The first train journey started a second theme
– it was late. The adjusted departure
was initially unknown, but I think we departed within an hour. The Great Western Railway train was again
delayed en route! There were not many
passengers. The driver and the hostess,
who made announcements, were apologetic and pass-the-buck-ish. “The delays have been caused by a freight
train.” They let passengers know that
the crew would be changing, and might we kindly excuse sluggish service while this
happens? I found this a little off-key. On the other hand, the driver also informed
us that we could apply for partial or total refunds, depending on how late we
actually got to our destination. I took
a picture of the clock as we arrived in Penzance, and then decided to drop it.
Somewhere along the route, some noisy, odd
characters got on. The first seemed a
reprobate, a hard man, perhaps drunk.
The second turned out to have a disability that made his speech
difficult and loud. The first, hard man made
way for the guy in the wheelchair, moving to a different seat and quieting
down. Perhaps not so hard and brutish
after all.
(Later in the trip, a taxi driver lamented how
expensive everything had become, and how much the UK government took from
everyone in taxes. “And what do they do
for us?” Well, this train and indeed all
the transport around the island, is certainly one thing that the government
does for them. The transportation
system, though all too frequently delayed, is nevertheless phenomenal.)
I was meant to ride this train up to Plymouth,
where I’d have to change to another train to Penzance. The driver announced over the PA that anyone
who had been planning to change at Plymouth was welcome to stay on until a
later stop because the next Great Western train was hot on this one’s
heals. I changed at Par. Waiting on the platform, the English
mid-summer weather was windy, cold and rainy.
I was frustrated with the SIM card I’d bought
just the previous day at Gatwick Airport.
It was likely my own fault. Having
done my homework in Taiwan, I grabbed the product I wanted, never stopping to
ask questions. Within just 24 hours, I
was no longer connected to 4G. I was
livid. However, I didn’t care to go
through the small print. On the walk
from the station to my Airbnb, I simply stopped to get a new SIM. This time, I asked for advice, and this data
lasted right to the end of my trip.
I checked in to the accommodation, which was a spacious room in the attic of a Victorian house occupied by a family. Richard met me and led me upstairs. I met his wife Charlotte the next day. I didn’t ever see their two sons. Richard also found the number of a taxi service in Redruth.
I was leaving shortly by train, back in the direction I’d just come, for my first exciting dining experience. Getting to Redruth a little early, a taxi driver called the restaurant for me to see if I could arrive before 6pm. They said no. I took a short walk through the downtown area. This town offered nothing to see. (Back in Taiwan, I’d stumbled upon a YouTube channel called Turdtowns. One episode focused on small towns in Cornwall. It was funny and quite irreverent. Redruth was listed as a town not worth seeing. Never mind, I was only here to get to an eatery.)
When I could take it no more, I returned to the station with its waiting taxis. Richard’s helpful number remained unused. The same Pakistani who’d called the restaurant drove me out of the village, passed some peripheral houses on quiet lanes, then up a hill on a very bouncy road. Tall grass and low bushes on both sides of the track scratched at the paint on the van’s doors. Before the restaurant came into view he stopped, saying this is as far as he’d go because the road got worse from here. I was to walk the last 100 metres, and I’d see the restaurant just around yonder boulder. He agreed to come pick me up afterwards and I took his number.
Carn Brea Castle Restaurant was one of the places I’d stumbled
upon on Google Maps. The minutest little
castle, partially built precariously upon surrounding boulders, on a hill in
the Cornish countryside was attractive enough.
When I then discovered that it housed a restaurant serving Jordanian
food, I knew this could not be missed.
My palate is particularly fond of Arabic flavours, and I’d already
visited and loved Jordan. It was this
discovery that demanded the first rescheduling of Hampton Court Palace.
Arriving at the entrance after rounding yonder
boulder, two others waited just outside the locked door. We chatted for a bit in the blustering wind. It felt like the start of a horror movie,
as the mist rolled in, awaiting shadows to actualise before our very
eyes. After a little while, it seemed
impossible that no one could let us in, so the woman pressed the bell
again. When she’d first pressed, she
admitted, there’d been no audible ring.
This time, we heard it clearly; the door opened, granting us refuge from
the icy apparitions. It was locked behind
us on account of the fine weather. Ah,
the British summer!
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| (Carn Brea Restaurant - OUTDOORS) |
Beyond the door was a sparsely furnished
reception area with a single heavy wooden chair at the foot of a narrow
stairway. Up the first set of stone
steps were the toilets to the right and a small dining area with three tables
to the left. No one was seated here during
my visit. Up another set of steps was a
bigger dining area, and here most of the tables were occupied. This is where I was shown my seat. From this level, the stairs now consisted of
a very narrow metal frame and wooden steps.
Up the first set of these was a room that seemed only for display, and
up the second was a door to the rooftop, where one could look out over the
surrounding countryside.
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| (Carn Brea Restaurant - INDOORS) |
I ordered a glass of lager. Then I started with baba ghanoush, hot pita and olives. It would have been rude not to follow this with lamb chops. I asked for no rice (doctor’s orders) and got several roast potatoes instead. For dessert, there was never a doubt I would choose the knafeh, which has lately become my favorite dessert of all time. I thoroughly enjoyed every aspect of this experience.
It Couldn’t Please Me More
All too soon, it was time to call the Pakistani to pick me up. At the station, he conveniently dropped me on the side of the tracks I needed for my return to Penzance. One other man waited, and we got chatting. He was a Scot who had spent several decades living in the Philippines. We had an animated exchange about the East, the places we had visited, the English weather, and the things I should not miss in Cornwall. He told me of the hop-on-hop-off bus service, a dayrider ticket that carries visitors around all of Cornwall. Since my ferry tomorrow had been canceled, I decided I’d make use of this service and see some places near Penzance.
After a great sleep, for breakfast I ate the salad bought yesterday before leaving London. I hadn’t refrigerated it but, given the frigid temperatures and the absence of meat, I reckoned it would still be fine, and there were no rumblings in my guts, so I was right. Next, I headed to a Laundromat, stopping briefly at a gallery across from Lloyds Bank. I saw very quickly that I’d be returning to Taiwan with no art, given the prices here. My washing would be done by noon, so I decided to hang around in Penzance until then. I walked to Sainsbury’s to get supplies.
Returning, I stopped in at Cornish Oven. This was clearly a large-scale commercial bakery, though there was a counter at the window. I got myself the Cornish pasty I’d been dreaming of. It was good, but in truth, I prefer sausage rolls and traditional meat pies. This one was fine, only I found it somewhat bland. It did, however, satisfy my curiosity, being my first ever.
I made my way to tourist information, bought a
ticket for the COASTER bus and dropped off my clean clothes. Then I boarded a bus to St. Ives. The lanes were narrow and jammed, and it was
a slow ride, but very pretty. At times,
roadside bushes scratched at the paint on both sides of the bus. Behind me, a woman hacked and groaned, and I
wanted to turn and ask her to put on a mask.
Knowing how people in the West responded to this during the pandemic, I
knew it would not be wise. Fortunately,
I caught nothing from her or indeed throughout my stay.
St. Ives is really beautiful. It was as busy as a Taiwanese night
market! What a treat to walk around its
steep streets and peer into the various shops!
I’d soon find its quintessential offering: magnificent smelling
fudge. Oh, woe is me that I was not
permitted to eat any! As tempting as it
was, I pulled myself away without stepping inside. I hurried on.
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| (St Ives) |
When I was done, I asked to be directed to the bus stop. This service operates a clockwise and an anticlockwise route, up one end of Penwith Peninsula and down the other. I opted to continue anticlockwise and stop at Land’s End and the Minack Theatre before returning to Penzance. Well, the wait at the stop was an hour, and then we advanced very slowly indeed; there was a constant need to carefully avoid oncoming vehicles.
The vegetation reminded me of the Eastern Cape of South Africa. It was lush. Wild horses dotted the hills. The people on the bus sounded joyous, and two couples at the front of the top deck gave a running commentary of the traffic situation. Our progress began to feel excruciating. All I’d eaten today was the salad for breakfast and the Cornish pasty at 10:30. I did not get off at Land’s End and also stayed on as we passed the Minack Theatre. I just wanted to get back to the room. Tomorrow was also going to be full.
After another restful night, I brought my
suitcase down the treacherously narrow attic staircase, bid my hosts farewell
and made my way back to the train station. On the way, I pulled into a bakery to get
another treat – a sausage roll. From
Europcar, I picked up my first hired vehicle; this Volkswagen would bring me
back to London over the next three days.
It had a manual transmission. I
was a little nervous. I last drove stick
in 2015, and before that in the mid-90s.
Never mind.
A technicality made me nervous again. Although the car was physically present, it
had not yet been electronically recorded as returned, so would I kindly fill in
the forms by hand and also provide my credit card details in full on the
paperwork? “Fraud!” yelled the back of
my mind. I’d not installed this bank’s
app on my phone. I tried now, but after
two failed attempts, it was best to leave until after I’d returned to
Taiwan. “Fraud!” he chimed again. I shushed him, submitting the paperwork.
Now the controls had me flummoxed. I spent ages trying to adjust the lights,
wipers and air conditioning. I returned
to the attendant and he, too, was stumped.
He guided me nervously through the dashboard computer, and it was here
the a/c controls were located. The
lights and wipers would be controlled automatically by the car. It was modern, fancy and convenient, but only
if you knew how to operate it. The handbrake
was replaced by a button, equally frightening, but in the end, super easy to
use. As I got underway, I saw no road
signs indicating speed limits. Was I
driving too fast, too slowly? How could
traffic be controlled this way? I was eventually
astonished to find the speed limit on the dashboard, visible through the
steering wheel. What sophistication!
My first stop today would be at my first manor house. Planning several months ago, it became clear that to satisfy my lust, it would be economical to join the National Trust. This is a charity that preserves heritage in England, Wales and Northern Ireland. It was started in 1895, but its possessions really took off after World War II, when swathes of the aristocracy collapsed. The National Trust has bought or been gifted many properties that were formerly privately owned. Its collection, if one might call it that, includess more than 500 historic houses, castles, archaeological and industrial monuments, gardens, parks, and nature reserves. A year’s membership costs £84 and offers free access to and parking at all their locations. After visiting six, I’d made back the membership fee, and I visited two more. Score! On the other hand, some places that enticed me are not owned by National Trust. There, I had to cough up the entrance fee. Hampton Court Palace was one of these, and two more would freeze in my headlights later.
It wasn’t easy to choose from the multitude of
places I’d saved on Google Maps. All I
could do was point my finger and select randomly. I headed to Trerice. Although I had seen this yesterday and the
day before, I was now surprised by how choked the country lanes are. The vegetation on each side scratched at the
paint on the car’s doors. This in itself
is not terrible; what terrified me was that these were two-way lanes! They were snaky, too, so sometimes oncoming
vehicles were a total surprise. Clearly
the people who live around these parts have been doing this for a long time and
have avoidance down pat, but I was nervous.
At one point, having to suddenly reverse, I backed into a low stone
wall. Or so I thought. The car suddenly stopped and stalled. I turned it back on and continued the
reverse, allowing the oncoming vehicle to pass.
I continued towards my destination.
Arriving there, I inspected the back of the car. I was embarrassed, but not worried: I had
full cover with zero excess. To my
surprise, there was no sign of a crash.
It seems the car was smart enough to stop itself and stall when it
sensed a crash about to happen.
Trerice is an Elizabethan manor in the Cornish
countryside. There is the main house,
and behind it the barn which these days houses a cafeteria. Pretty gardens surround the buildings. You can read about the history here. It
was a little sparsely furnished and not really what I’d been expecting, but I
liked it anyhow.
 |
| (Trerice) |
While here, I received a message via Booking.com, asking for me to pay for tonight’s accommodation. I spent quite some time standing in the barn,......
......trying to get this sorted while continuously failing to connect to the
internet. I eventually asked the staff
at the cafeteria, and they said, yes, mobile signals were not strong here, and
wifi was unfortunately not available. I
was at least able during one moment of connectivity to reply to the
accommodation to let them know the trouble I was having.
Leaving Trerice, I was surprised to see a Taiwanese style scooter in the parking area.
As soon as I had a signal, I stopped on the side of the road and got the payment done.
It was now time to head to Lanhydrock. This
is a Jacobean house, restored in Victorian style after a fire. Parking was so far from the house that it
wasn’t clear I was in the right place.
It was also a little confusing finding the entrance to the parking. I found myself turning around on one of these
narrow lanes, and this time, reversing up an incline, I was certain that I’d
crashed the car. However, on inspection,
it had again saved my bacon. This was
fortunately the last “crash” although in one of the parking lots, an unknown someone
opened their door into mine, leaving a fresh dent. Thank goodness for comprehensive
insurance!
When the house did come into view, it was quite spectacular. You can read about the history here. This was one of my favorite visits. The house itself was plush and luxurious, while the kitchens were also open to get a taste of life downstairs. I was astounded to find the separation of food types. This room was for poultry, that for mammals, this one for pastries, that one for cheeses. The list went on. The gardens and fields surrounding it were vast! I didn’t visit any of the gardens because it was the architecture and art that caught my imagination, and because I wanted to get to as many houses as I could.
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| (Lanhydrock - UPSTAIRS) |
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| (Lanhydrock - DOWNSTAIRS) |
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| (Lanhydrock - OUTSIDE) |
This was all I’d get to today. I hadn’t anticipated the time it would take
to traverse the country lanes, and in the afternoon, I’d be meeting friends in
Plymouth. Jill and I had worked together
between 1996 and 1998 at the Wild Fig Restaurant in Mowbray, Cape Town. If you’ve read any of my blogs, then you may
have come across this name. Several
friendships I made in those two years have stood the test of time. Mike, her boyfriend at the time, didn’t work
with us but was also sometimes around at gatherings.
After I moved to London and took a job at
Rules Restaurant with Debbie and Tiziana (who’d also worked at the Wild Fig),
Jill and Mike rejoined our group when they, too, arrived and took jobs with
us. They returned briefly to South
Africa to get married, and I attended their wedding. Then,
after leaving Rules, I didn’t get to see them again, except one night as I was
getting ready to leave London.
In subsequent years, we’d remained in infrequent
contact on Facebook. Now, planning to be
in their neighbourhood (Dawlish, Devon, if my memory could be trusted), I got
in touch. They’d subsequently moved to
Plymouth, and they’d raised Mikayla and James.
It was so good to see them, catch up, and to meet the teenagers. We talked about travel, beliefs and Rules
Restaurant. The man who’d been the
general manager when we’d worked there was now the owner, a Scotsman called
Ricky.
Jill provided dinner – pizza with homemade oat crust. It was really tasty, and I loved the crunchiness – like an oatmeal cookie without the sweetness. I highly recommend it. Mikayla showed me some of her art, and I expressed an interest in buying some. After selecting the ones that interested me, I didn’t hear any more about it, so I guess she’s not that keen to part with it. Jill had arranged a parking token, permitting me to park just outside their house. They suggested I leave it there overnight. They drove me to the show.
After finding Jill and Mike in Plymouth, I looked for performances. One stood out. Alice in Wonderland was billed as such:
When tech-savvy teen Alice tries to repair her dear Dad’s much-loved old stereo, a slip of the screwdriver hurtles her into a strange new world. As the tape unravels, she meets a host of unlikely new friends and meets her musical match against the infamous Queen of Charts.
Spinning
together a familiar story with a company of awesomely talented actor-musicians,
this new remix, lovingly created with our friends at Liverpool Everyman &
Playhouse and Stockroom Productions, is bursting with brilliant original music
inspired by the best of British pop.
Come with
us down the rabbit hole, through the looking glass and into a Wonderland like you’ve
never seen before!
Jill got the tickets for all of us, and in we went. The Theatre Royal Plymouth was not very full, and there were lots of children. Nothing unusual so far. The costumes were outlandish, the music was indeed interesting, and the premise was fun. However, when the kids in the audience were asked for help to warn the characters of lurking danger, or to find a missing item, the penny finally dropped that we were watching a show for children. Never mind, it was pretty fun all the same. If I’d been here on my own, I might have left at intermission, but I’m glad I didn’t. The music and my company were both worth it.
After the show, they drove me down Southside Street and through the Barbican, which they said is the lively part of the city with lots of food and entertainment. Then they dropped me at my accommodation.
I had checked in to my hotel, for which I’d paid on the side of the road, before the show. We were in a great hurry so I paid no attention dropping my bags. Now, back at Fox House Studios after Wonderland, I was quite impressed. It was really only one room with separate, private bathroom, but the room was large. There was a kitchen stocked for two, a kettle, instant coffee, and tea bags. There were enough plugs for me to boil the kettle and charge my phone and camera at the same time. I was restricted by my single British adaptor. The bed was comfortable, and the room was warm.
After arriving at Jill’s around 4pm, I’d received a message on Whatsapp saying, “We are unable to send your access code until you have signed our registration card. Please sign it here.” A link was provided. I didn’t want to touch that message, except that they’d named me in person. “Excuse me, who is this?” It turned out to be the next provider of accommodation, for my night in Southampton tomorrow. This was an unmanned hotel. They then explained all I needed to know. Like some Airbnbs, this property (and indeed the rooms within) was accessed by entering a code. It seemed unnecessarily complicated in 2023. It also drove home the fact that traveling without a smart phone is absolutely not advisable.
The next morning, Mike picked me up as promised and drove me back to their place. He showed me James’ set up of musical equipment. Talented kids! I stayed for a cuppa and then got on the road.
I would stop first at Saltram, just outside Plymouth. This lovely house was grander than Trerice, but not as grand as Lanhydrock. You can read about its history here. Three things stood out for me. The first was the “ticket”. Entrance was granted by handing back an old key that was issued by the receptionist. What a perfect quirk!
The second was that there was a lot of Chinese art, and even Chinese wallpaper, throughout the house. Thirdly, in one room above a doorway, two very old horns were hung. These had a double interest for me. The musical appeal of these is obvious, but there was a second, less obvious reason I was transfixed. I recently turned part of a saxophone into a lamp, and I want to continue making lamps out of wind instruments. I’m really looking for completely battered, well used pieces, instead of gleaming new ones. These horns fit the bill perfectly, and I asked if I could put them in my bag!
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| (Saltram) |
My second stop was at Killerton. This Georgian beauty is in the Devon countryside, not far from Exeter. You can read about its history here. As with most of the houses, there were several musical instruments, including (oh my word) a miniature pipe organ! Returning to the parking lot afterwards, I found this classic vehicle near mine!
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| (Killerton) |
The next stop would bring me out of Devon and
into Somerset. Montacute is an Elizabethan Renaissance building. You will find information on its history here. There
was more Chinese art here, and I loved the grand stone stairways. In the last room I saw, I chatted briefly
with an attendant. When I mentioned
Lanhydrock, and how surprised I’d been to discover that each type of food was
prepared in a different kitchen, he corrected that the kitchens had been
redesigned during the pandemic to keep people socially distant. When I look back at the pictures now, I do
wonder……….
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| (Montacute) |
My last stop of the day was not at a house, but rather at the Cerne Giant. This is a giant naked figure sculpted into a chalk hillside in Dorset. Its origin is disputed and at least as uncertain as Stonehenge. You can read about it here and here. It was raining and cold, so from the viewing point set up by the National Trust, there was no clear view of the figure.
I didn’t stay long. It was time to make my way to Southampton and to eat dinner. Tomorrow promised to be fun… and full. I started today in western Devon and would end it three counties to the east in Hampshire.
I parked the car and let myself in at Starboard Stays with the access code I’d been sent on Whatsapp. I initially went to the wrong room, and its occupant opened his door to see who was trying to gain entry. Fortunately, he didn’t seem annoyed. Once in my room, I was not amused. It was even more pokey than the room in London. This one, like the one in London, had a single bed. I roll a lot when I sleep, so I knew instantly that tonight’s sleep would frequently be interrupted as I tried not to fall off. I wasted no time; food had to be eaten. I walked a little way down the road, where a perpendicular lane had restaurants down both sides. I chose a pub. The meal was pleasing, but I was soon back in the room. This is when the last discomfort showed itself. I was one floor up from the street, which was very noisy throughout the night. Ah, well, you win some and you lose some.
An unexpected joy waited the next morning. It was not so much unexpected today, but it was only three weeks earlier that I’d read on Ben Padmore’s Facebook page that he and his family had relocated from Cape Town to Southampton. I hadn’t been planning to stop here, but the minute I got that news, I changed my plans. I was terribly excited about seeing them. In order to also satisfy my travel lust, I decided to book us a ferry to the Isle of Wight. (I’d lost a Scilly and gained a Wight.) Since I already had a car, it was one fare for all of us. They met me outside Starboard Stays, and I was happy to be saying goodbye to this place. We jumped in the car and drove to the port.
The Red Funnel carried us and the car across
The Solent. Boarding and disembarking were
seamless, and our conversation was animated.
Given the political and economic situation in South Africa, and the
ruinous repercussions of the pandemic, Ben and Simeon made the decision to sell
their house in Noordhoek and use the proceeds to get themselves and their kids,
Liam and Raegen, here to start fresh lives. I couldn't be happier about it. I wish that
everyone I love would leave.
I had additionally planned something I hoped
the kids would like, but I kept it secret until we got there: Model Village
Godshill. The kids did indeed love it,
and so did the three of us. This is a
miniature of the village in which it is located. Within the minitown stands a smaller replica,
and within that, yet another smaller replica.
Four incarnations of Godshill; how fun!
 |
| (Godshill Model Village) |
After this joy, we got some lunch in the
garden of The Taverners right across the road.
Here I had my first of many run-ins with bees. I say run-in, but I just mean that the pesky
insect buzzed about us, resting on the rims of our glasses and refusing to leave
us be. (Ahem!) I don’t remember lots of bees when I lived in
the UK 23 years ago, but they certainly made appearances on this trip.
There was not much time left, so we took a roundabout route back to East Cowes, from where we’d return to Southampton on the Red Funnel. While waiting to board, I saw this flag for the first time, and began quietly wondering what it meant.
Disembarking on the northern coast of The Solent, I drove them back to the place they’d rented. They are in a terraced house overlooking a river. It is spacious and what a view! I didn’t stay long, though, as I still had to make it into London and check in at the Airbnb.
Goodbye Mein Liebe Herr