Another visit to Cornwall

I rarely need an excuse for a Cornish getaway; however, when my friend and her husband returned from India for a brief stay in Newlyn, I booked three nights at Penzance YHA.

Ever since I first visited Penzance I have this urge to keep returning, which I do fairly often. I've spent Christmas there for the past three years and have already bought my rail ticket and booked four nights at the YHA to make it my Xmas destination four years in a row.

Castle Horneck, as the hostel is called, is a friendly and familiar place. I've come to know the staff well and always feel welcome there. And there's something about the town of Penzance that makes me feel at peace. Perhaps my attraction is due to the way the main street winds up a hill with a raised pavement on one side. Or could it be that I can see the bay and St Michael's Mount from any one of many vantage points in the shopping district?

Then there's the walk around the bay to Newlyn, a working fishing town that is as quaint and unspoiled as it possibly can be in today's world. And speaking of quaint, Mousehole (pronounced Muzzel), a half-hour stroll along the sea front and around the head, remains much as it has been for centuries. Thinking about it, though, with narrow streets lined with thick-walled white washed cottages protected by preservation orders, there is little room for change within the village.

The approach to Newlyn harbour.

As well as visiting my friends, I spent a day in St Ives. Even in late September the day was sunny and warm enough for a paddle.

From there I travelled north to Tintagel for two nights in the hostel perched on the clifftops. It's a small one-storey building with kitchen, dining room and lounge combined, a setup that makes for intimate evenings and ample opportunity to strike up new friendships. On my one full day there I bussed to Bude and walked along the beach and through still-familiar rock pools before enjoying my usual dish of cheesy chips while watching the tide come in. Bude, too, is a favourite haunt with memories of family holidays. It was there that my grandmother gave me my first swimming lessons; she tied a rope around my waist and walked back and forth along the sea pool wall as I dog-paddled -- my frantic splashing the only way to keep from freezing in the frigid waters of the Atlantic Ocean.

I had never before walked on the site of Tintagel Castle, so before heading home I decided to pay the fee to roam around the ruins. In fact, I purchased an English Heritage membership. And even though the time frame of the crumbling edifice doesn't fit with the legend of King Arthur, I allowed my imagination to run riot. The scenery, as was the weather, was spectacular, and I came upon a butterfly (or maybe a moth) desperately trying to disentangle its legs from a spider's web beneath an overhanging rock. I helped secure the creature's freedom and managed to catch a shot as it rested a while before wafting off on the warm breeze -- perhaps his way of thanking me?

This shot, taken through one of the remaining archways, attests to the wonderful weather.

Gadding about pics

 A beautiful garden in Polperro

 Some shots from Looe

Gadding about England

To gad: (foll. by about, abroad, around) go about idly or in search of pleasure. That's it then. I've become a gadabout. Not that I haven't always enjoyed gadding about... it's just that whereas in the past my gadding was often in pursuit of another with whom I might partake of pleasurable pursuits, at my ripe old age my aim is to visit as many UK places of interest as time and energy allows.

Here in Weston-super-Mare we're lucky enough to have coach firm that offers day trips as well as short and long getaways. So when I picked up the fall brochure I was like a kid in a candy store and booked several outings. The first was a visit to the Tower of London and the commemorative poppy display and my next to the market at Aberganney in Wales. These local markets are real crowd pullers where one can take in local crafts and buy foods specific to the area. Welsh cakes are one yummy example, and the views along the Wye Valley are eye candy of the highest order!

Often I embark on my days out alone but invariably chat up the person sitting next to me, as was the case recently when I met Sandra while waiting for the bus to Wells' market. Having struck up a budding friendship, I invited her along to Abergavenny. The day was sunny and warm, and after cruising the market stands and making our purchases, we chatted over a long lunch before heading home.

The next week, alone this time, I boarded the coach for Looe and Polperro -- two qaint towns on the south Cornish coast. During our two-hour stop a Looe, I wandered along the east bank before taking a five-minute ferry ride to the west quay. (Luckily the tide was in.) On each side of the inlet the views of the sea were spectacular. The fishing fleet had returned to offload their catch, followed by large flocks of hungry, screeching seagulls.

Then it was on to Polperro a short ride west, there to explore yet another unspoiled coastal village, complete with narrow streets bordered by ancient whitewashed stone buildings, leading down to the sea and yet more breathtaking views of the Atlantic Ocean.

A week later St Fagan's was my next port of call, and although I've visited this Welsh National Museum twice before I never tire of wandering about the grounds and through so many structures that reflect Wales' unique heritage. The site is that of a stately home, called The Castle, and donated by the owners for all to enjoy free of charge. The entire village is made up of so many buildings and dwellings originally scattered across the country, taken apart stone-by-stone and reconstructed on site to emulate life in Wales throughout the ages.

Looking back now on the all-too-few years I spent in the company of my paternal grandmother before we emigrated, I see that I am following in her footsteps. She was a gadabout too; nothing made her happier than sitting in the back of my parents' car for a Sunday drive, on a coach or the top of a double-decker bus. As a youngster, I couldn't understand her penchant for getting about when all we saw was a British landscape and at our destination enjoying a cup of tea, fish and chips and maybe even an ice cream. It is only now that I've reached the age that she was then that I fully appreciate her love of England and... gadding about!

PS. For some reason I can't load the pictures for this blog. If anyone has any suggestions as to why, please let me know. Thanks.