To and In Mousehole

June 27th (Fri) – Woke up to rain this morning, which gave us a different view of the town with the mist and a different play of light on the water. I never get tired of looking at the ocean. Down to breakfast again – had a poached egg on toast (really good, actually) and more toast. I know I said it before but my dad would love breakfast here. There’s always toast and jam – which is a staple for him. As we were trying to plan our route out of town, another diner came up to us and asked if he might recommend some things. He said we really should go through Dartmoor and if we had a chance to see something called the Eden Project. He’s not the first person to recommend that to us; it’s apparently a biosphere-type project, but in the end we had to pass. Simply not enough time for everything.

We headed out of town just after breakfast as we knew we had a long drive to Mousehole. Lyme Regis is just on the border of Devon, so we had all of Devon to get through before we even reached Cornwall – and Mousehole is almost at the very tip of the peninsula. As we were checking out, one of the innkeepers suggested we take a very short detour to a town called Branscombe for something different. Apparently a cargo boat called the Napoli beached near there just a few years ago and he said you could see parts of the ship wreck sticking out of the water. Turns out that the boat actually ran aground on a reef elsewhere down the coast but everyone was rescued and they towed the boat to Branscombe and beached it there to dismantle it. We decided that we should try things that locals recommended, so we got off the main road and headed down. Oh my word, you’ll have to ask Mike how it felt to drive those roads. They were so narrow, two cars couldn’t possibly pass at the same time – and the roads were completely surrounded by high hedges. When you met another car, one had to back up to very small “lay-bys” so the other car could squeeze around with barely a breath in between. Mike was terrified but soldiered on down some especially steep parts where we thankfully did not meet another car (backing up would have been horrible) and eventually made it into the town (very tiny) and the beach. We didn’t actually see any wreckage but we did see a few boats doing some dredging. The shoreline was pretty though and there were some red cliffs there that are apparently of some note.

We didn’t linger in Branscombe but headed out on a different route, which was slightly less terrifying for Mike. We happened on another little church, St. Winifred’s, parts of which were built in the 12th century. It really amazes me how old things are. We stopped to take a look inside and its age was very clear. Must be really cold in there in the winter! Also, the church itself was very bare – apparently it was a Catholic church first and had been very ornate at one time but with the dissolution during Henry VIII’s time and the sacking of the Catholic churches, it suffered and now is very simple.

After Branscombe, we toodled around on some smaller roads but it had really started to rain and we were feeling tired so we get on the M5 (a road more like an interstate) for a short bit to what were more like state highways until we got to Dartmoor. We had the perfect weather for seeing Dartmoor because it was foggy and rainy. Great for that Sherlock Holmesian feeling! We took a road that basically bisected the Moor and once we got to the less inhabited parts, we could definitely see the mystery of it. For us, though, it was unexpectedly hilly and green. We both thought it would be flat and rather bleak but it didn’t seem that way to us. The fog rolled across the Moor just for us at one point and made us feel as if we’d properly seen it. There were also lots of sheep here – there were even “sheep on road” caution signs. While we didn’t actually have to negotiate around any in the road, some were awfully close. They seem to sleep and stand around on almost anything and just about wherever the please. We passed very close to one whose nose just about touched our car!

We wanted to stop for a cream tea in one of the little towns in the Moor but Mike was unexpectedly picky and didn’t like the looks of the places we saw. By this time, it was raining pretty steadily so we forged on out of the Moor. We’d been seeing these little road-side carts in “lay-bys” near the road that Mike was curious about and so he got himself lunch at one of these – a sausage “bap” otherwise known as a sausage roll. I passed – I was thinking Mad Cow disease and he teased me by saying he didn’t think there was “Mad Pig” disease. After this, it was a long rainy drive to Mousehole, which we reached around 5ish. The streets of Mousehole are horrendously narrow, like the ones we drove on to get to Branscombe. Mike said the only way he got through it was knowing there was no way to turn around. Thankfully, we stumbled upon our B&B on this, Mr. Toad’s Wild Ride. Our room is over a restaurant (The Cornish Range), which made us worry about noise, but actually it’s really a nice room and the noise didn’t bother us. The room is big and very long – runs the whole width of the place – with eight windows that overlook the street. It’s done up very modern but also comfy and there’s a huge painting by a local artist hanging on the wall. It’s really a perfect room.

We had to park our car a little ways down from the B&B in a car park just inside the breakwater. The water could potentially come up as far as our car, but we figured they wouldn’t let you park there if it would. Paying for parking was an adventure in using an “Honesty Box” as there was no one to man the little hut at the time we arrived. We basically had to stick 2 pounds into the side of this little stone hut – in which there was an iron coin slot.

We ate at the B&B restaurant this night and it was delicious. This food could hold its own with places in Tucson and then some. All local seafood and local produce. I had, get this, a half lobster simmered in white wine, and new potatoes and salad on the side, and Mike had a medley of local Cornish fish. I then had something called “black cherry and chocolate delice” with a pistachio crust and clotted cream. Oh boy. It was too sad that I couldn’t finish it all. Where was my dad?! Mike had three different scoops of home-made ice cream, which, judging by the way it rapidly disappeared must also have been good. Apparently this restaurant is very popular but it’s small – only about 10 tables or so, and at first they said they couldn’t seat us until after 8 PM (at which point our faces would be in our plates). Fortunately, one of the young men/chefs that had checked us in saw us and knew we were staying there, so they found us a table. He said “there’s always a table for a resident!”. Both chefs we’ve seen as well as the waitresses were simply charming. I found this place on the internet (and the one in Lyme Regis) and we’ve really done well so far. After dinner, we walked around a teensy bit, but my tummy was rumbly (all that food!) and so we went back to our room for the night. I really tried to ignore the fact that I had a sore throat sneaking up on me as I fell asleep.

June 28th (Sat) – Woke up early but to a day without rain – and to a day with a sore throat and what might be a cold coming on. Bummer. I think my immune system has just been whomped too many times and I’m prey to every little bug. I decided to pretend that all was well to see if I could convince my body that it felt fine.

To start, we had breakfast down in the restaurant – toast made from their homemade bread and I had another poached egg. When I asked just for the egg, the same (cute) and helpful chef said “no toast?” and I said “you can put it on toast if you like; is that how you normally have it here?”. He laughed a “yes” so egg on toast it was. After breakfast, we asked about a laundry in town as we’re running low on clothes, but apparently the nearest one is in Penzance – a short bus ride away. However, today was “Mazey Day” in Penzance and we were encouraged to go there for the parades and street fair. So we did! Rather than get back on Mr. Toad’s Wild Ride, we took the bus where Mike chatted up two very nice older English ladies also on holiday. Honestly, everyone here is so kind and wonderful to talk to. I’m not sure people are the same way in the States. They told us we really had to see St. Michael’s Mount, which we actually passed on the way here but because it was so foggy, we couldn’t see it. This is like the little island of St. Michel in France. You can walk out to it at low tide but at high tide, you have to take a boat. It’s basically a small castle town on top of a hill. Because we’ve seen its sister in France, we’d love to do it, but we’re not sure if we want to backtrack. The nice thing was we could see it from the bus and ultimately from the harbor at Mousehole later in the day.

We got to Penzance with no trouble and found the festival very close by. First we stopped at the tourist information center right by the bus station, where we got some maps of the area but Mike also asked about Cornish and where we might find books about it. We did find one little book there about the Cornish language but they told us we’d see another bookstore along the main street where the festival was. On that street, we noted a place to come back to for a true Cornish pasty, but a little further down I couldn’t resist the crepe stall and got a lemon & sugar crepe. It was delicious. We walked along through the stalls until Mike spotted the bookstore and of course, he made a beeline for it. He happily bought a Cornish grammar and I bought a few postcards and a mystery that is one of a series set in Cornwall – and was recommended by a woman working in the shop. A few stalls further down, Mike spotted a “Cornish language” booth, which was there to promote the revitalization of Cornish. Well, Mike was as happy as a pig in you-know-what and we spent the better part of an hour there while Mike talked their ear off. I was tempted into buying a sort “easy” Cornish illustrated book, which I’m looking forward to spending some time with.

At this point, the parade was approaching and we spent a nice 30 minutes watching the bands (including some bagpipers) and dancers and looking at the “floats” (for lack of a better word). These looked to be large paper machiere type figures held up on long poles and all of them were really remarkable. We then walked along the street a ways until – pthhpthh! – we both got strafed by seagulls and ended up with – um – gifts on our shirts, Mike more so than me. This meant Mike simply had to go back to the language booth and get a T-shirt with the Cornish flag and some Cornish on it. I didn’t think any of them would fit me (sigh), so I went to the next booth and got a pretty blue hand-painted T-shirt from a nice man who does them all himself; mine has a sort of sea creatures theme with dolphins and pretty fish. After this, we had to make our way back to the pasty shop, where we both got pork and apple pasties (not to my taste, actually, but Mike seems to like them a lot).

At this point, my charade of feeling just fine started to wane and we decided to head down to the bus station, hit the loo, and then eat our pasties while waiting for the next bus. This plan went smoothly, although once we boarded the bus, we got stuck by more parade and had to spend about 30 minutes at a stop light while the parade went by. They were new floats and music, so it was a pleasant half hour plus I was sitting next to a very old fisherman who was traveling with his two dogs – looked like Shelties – and they were so cute! Although he was a bit difficult to understand, I got that his dogs were named Darling and Princess. They clearly loved him and were so gentle and beautiful. In general, England is proving to be very dog friendly. We’ve seen so many. All very well loved and tended.

Once back, I felt poorly enough that we went back to the room where Mike let me nap for 15 or 20 minutes before we headed out to explore Mousehole. We made our way to the tea shop first for a little pick-me-up – and we had our first Cream Tea. Which was tea and a scone each with clotted cream and some jam. Really hit the spot. Then we made our way down to the harbor – the town is really very small and the twisty streets are filled with charming lopsided homes some with really beautiful little gardens. We headed to the opposite side of the harbor where Mike was looking for the home and plaque that commemorated the last speaker of Cornish, whose language died with her in 1777. We didn’t find it then but we did find a lovely gallery of locally-made crafts, the Sandpiper Gallery, and I couldn’t resist going in. Spent a nice half-hour talking to the shopkeeper, and she recommended we drive along the bottom of the peninsula and around (Penwith) on our way out. I could have bought so many things in this store; it was really beautiful stuff. I limited myself to a silver ring and earrings, and a little clay mouse. How could I leave Mousehole without one?

After this, we strolled down one of the breakwaters and had a good view of Mount’s Bay and St. Michael’s Mount. The water was a mixture of blues and greens – really beautiful. We had asked at a nearby shop where we could find the house and plaque Mike was looking for and it turns out we’d actually passed it nearer to our B&B. So we headed back that way and did find it (and a lot of lounging cats, a few of whom didn’t mind a skritch or two). We then made our way down onto a walkway right by the rocks and the water, which eventually petered out – but it was a pretty area and I loved the view. Making our way back, a boy came down with his little white dog who began leaping about in the tidal pools having a grand old time. I think I heard him call her Lily and she was just as sweet as could be. Little tail wagging a mile a minute - trying to fetch rocks thrown to her in tidal pools.

We walked up some steep stairs after this and tried to find our way to the coastal path to keep walking (a quest we shared with another couple who also remarked on the confusing signs), but once we did we decided not to go any further. Instead we headed back to our room and rested for an hour or so. Then it was dinner time and so we made our way to the Ship Inn, Mike’s choice. A low beamed pub where I had a half pint and Mike a pint of bitter. I wasn’t feeling very hungry after the Cream Tea, so only had a small bowl of crab soup which came with fresh homemade bread. It was the perfect meal. Then we walked back around the harbor for a small ice cream cone and then down on the sand inside the breakwater and back to our room - again serenaded to sleep by seagulls (larger than cats here in England!).