one that these were once tight little communities sharing such tough conditions.

We turned inland to find the Heritage Site showing on our map, and wandered through rural roads this way and that until we finally emerged at the car park for the Iron Age village of Chysauster where we found the road whence we had come was marked as unsuitable for long vehicles. The site is some distance up the hill along a rough gravel path, then around mown strips from one site to another. We were highly amused to find Disabled parking spaces in the car park when the access to the site was so incredibly unsuitable for anyone less than fleet of foot.

Chysauster is considered the best preserved ancient settlement in the south west of the country, a courtyard house village thought to date from 200 – 300 AD. The remains of nine courtyard houses arranged in pairs along a village street, with a tenth outlying house close by are situated on the hill side from which there are lovely views across the rural countryside. The walls are as thick as fourteen feet in places, and require little imagination to understand the significance of the site. The remains were “discovered” in the 1840s and excavated in the 1920s and ‘30s. There was a paucity of signage, although we were offered a souvenir guide book. Our notes in the English Heritage book suggest that further work is to be undertaken on the site this summer and hopefully more interpretative panels will enhance the experience for the layman.

After lunching on those scrumptious pasties and the rest of our thermos coffee, we drove on to St Ives, this time on a better road, but on arrival were unable to find anywhere to park, let alone pause to take a photo. It was soon clear that the Town Fathers do not want any vehicle in the town, and those who wish to visit this seaside gem that looked so very tantalising as we passed through, should catch the Park & Ride bus some five miles away, even on a Sunday.

Instead we decided to head north past Hayle, on to Gwithian, where we did find a park. We walked back to this charming little beach situated in a gap between the sheer cliffs, bought delicious Cornish Kelly Ice-creams and wandered along the sea front and up around the manmade port.

Truro

The weather had improved greatly, and while it was still only about 2 pm, I was feeling weary; it had already been a long day. Neither of us was prepared to commit to final plans for the day; we crossed the peninsula to Falmouth on the east coast, parked and walked around the steep streets of the town and down to the wharf where we watched the ferries depart and arrive for St Mawes just across the river estuary, Carrick Roads.

Back on the road, we travelled north to Truro, Cornwall’s county town, a rather functional town with the faux-medieval cathedral, completed in 1910, standing sentinel over the centre. We parked at the bottom of the town in Tesco’s car park, just minutes before it was to close, then wandered up into the centre. Folk were already evacuating the area, so we had the streets almost to ourselves. We wandered too along the waterfront, the tide now well out, the sea not much more than a little muddy creek below the moored boats.

By now we had decided that we would head home, and make another trip into the more northern areas of Cornwell another day, so by 4.30 pm we were on the road, firstly the A39 up to Fiddler’s Green, then on the dual carriageway, the A30, all the way up over the Bodmin Moor, to Okehampton, then headed south again to Tavistock and so to home. 

We were surprised as to how many wind turbines we had seen in Cornwell, all of which confirmed the fact that this is a very windy part of the world. The lovely variety of wild flowers also impressed us along the roadsides, as did the rabbits and foxes that dashed across in front of us on the smaller roads. We have had an excellent day, but it has been a long one and I am certainly ready for bed.