Cornwall Indian Summer

Sunday, October 17, 2010

Today proved beyond all doubt that we’ll never set a land speed record.  We spent eight hours out today and drove fewer than ninety miles.  The Cornwall coast is dotted with towns, some small, some smaller, centered on their harbors.  We wandered around Charlestown, a point of embarkation for much emigration to the States, and a popular setting for TV and film.  The three large square-riggers moored there didn’t leave much room for any other craft in the small port. 

In Mevagissey, we drove through the winding narrow streets to park (precariously) on the harbor-side pier so we could spend some time walking around the port and on the cliff walk overlooking the town and the sea.  The cliff walk extends for hundreds of miles connecting the coastal towns of Cornwall and is part of the public pathway system that crisscrosses Britain.

We’d read about the beauty of the tiny town of Portloe, perched on hillsides around its small harbor, so we drove there on impossibly narrow roads (two-way roads, one lane wide with turn outs for passing. Lucky we have such a great driver-Tom) hemmed in by tall rock and hedge walls.  We were not disappointed, by the town or by the fact that we arrived there unscathed. 

At St. Mawes, we had today’s history lesson, in the form of a visit to Henry VIII’s castle there, which played a key role in England’s defense against the Spanish Armada.  It is in very good condition and occupies a key defensive position on Falmouth Bay.  It even saw service as a battery during World War II and now makes a lovely spot to spend a Sunday afternoon by the water.

We opted for the King Harry Ferry across the estuary south of Truro as the most interesting way to get from Point A to Point B.  Despite its royal designation, this is a small craft across a narrow stretch of water and, interesting to us, it is chain driven.  Not exactly the Staten Island Ferry, but a fine alternative to the encroaching hedgerows and oncoming cars any other route would have presented.

The purpose of our last stop of the afternoon was to provide a photo-op for Tom in front of the entry sign for the town of Roche.  To our surprise, it borders the town of Victoria, which was Tom’s mother’s name, so we were snapping pix at road signs right and left.  Talk about those strange Yanks! (Unfortunately, I will have to note that Roche is probably the ugliest town in Cornwall and possibly all we have seen of England-Tom)