Cornwall Without a Car--DONE!

Old Jul 17th, 2018, 01:47 PM
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AlessandraZoe, I think that perhaps the difference between Cornwall and Ireland is that you have to know where the music is in Cornwall; by the sound of it in Ireland it's more spontaneous. It's a shame though you weren't around about a month ago for the Harp and Gurdie festival in Falmouth which was organised by one of my friends - it was great. Thanks for sharing your musical history with us - I have always sung too so I know how you feel.

I tend to agree with you about the Maritime Museum and particularly Pendennis. The Captain Bligh exhibition which preceded the Titanic one was excellent but the permanent exhibitions are not that exciting, though as you say the outreach to kids is very good and I don't think that they exploit Pendennis as much as they could.

I hope you enjoyed the Thai Orchid - we go there a lot.
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Old Jul 19th, 2018, 01:00 PM
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Post Eleven: A Beach Too Far...Our Day at Trebah Garden, Helford Passage/Village, and the South West Coast Path

Somehow the previous night we had decided upon a plan. We would bus ourselves to Helford, Daphne Du Maurier country, might take in Trebah Garden, would ferry over to Helford Village, ferry back, and then walk the South West Coast Path to Swanpool Beach.

My main deciding vehicle was a little booklet picked up at the Maritime Museum that showed how to explore the area. We knew big ferries were out—my husband gets seasick. And I really wanted to check out the “feel” of the Helford area because Daphne du Maurier had spent a lot of time contrasting that locale with the bleakness of Bodmin Moor in “Jamaica Inn.” She also described the area in her book of essays, “Vanishing Cornwall”. I really did not need to see Frenchman’s Creek, though, so I wasn’t going for that.

To get there we took an early Bus 35 from The Moor after stopping at the nearby Tesco for a few snacks and a few bottles of water.

So it’s here that I shall have to admit to infirmities in better detail. Somehow in the last few years, I ended up with severe Achilles Tendonitis. I’ve had Graston therapy, Laser IV therapy, regular PT, you name it. Most things ended up creating more problems. What seems to keep me in motion are Achilles Compression Sleeves (hotter than hell) with Smartwool Socks underneath with soft heeled shoes. I actually have a quite narrow heel, and somehow, this combo keeps anything from rubbing on the back. The downside is that my go-to shoes are not meant for hiking. Nope. Nope. Nope. And if one is constantly hiking on a path where one’s feet are laterally slanting forever, it’s a disaster in the making.

But that disaster is ahead. For the time being, it was a delightful morning, the waiting for the bus resulted in chit-chat (again we heard, “I’ve never seen Americans riding local buses”), and an amazing bus ride. The driver negotiated lanes I would never have tried with my mini-van—he had to scrape branches on BOTH sides. He and garbage trucks had on-road duels (who was supposed to back up first). Road construction created another nightmare for him, but at least those people were more than willing to be creative to give him his way.

Let’s just say that when we got off, we said, “We ARE IN AWE. You are a masterful driver.”

The getting off point for the passage is still not that quite clear no matter what informational site one uses. There is in fact one more stop than Trebah Gardens for Helford. But it really did not matter that much, as we found out later. Our mistake was not staying on the bus a bit more to the next stop; it was walking down the Trebah Gardens themselves. Don’t get me wrong. We liked Trebah, but we really did not need to see it. I am a guide for the local Audubon Society’s 50-acre nature conservatory, I’m a bird watcher, and we are donors for the local city conservatory/botanical gardens. I apologize, but this probably was a “been there, done that.” The people who man the place are lovely, and again, we always like to watch school groups, and at our outing, the kids were simply darling, supervised by WONDERFUL people. But navigating the property wore my limited ankle strength out early.

At least I did not have to use the handicapped motor vehicles. OMG, what a disaster. None of the paths were really that great for such activity, and most of the people using them were scared out of their minds (I can relate—my mother was always terrified). The beach entry point was a set of stone steps, single file, with little handhold. It was mano-a-mano, with super elderly people trying to make it down the steps and rather unwilling to wait for anyone else to ascend. They were on a mission.

My advice if hiking the Helford Passage to/from Falmouth part of the South West Coast Path—skip the stop at the Gardens. If you want to see the gardens on the spur of the moment you decide to climb to see them, then do be honest—climb to the top entry point and pay.

The day was hot, hot, hot and would continue that way for the rest of our stay. Once we escaped the gardens entry facility at the top, we were able to walk along a shaded path, broach a road and then walk down and down and down a shaded road to the Helford Passage. We came out onto a small beach, with the Ferryboat Inn on our right, and the passage in front of us. We saw a small kiosk on the beach, and we asked the guy manning it if we were to purchase tickets with him. He told us a) we purchased those on the boat, b) there was no rush—the boat would be running all day and c) YES, we would have time for a beer in the inn.

Post Eleven will be continued later. Here are some good links for those wanting to do anything above:

Bus 35: The Moor to Trebah Garden (Helford Passage)
Trebah Garden
Helford Ferry
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Old Jul 19th, 2018, 01:02 PM
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Post Interruption: Doing this stuff on an iPad is driving me nuts. Sometimes the tools for the thread show; sometimes they don’t. Sometimes I can correct in GO ADVANCED; sometimes the post jumps away if I try to alter even one character. GRRRR
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Old Jul 19th, 2018, 01:36 PM
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If I'm traveling and composing on my iPad I always write in Notes and then transfer.
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Old Jul 20th, 2018, 01:55 AM
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I tried that (I do that on my PC at home) and something went astray, thursdaysd, even with that method. I’m going to have to give myself a “C” grade in iPad, a “D” for getting around this Fintie keyboard, and an “F” in attitude when the post tweaks bars (B, I, U etc) just don’t show up or the Preview Post method won’t allow me to make corrections in the corrections space without jumping all of the place.

But I’m going to start in again. I’ll just make each day’s entry into several little posts to make the process less unwieldy.
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Old Jul 20th, 2018, 02:29 AM
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Post Eleven Cont’d—Still a Path Too Far

After a refreshing Kerov at the Ferry Boat Inn, we waited on the little dock for the “ferry”, which is just a motorboat. We shared our ride with two cyclists and their cycles, a golden retriever and his owners, and some local. The operator charges you once he pulls from the dock (no escapees that way, I guess), and we bought a return. The cyclists would be getting off at some other point.

We scrambled out at the other side of the passage to a landing ramp that leads up to Helford Village. Just saying, folks, that there’s not much to the village! We tramped around the pretty, pretty area for a bit, intending on stopping at the Shipwright’s Arms before we crossed again. The place just seemed, just seemed...off. I read some reviews on TripAdvisor later that revealed some people got that same vibe. Luckily, we didn’t order anything.

For our return launch, we shared the boat with a couple who lived in Heston Village and their dog. They were Londoners who had retired to the area. I just could not help but ask, “But what do you do all day?” They smiled, and the husband said, “We sail.” End of story.

My husband said afterward, “I’d like to respond to that same question with a simple, ‘I golf.’

The boat operator left us ashore as he went onward to pick up some passengers moored in the passage. The Ferry Boat Inn beckoned. We had a nice salad and a Thai sqash soup that was out of this world. This was just SUCH an inviting place, and I felt renewed to take on the South West Coast Path.

I had read some blog and a few tidbits the day before, but here’s a good link that I SHOULD have read ahead:

https://www.southwestcoastpath.org.uk/walksdb/164/

We picked up the path to the left of the Inn. For awhile, it was easy going. Then all of a sudden, the path would just disappear. And then what had seemed to be a small problem—that my husband often went off in wrong directions when he was cycling, convinced it “felt right”—became my personal nightmare.

So when we cycle on trips, I don’t cycle with my husband. I am confident in riding alone, as badly as I do it. I read directions really well, I’m willing to walk my bike up a steep incline if need be, and I stop to look at birds and flowers. He just zooms. Before this walk, somehow I had totally forgotten that he usually cycles with my youngest daughter, and that by the time we all would meet for lunch or a break or dinner, she often would not be speaking to him. Oh no.

So forgetting this, and since he was ahead on the path, I allowed him to lead a mile out of our way.

Post Eleven: To be continued
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Old Jul 20th, 2018, 02:57 AM
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Post Eleven Cont’d: A Path Too Far

When I last left off, my husband was confidently striding into the horizon—only it was the wrong horizon. I had been concentrating on keeping my footing, as my ankles were telling me, “You’re an idiot” and therefore had not been looking up. Uh-oh.

I pulled out my phone. For those of you who don’t know, if you download Google Maps for areas, your GPS on your phone will operate without a phone or WiFi signal. You can’t get directions, but you can get the drift of where you are at any time. I called to my husband, who really did not want to slow his pace, but when it was obvious I was NOT going to move anytime soon, he came back. I showed him where we were, and I showed him the faint line of the path. And then I pointed to the direction we must go.

He actually argued with me! Nicely, but all the same...

I won this round. The process would be painfully, painfully repeated over and over again. As soon as the path would become faint (and often times, there was some detour due to a rock slide, etc) my husband would rely on “gut feel”, which was invariably wrong. I began holding my phone in my hand, ready to correct. This was not a nice husband/wife outing.

Somewhere in the process, I decided to stop arguing. It was hot out, but it was breezy. And the coastal views were stunning. I would enjoy this day no matter what. Let HIM get lost. He was happy zooming in whatever direction he wanted; I’d take my time and soak up this gorgeous, gorgeous area and experience.

Eventually we—yes, we—made it to Maenporth Beach, and the Maenporth Beach Cafe had lots of water. There were rest rooms. Yay! After a nice sit down, we started out again. I noticed my husband up ahead had started pulling out his phone, and I smiled. I felt I could put MINE back in my pocket now. And again, the view, the view, the view.

Exhausted, we finally made it to Swanpool Beach and managed to wrangle a taxi back to Falmouth. It was not quite dinner time yet, but we were hungry and we just did not feel like going back to the room, cleaning up, and going out again. We asked the driver to get us to someplace where we could just “park” until they started serving dinner. He said, “I know what will work” and drove us to The Harbour View, which is rather self descriptive.

Once we got there, we just started ordering beer after beer with directions to the wait staff to drop by with a menu when din-din would be served. They giggled and did so.

My tub at the Oceanic beckoned. And even my screaming Achilles tendons could not keep me from sleep THAT night.

Next:
Post Twelve: Marazion, The Mount, and Mousehole
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Old Jul 20th, 2018, 06:33 AM
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Post Twelve: Marazion, The Mount, and Mousehole

It was transfer day. We packed up our belongings early and descended into the rail station. We were bound for Penzance.

My husband, trying to make up for the day before, had paid attention to routing, and he told me what bus we’d take to our Marazion hotel from the station. I smiled and held up my hand: “Taxi!”

Before I had gone to sleep, I had written my youngest a long thank you. I told her that I had been totally oblivious to her suffering as my husband’s “guide dog” on past cycling trips. The two of them are so very close, and they share so many interests, that I never knew just how bad their on-the-road directional conflicts could have been. She wrote back, “Well, I finally learned to handle it with amusement. We’d get to a crossroads and I’d say, ‘Father, what is your great sense of direction telling you?’ And as soon as he told me, I’d point to the opposite direction and say, ‘Well, we’re going this way.’ “

One of the things that guaranteed their safety was that BOTH of them were physically capable of a few extra miles—heck 10 miles—in any direction and on any incline. But still, now that I know...

Wow. She is a great kid.

So we made it to our hotel, The Mount Haven, without a worry or an ache. And to our surprise, our room was ready.

So how to describe this place. First of all, I did not know at the time of reservation that the hotel was owned by the same family who owned “THE MOUNT.” The Aubyn family is quite enterprising as evidenced by their Aubyns webpage. Not every room has the view we had—chose the best view on the hotel website and that was ours—but it also gets full sun for most of the day and there is no AC.

The sliding door that is your view is your only means of ventilation. The room was quite small, and I’d describe it as more clean and utiltitarian than comfy. Plus as we would later find out, our bed slanted downhill towards me.

BUT THE VIEW!!!!

We left right away to get a bus down to the Mount entry point. Uh, either the bus did not come OR like stupid Americans, we were reading the schedule on the wrong side of the road. It’s a toss-up.
We said, “Heck, we can walk downhill.” And we did.

The tide was perfect and our access was rather easy until we hit some of the cobblestones. Oh, those poor people with strollers. It was tough going. I don’t know how many readers have done those horrible cobblestones at Versailles in France, but I can still feel those. These were the same.

Once we got there, we had fun. But the thing we enjoyed most was not the view from the top, or the tour, etc. It was reading at the very bottom about the people who lived in Mount St Michael, family and staff. When we read about the caretaker with his two children, my husband and I started laughing. We had the same identical thought: The Aubyns may feel they own and live on the Mount; the “true owners” are the little kids there who know by now every hidey hole, etc.

I hope you grasp what I mean. I grew up on a one-acre lot surrounded by farm land. Those farmers owned the properties; my sister and I “ruled” the properties. We knew every water spring, we knew every raspberry thicket, we knew when the plums were ripening, and we played in every single barn. No tree was safe from our scrambling to the top. It’s a good thing we were pretty nice kids (even if we had zero sense of boundaries) and we had tolerant neighbors.

So you can imagine how I envisioned life was for those little kids on The Mount when the tide rushed in, and the place was THEIRS for the time being. What fun.

Post Twelve to be Cont’d
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Old Jul 20th, 2018, 08:39 AM
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<< Once we escaped the gardens entry facility at the top, we were able to walk along a shaded path, broach a road and then walk down and down and down a shaded road to the Helford Passage. We came out onto a small beach, with the Ferryboat Inn on our right, and the passage in front of us. We saw a small kiosk on the beach, and we asked the guy manning it if we were to purchase tickets with him. He told us a) we purchased those on the boat, b) there was no rush—the boat would be running all day and c) YES, we would have time for a beer in the inn.>>

For the benefit of those reading this who might come after you, AZ, and who are hopefully not suffering from your awful foot problems, IMO the best access to the coastal path on the Helford is by parking or getting off the bus at Glendurgan Garden [the one before Trebah] and walking down through the garden to the little village of Durgan which gives access onto the public beach, rather than the private one at Trebah, which so far as I know does not have access onto the path. Turn right onto the path, and follow the footpath along the side of the water. it's about 2 miles but has the best views and the reward is a drink and lunch at the Ferryboat [which is also accessible by car], which has recently changed hands [well, within the last 2 years or so] and in its present incarnation is rather better than it was before.

https://ferryboatcornwall.co.uk/about/

When you've got your energy back, either get the ferry across to Helford Village on the other side or walk back the way you came - the same path of course but different views so you get two for the price of one.

anyway despite your foot problems and your directionally challenged spouse I am enjoying your take on my "hood" very much and can't wait to read more.
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Old Jul 20th, 2018, 02:40 PM
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Post Twelve Cont’d: Marazion, The Mount, and Mousehole

We exited Mount St. Michael via the causeway and realized we were hungry. We liked the looks of a little hole-in-the-wall, but they were fully booked for lunch. I mean there were empty seats all over the place, and the hostess said, “These are all reserved.” Later I would realize why...the place was Ben’s Cornish Kitchen.

Around the corner was The Cutty Sark, the dining area of the Marazion Hotel, and while not spectacular, it did us fine. We had dinner reservations at our hotel that night, and we did not need to eat much or eat well. As always, the Korev made everything taste good—and me feel just fine, thank you.

So what to do? Hmm. We hopped on a bus down to Penzance just to look around. As those who live in Penzance know, the rail station and bus station are certainly not how one would want a visitor to judge the city. I saw a bus pull into the front spot and said, “We’re taking this one.” It was the M6 to Mousehole.

And off we went. We left the crud of the station area behind, passed impressive shipping areas, and traveled along the vast promenade towards Newlyn, where all of a sudden, the harbor was filled with bona fide fishing boats. And soon, some of the people getting on and off the bus were people who manned them. We loved eavesdropping on the conversations.

A cute little kid got on with his mother, wearing a Stegosaurus backpack—bony triangular plates and all—and a matching hat and sunglasses. They were heading for Mousehole beach, which was sort of tiny and actually rather green with algae when we were there, but as every parent knows, kids only care about playing in water.

We got off at Mousehole to explore. We had a great time going up and down and up and down, thinking we’d hit a dead end only to find winding footpaths that would open out onto amazing views.

After about an hour of exploring, we returned whence we came, this time gathering little kids and a few parents direct from school. The kids were so funny—and really naughty—so we kept giving the parent chaperone of the day our sympathy while enjoying every little bad thing they did. We caught another bus back to the Mount Haven Hotel.

Our room was baking. Again, we got the full force of the sun, there was no AC, and they were not giving out fans. I wonder if they do later in the season. All I know is that Pencubbitt House and the Oceanic Aparthotel had them at the ready, so it’s a mystery to me why Mount Haven did not. And another reviewer pointed out that if they just roofed over the balconies, the temperature would drop 10 degrees. I wonder why they have not?

The restaurant was supposed to be good, if not great. We were not fans, and I can’t tell you why. Yes, there is always that maxim: High Expectation leads to Low Satisfaction. But still, it felt like “a miss”.

By the time dinner was over, though, the room had cooled, and the view, the view, the view. One wanted to eat it. We had very considerate neighbors—one HAS to have the sliding door open to breath—and so we could fall asleep to it. Then I kept waking up all night. The moon was like a spotlight, beautifully reflected in the water with the Mount in silhouette to the right. And as the night progressed the moon slowly moved to shine directly over the Mount. Wow.

Next:
Post Twelve: St Ives, Here We Come
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Old Jul 21st, 2018, 05:28 AM
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Post Thirteen: St. Ives Here We Come

I had always figured that we’d use our rail pass to do the Penzance to St Erth to St Ives run. But over our hotel breakfast (again, just not that well prepared—everything looks “classy” but the food just isn’t), our Google Maps said that the A2 Bus would be running practically at the front door, and would get us into St Ives in well under an hour.

We debated leaving the sliding door open for air, closing the drapes to block the sun to keep the room cool while we were gone. Why not? It wasn’t going to get any hotter that way. And no intruder could break through to our balcony.

Off we went, riding the open top of the bus to view the countryside. This route is not along the coast; instead, it cuts across hill and dale northward to St Erth and St Ives. It was a pretty day, and this pleasant outdoor ride was a way to enjoy it.

Soon we were in St Ives, and we wandered around until we got our first cappuccino. Then we headed for the tourist information office. One of the ladies there asked if we were interested in art. Yes indeed, we are always interested in art. She sold us on the idea of the Art Pass:

Art Pass

Enjoy seven days unlimited access to Tate St Ives, the Barbara Hepworth Museum, the Leach Pottery, Penlee House Gallery and Museum, Newlyn Art Gallery and The Exchange.

£15/£10 concessions, available from all participating venues.

​​​​​​
Sounded good to us. Soon we were off to the Barbara Hepworth Museum. In what was Barbara’s private residence and studio, this museum showcases her work both inside and out of the house. My husband did not really enjoy her work; it grew on me. I was so happy that we had already seen so many of the stone formations and ancient stone circles that had inspired her work.

We moved onto the Tate St. Ives. This museum my husband enjoyed as much as I, and we spent considerable time here. We particularly enjoyed the exhibit devoted to local art, and it was so much fun for us to learn about the contribution this tip of England has made to modern art.

Where to next? We were not up for The Leach Pottery, but we were enjoying dashing in and out of local studios. Finally we decided to find the The St. Ives Museum. After a few wrong turns, we found it.

How to describe? Hmm. Well the day before, we had stumbled onto The Marazion Museum, which was a little hole in the wall of a mish-mash of collected items, most of which were placed without much rhyme or reason. The St. Ives Museum was the same, only on a much larger scale. I’ll compare both of these to that little Liskeard Museum we liked: the Liskeard Museum volunteers understood the concept of dedicated space, and they also understood that “less is more.”

Nonetheless, we enjoyed it until the stifling air in the building got to us.

Time for a beer—and it wasn’t even before noon, this time. We sauntered down the Wharf Rd, stopped in a bar or two to check out the action, and generally moved toward the St. Ives Rail Station. We enjoyed the AC of the trains (we had to change in St Erth), and caught a bus almost immediately back to the hotel.

Time to do laundry.

Post Fourteen: Laundry and World Cup
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Old Jul 21st, 2018, 06:59 AM
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great write up

AC, was so seldom needed before climate change accelerated and of course AC stimulates climate change... so generally we still try to avoid rather than see it as a solution to a little warmth.
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Old Jul 21st, 2018, 01:58 PM
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I am still loving your trip report. I have not been to this part of England but have always been intrigued.
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Old Jul 22nd, 2018, 12:14 AM
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Fourteen: Laundry and World Cup

We returned to a broiling room at the Mount Haven. Our “keep curtains closed/ door open” method had not helped. Oh well. We gathered up our dirty clothes and headed back down to the bus station area to visit a nearby laundromat, The Suds and Surf.

Inside, as we started sorting, I noticed that the machines already included detergent. Wow, that made it easy. Then while we were there, a gentlemen came in to drop off his laundry. The attendant (owner?) came out, took it, and said, “Done around 6 pm.” My husband and I looked at easy other and said, “Can we give you ours?” Yes, we could.

We went to the bar across the street to watch a lot of the Senegal vs Columbia match. We were almost afraid to sit down—all the bar tables had BIG reserved signs on them, but the bartender said those were for the second game, England vs Belgium. Our youngest daughter’s boyfriend’s family came from Columbia, so we had fun emailing him back and forth throughout the game.

With time left on our laundry, we headed for a quick bite to Mermaid Alley for what was certainly, despite quite good reviews, a forgetable meal. Time to pick up laundry.

We returned to a slightly cooler room, and got to see the end of the England vs Belgian match.

Our neighbors at the hotel this time were not as considerate as those from the night before. The ones on one side, in fact, felt that their “pronouncements” should be shared with the entire complex in quite loud, clipped tones. What was worse was the heat—there was no way we could close the only ventilation, the sliding glass door. As my husband and I tried to drift off to sleep (I at least had ear plugs) the downward slope of our small bed towards my side became evident. My husband snores as it is, and now he was snoring in my ear on a hot, clammy night. I’d give him a little rib punch, and he’d turn “upstream” for a bit, but soon, he drift down to my side again.

Post Fifteen: More Art and More Bus
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Old Jul 22nd, 2018, 12:33 AM
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5alive—I so understand about being intrigued. My husband and I are visiting DC as I write, and we watched two episodes of “Doc Martin” tonight on WETA. My husband had never seen the show. He kept saying, “I can’t believe we were there—and that it IS that beautiful.”

Bilboburgler—Neither my husband nor I grew up with air conditioning, even when 90 degree F days were not uncommon during July and August. No car had AC. We used to drive from the North to Florida mid-summer at night with all windows open, looking like wind-blown zombies by the time of arrival.

But our households certainly had fans. One bitty little fan at Mount Haven could have been used to exhaust the hot air and then turned around for cool air intake. What a world of difference that would have made.

One other issue at Mount Haven was that their fire doors for hallways were always closed, not open during the day or rigged to a smoke alarm, so no breeze was ever drifting through the building in any way. We’d note in our later stays how just having a little air movement in the hallways impacted room temperature. Heck, those closed fire doors also made getting luggage in and out of the place a trial for all.

As you can tell, we truly appreciated the view at the Mount Haven, and I never tired of it. But the place COULD have been so good if just a few things had been tweaked. Heck, I’ll mention a few more in the next post.
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Old Jul 22nd, 2018, 02:33 AM
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Post Fifteen: More Art and More Bus

It had been a long, sweaty, noisy night for me, and I awakened to “the pronouncements” of the neighbors as they moved the balcony furniture around at 6 a.m.

“No, darling, I think that chair will block your picture.”
“I have the camera in hand, and I know how I’m framing it.”
”Well, darling, I totally believe that angle isn’t the best.” [it certainly wasn’t—our balcony’s angle was the best and thank goodness they couldn’t access it]
“Here, come look at this shot.”
”Hmm. I think it could be better, dear.”

Laughing at the absurdity of it all, we got up and had our mediocre hotel breakfast. Our server, an older woman, was as sweet and as efficient as ever, but she could not make up for the low quality of the coffee in our French press. My poached egg on smashed avocado toast was simply soaked with the poaching water vinegar. It was inedible. I made do with the continental breakfast items.

I promised myself I’d treat myself later.

We bused down again to Penzance, only this time, unexpectedly, we got picked up by the senior citizen bus. We looked at the bus driver and said, “Are you sure this is OK?” He said, “Are you seniors?” Yes, I guess we were. “Then get on board and join us.” We did, and we all had a nice chat on the way down to Penzance.

Our goal that day was to use our Art Pass to see the Penlee and Newlyn museums. Then’d we’d see where the day would take us. It was a fine morning, perfect for a nice walk, and we strolled as much as we could along the Penzance waterline to The Penlee House Gallery and Museum.

The entry to the place is through a garden with a nice trickling fountain. We passed an older woman doing tai chi alongside it, and we entered the museum’s nice little cafe for a cappuccino plus a bottle of water each.

We LOVED this museum. Its small collection of Newlyn School works was so good, and a special exhibit of the work of SJ Lamorna Birch had just started. I fell in love with George Sherwood Hunter in Truro (“Jubilee Procession in a Cornish Village”) and was quite happy to find him represented here. But there is so much more to the museum, small as it is. From social history (a Cornish range) to natural history (stuffed birds) to photographs and minerals, all were carefully displayed.

After a rest room stop, we excited through the cafe to the garden, where I began to change shoes again. The woman performing Tai Chi was still there, but now she was using a fan, snapping it to punctuate her movements. It was quite odd. Imagine graceful movements, beautiful flowers, tinkling water and...BRRRPPPPP. I nearly dropped my shoe. BRRRRPPP! I tried to keep from laughing out loud. BRRRRPPPPP! OMG, I could barely tie my shoes.

Finally I met up with my husband, who was hiding around a corner laughing. We wonder if this woman shows up every day.

Our walk to Newlyn meant descending down towards the waterfront, and we did so through a zigzag of delightfully shaded alley ways and paths. After a mile, we entered The Newlyn Art Gallery, a contemporary museum. The featured artist at the time of our visit was Rose Wylie. I would not say she is my cup of tea, but some of her displayed work WAS quite humorous. My husband worked at trying to like her, even watching the film that showed her work process twice. Rose and he will not be pals anytime soon.

It was time for a beer, and while we had one at a local pub, we planned our next move. By this time, we had started carrying bus and rail timetables with us at all times. We decided we’d take the next A3 Coaster to Land’s End, just to see what was out there.

Post Fifteen to be cont’d
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Old Jul 22nd, 2018, 03:09 AM
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you idea about fire doors held back until a fire is a great one but not sure if legal in the UK, and yes it it,
BS5839-3
is the specifiction,so all we need is a hotel that can make coffee and hit that standard.

Heat wave still continues, my sister, just up the road from where you are staying has still had no rain after 6 weeks, very unusual
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Old Jul 22nd, 2018, 03:14 AM
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Post Fifteen Cont’d

The A3 came three minutes after we had downed our last drop. We clambered up to the top and settled in.

The day may have been hot and sunny, but it was also breezy, and our bus ride was delightful. Our riding companions, a mix of tourists and locals, bonded when several of us were “attacked” by tree branches. Soon shouts of “incoming” were keeping the atmosphere lively.

I welcomed the opportunity to see Sennon Cove, a surfing beach. It was so beautiful, and the water was azure.

We did NOT get off at Land’s End. Instead, once we found out that this bus would continue to St. Ives, we were committed to staying on it. The locals started acting as tour guides, pointing out this and that. We asked again if they ever saw cyclists, because again, these were the roads we would love to have been doing on our average cycling trip. They said they saw them often out this way—there were smaller roads than the bus route that they often accessed so they tended to get off the route often. Still, the bus had to pull into ditches etc to allow for cars to pass, and we just could not imagine being a cyclist caught between a bus and a car in any place.

I had planned on touring a mine during our trip—after all, I always tour mines!—but we really did run out of time. We were happy, though, to see the setting of the Geevor mine, which we passed on the route. Since I had been immersed in the Poldark book series by now, it was fortunate that I could see the Nampara type of coastal mine instead of the ones I viewed on Bodmin Moor. One woman told me she had grown up in the area, and that she finds it hard to believe the mine isn’t operating anymore.

We finally started the descent into the St. Ives area. We were so happy we had gotten to view the very scenery that had inspired all the art we had seen on the trip.

As soon as we got off the bus, we found a nice pub inside The Western Hotel and decided to chill for a bit. They had our “trip beer”, Kerov, and they had a simply fantastic playlist going. The bartender had an interesting background, so we chatted with him until his shift ended. Time to be going home for us, too.

On our way down Wharf Rd to the rail station, we spotted Talay Thai. Sounded good to us. We popped in and were instantly seated. Everything tasted fresh and great, and we noticed that there seemed to be more locals than tourists in it at this hour. One of the servers heard our comment and said, “We’ve just opened, and the people who live here are the ones trying to get in.” We certainly were happy.

Our rail trip back to Penzance was uneventful except that the next bus from the rail station was way too late for us. We took a taxi up to Marazion and Mount Haven.

Yes, the room was broiling again. But the Mount shimmered in the distance, our noisy neighbors had departed, and all was right with the world.

Next...
Post Sixteen: Back to Plymouth
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Old Jul 22nd, 2018, 03:32 AM
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Biloburgler—Our hotel in London, the Indigo Paddington, had long hallways with fire doors, and they were always open during the day and always closed at night. Therefore, I’m sure there is some regulation that allows those doors to be open according to time of day if they automatically close with smoke or heat.

Our apartment building in the US has a similar system.

I hope you understand that I do not feel as though I “suffered” or was mistreated at the hands of the Mount Haven Hotel, but for anyone else who is considering staying there, I feel I have to say, “Hey, the place looks good; yep, the view cannot be bought; but there are quite a few things wrong!” There were more things off. Little things. For example, finding a place to plug in electronics in the room was much harder than it should have been for a place that was not built in 1850. The place is not that old; the architect and owners simply made a lot of quite irritating design decisions.

I’m so sorry for all in the locale that it has not rained. High temperatures are one thing; a “burnt-out” look before August can be depressing. It was SO beautiful when we were there. Just writing about the trip makes me miss it.
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Old Jul 22nd, 2018, 04:15 AM
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Oops—we did not go straight back to Plymouth. I have been writing in the early hours here, and it’s caught up to me. So this entry is...

Post Sixteen: North Cornwall with James—Poldark Country, Port Isaac and Tintagel

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In my pre-trip research as to the viability of our train, bus, taxi routing, I realized that the North Coast was doable by such methods, but not easily done. James Coulter had had one free day left during our stay, and I had reserved it when we reserved our first Altaranun outing.

It was money well spent.

We had reserved our seats at the station plus ordered a taxi the night before, so we early enough to get settled in on the train. We were heading back to Bodmin Parkway, where James would meet us,
take us around, and then deliver us to our next hotel in Plymouth.

At Bodmin Parkway, James was wearing shorts! I didn’t recognize him. He said he never wore them “on the job” but the heat had been unbearable, and his wife told him he had to wear lighter clothing.

I had been in touch with him prior to this second meet-up, and I had told him we had “done” Padstow, so he tailored our day accordingly.

We started with the Bedruthan Steps. Simply gorgeous. We ordered a cappuccino in the cafe, where we got to talk about the success of the National Trust in keeping wild areas wild. As I write, I’m reminding myself that I plan to donate. I would like my new granddaughter to see the same place someday.

James then took us to scenic spot after scenic spot after scenic spot, and it was like having a feast of scenery. We watched the surfers try to find a wave (pretty calm that day) on Polzeath Beach. Finally we made our way to Port Isaac, home to “Doc Martin.”

As I’ve said, my husband had never seen an episode, but I would often watch this show with my mother, who adored it. I was so sad she was not alive for me to call her and say, “I’m here! It’s so pretty!”. James is a big fan of the local group gone famous, The Fisherman’s Friends, a sea shanty group, and he is excited about the documentary about them that will come out in 2019. He told us they just performed the night before, unannounced, as they often do here, and that they are still integrated into the village.

The sad part of the fame “Doc Martin” has brought is the real estate pricing. Locals are being shut out by entrepreneurs, etc.

I am so happy James wore his shorts because he took us all the way, zigging and zagging, to the water and back, telling us stories right and left.

Our lunch was at The St Kew Inn, and it was quite good. Onwards...

Post Sixteen to be Cont’d
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