Great Torrington

Yesterday afternoon Angela noticed a lady walking her dogs appear from a path behind the public toilets. Thinking the area looked like good hunting ground for fungi she suggested her and John take a walk that way.

Sadly, the fungi were in short supply and John only spotted one on the back of a tree in the lane by the old rectory.

The evening sky was clear, so just before nine thirty we walked down to the castle hoping to catch the sunset.

The ticket office for the castle was closed so we walked into the courtyard area for a sneaky peek. We needed to gain height to see the sunset so climbed high up onto the coast path.

We were too late to see the actual sun setting. All that messing around down at the castle had caused us to miss it. A couple who'd seen it shared their photographs with us. Never mind, we've seen some beautiful sunsets on our travels and know we have many more yet to see.

Only five vans including Marge last night. Our new neighbours had a teenage daughter. What's she wearing? They're a bit short. Very hot, hot pants Marge.

This morning we awoke to notification that two comments had been left on our blog. One from Ben ( Youtuber - Bejam) who we'd helped out a North Sands and another from the couple we'd met last night up on the coast path. So, it appears comments can now be left after a technical issue. So, feel free folks. Comment away. 

It was lunchtime before we left Tintagel walking down to Pengenna Pasties to buy our lunch. Not long after we left Marge decided to have a right strop going into safe mode, and then illuminating a warning light that caused concern so we stopped. Honestly Marge, you're bad for Angela's heart. All this stress. We restarted her and the light had gone out. Look my engine management lights not illuminated either. Well thank god Marge!

Bude was our chosen lunch stop. This is where we spent our honeymoon twenty-three years ago. The town was busy. We parked Marge with some other vans, paid for an hour's parking and took a walk around. Bude is no longer motorhome or campervan friendly because someone was living in a van by the canal. There were signs up everywhere saying basically you're not welcome! You're banned between eleven at night and nine in the morning. Incredible! We wondered how the traders in the town felt about it. The car parks are nearly empty at night, why not charge a small fee like they do in some of the other towns. Angela is so infuriated by it she's going to email the chief executive of the local council.

More driving on to Bideford. Fortunately, Marge created no more worries for us but Bideford did. We were expecting there to be lots of vans there, but there wasn't. The area didn't feel comfortable. We deliberated for some time about staying and after much too long decided to leave. The next stop was no good. No Campervans Overnight! Why? So, we drove inland to Great Torrington where we knew we could stay for eight pounds. 

Great Torrington is a pretty unpretentious town. It reminded us of France as do the far-reaching views across the open countryside behind Marge. Stunning. Angela is a believer that some things happen for a reason. Bideford's loss is Great Torrington's gain, especially Yau's House Chine take-away. What a lovely meal.

Tomorrow, we hope to cycle a section of the Tarka Trail. We will probably stay at Great Torrington a second night, our eight-pound overnight charge covers us until Monday evening as the parking is free on Sundays. Result Marge.

Tintagel (Day 2)

 

Just before nine thirty last night as the sun drifted westwards the sky became a blaze of fiery red. Trails of magenta streaked through the gathering clouds. The only sound an opiniated crow sat on a nearby power line. Its harsh kraa call shattering the silence. 

First thing this morning three swallows sat on a nearby branch, unperturbed by the falling light rain. After the beautiful weather of yesterday we hoped the weather would be kind to us again today. 

Our German neighbours set off with walking poles and we followed behind also with walking poles as we knew the terrain around the cliffs was very uneven.

We stopped to buy pasties for lunch and then began the walk down the steep hill towards the castle. Admission to the castle ruins is twenty one pounds a person. Bargain, we didn't think.

We walked up above it along the coast path from where the views were fantastic.

Then we swapped to the other side taking the coast path which climbed high above the perilous seas towards the next cove. Last year Angela had fallen on this path, and felt a little sick when she saw how close to the edge she'd been.

Not perturbed we continued, finding shelter from the wind amongst some rocks heavily eroded by the elements. The views from our lunch stop were stunning, the coast running northwards into the far distance.

Below us we could hear the waves as they entered the caves creating the acoustics of a natural cathedral. Dazzled by the sunlight reflecting of the aquamarine waters we sat a while watching the rain clouds blow towards us, leaving just in time to avoid the worst of the weather.

Back at Marge, the sky now a seamless blue we read deciding to stay another night here. Our overnight stops of the last few nights have been a little touristy, but safe. Coffee shops and cafes dominated. Food and drink are what it's all about in these places. Pies and lattes. Did you say Pilates? No Marge, Pies and lattes!

Tintagel

Yesterday evening we took a look inside one of the bars inside Jamaica Inn where there was a large, beautiful original stone fireplace.

The whole building is dark and mysterious, even the more modern extension. Pricey though. A real tourist trap. 

This morning the grey skies of yesterday evening had given way to the brightness of a new day affording beautiful views across a patchwork of fields. We'd spent a peaceful night at the 'Inn on the Moor' not bothered by the traffic passing by on the nearby A30.

We'd deliberately planned to be in this area today as the forecast was for fine weather and we wanted to cycle along the Camel Trail from Wadebridge to Padstow. After Marge became stuck in a side street and having to turn around in a tight spot, we eventually found a space for her in a car park near the trail with many other vans. Lunch of French foresterie pate bought back from France with a very nice soft seeded baguette from Sainsbury's and some fruit packed in the rucksack we set off to the land of Rick Stein, known as Padstein, as after opening a seafood restaurant in 1975 he has gone on to open many other satellite businesses in the town.

The cycle along the estuary, mudflats totally exposed, was a nice easy ride. We were surprised at just how busy the town was.

Wanting to avoid the crowds we moved away from the main harbour to eat our lunch, then moving down towards the small ferry that crosses to Rock on the opposite side of the estuary to read a while before partaking of a very nice Kelly's ice cream. 

We'd originally planned to stay overnight in Wadebridge, but Angela didn't like the park up so we moved on to Tintagel being followed most of the way by a German van, which is here with us now. Marge is one of just four vans. We can't believe how quiet it is.

As we're parked on grass beside a farm in the countryside we decided to cook sausages bought from the Spar shop across the road, on our outside gas grill. Our neighbours looked on. Are they jealous? Who knows Marge, they might be outraged. The man was friendly, the woman had snubbed Angela. Rude. Yes, Marge, very. After a while they moved down to the bottom of the grass area, nearly driving over a stool the man had been sat on when we arrived.

How long would it take for them to notice they'd left it behind? Or should we do the right thing and take it over to them. Angela and Marge thought not. 

Today the weather has been beautiful and we enjoyed once again cycling the Camel Trail to Padstow. We are in no rush to return home and will probably spend another week away yet. Are you up for it Marge? If so, don't play up too much please. 

Jamaica Inn, Bolventor

Last night's stop at the Britannia Inn was perfect for us. This morning we took a shower as we could refill Marge's water tank and empty our waste water. John lent a very young couple our hosepipe to fill their van with water. The girl was local, from Plymouth, living in the van full time. She said the trouble with driving in the area was there were just too many vans clogging up the roads whilst on holiday. Well one of those people has just helped you out you ungrateful little. O.K. Marge.  The grass the vans had all parked on had been freshly cut so we needed to give Marge a good brush out before leaving. The lady in a very nice Land Rover conversion near us was giving her sheepskin rug a good clean. If there's one thing you don't want it's your rug full of grass! It'll knit right into it. Aware the weather would change mid-afternoon we left by late morning heading to Bodmin Moor to the Golitha Falls.

Our journey meant taking the fast A30 across the moor. Marge did her best really going for it. The parking at the falls was a nightmare, and we had to wait a while for a space long enough to park the van in without it being in danger of someone running into it. Just when we could have shoehorned Marge into a more suitable space she decided to immobilise, big time. Thanks for that Marge, you're such an embarrassment. Now we've lost the spot to some little old sports car! Eventually, John coaxed her into firing up and we moved.

The paths to the falls were not well marked. We opted for one we thought would be fairly easy soon finding ourselves above the tumbling waters of the river Fowey. As older irresponsible people do, we climbed down onto the rocks beside it to eat our lunch. The power of the water roaring in our ears as it bounced from rock to rock. Right which way now? You guessed it, the wrong way. Our walking boots slipped on stones and got caught in tree roots as we criss-crossed the steep incline. Angela held on to John for fear of falling, forgetting if she did, they both would. A decision had to be made about our way back to the main path. We needed to climb further up. Below us the churning bubbling water gave us purpose. Eventually we found one of the main paths which wound its way through towering beech trees. Mounds of moss, smooth as green baize pushed up between a carpet of bluebells in their last throws of flowering. Back at Marge, we could hear her saying, here they are, bloody fools!

Our guide book recommended we also visit the Hurler's stone circles; a group of standing stones arranged in three circles. The site was surrounded by disused tin mines from a bygone age. We didn't really get the meaning of the stones as there were no information boards, so drove back towards Bolventor stopping at the side of the road to view Doniert's stone, erected in the 9^th century to commemorate the last known king of Cornwall, King Dumgarth. 

The rain now falling steadily we drove over the moor, beautifully manicured by the grazing sheep, cattle and horses to tonights stop. Cornwall's most famous smugglers inn, Jamaica Inn. 

The 18^th century coaching inn was immortalised in Daphne du Maurier's novel of the same name. The views from Marge tonight are beautiful, but the wet weather is relentless, which explains why the house opposite is totally weatherproofed in slate.

Tomorrow we will drive to Wadebridge to cycle along the camel trail to Padstow. Let's hope the forecast sunshine arrives.