Day fifteen: Hartland quay to mortehoe

A big day for this little island with the start of Wimbledon and the summer solstice.

While the masses are descending upon Wimbledon to eat their strawberries and cream and Stonehenge to begin their pagan rituals, I decide to take a bus.

It was hard saying good bye to Mike after sharing so much with him over the last few days but it was also exciting to be off on my own again.

I turned away from the coastal path and headed inland towards the village of Hartland. I found myself on a deserted country road lined with hedgerows and trees that formed a pleasing shady tunnel. It wound steeply through sleepy hamlets containing thatched cottages and ancient churches. I was again in awe of this beautiful country drenched in history and simplicity (in this part of the country anyway). No strip malls, no big box, generic, boring chain stores. No home depot, no Mac Donald's, no office max. Ah bliss.

Just another beautiful cottage that I would be happy to call my own:



An intriguing bridge led to a 12th century abbey but unfortunately I didn't have time to explore. I was on a mission to catch a bus. Not that I knew what time it left.


As luck would have it, I turned up at the bus stop just in time to catch the 10:15 bus to Bideford. It was such a treat to be on a bus and a double decker bus no less. This mass of metal and diesel wound it's way along the country roads, scraping just below the tunnel of trees and frequently backing up to let cars traveling in the opposite direction pass. It stopped in at villages and appeared to collect anyone just standing on the side of the road. It was a friendly bus and everyone seemed to know each other. "good mornin' Ethel", " oh arr, good mornin, to you George". I got talking to a couple of elderly women, off to Barnstable (about an hour trip) for the day to collect flowers and plants for their garden.

Barnstable was my destination so I followed them and changed buses at Bideford.

There I waited in the station cafe for Mick to arrive.

Mick has been a friend of mine for the last 25 years. There have been years where we have been out of touch but we have always managed to find each other and he has now bravely agreed to join me on the path for a few days.

While trying to establish a plan of action Mick quickly discovered that we were without guide books or maps for the next section of the path. Mick had made a last minute decision to leave these at home, thinking I had a guide. Unfortunately my guide inconveniently stopped at Bude. This was fine with me, but it made Mick twitch ever so slightly. Maps are a guy thing. But as I have said before I find them over rated.

Welcome to my world Mick.

We took the bus to Croye, located the SWCP and started walking.

My new walking companion:


About five miles that's all, to another beautiful village called Mortehoe with an absolutely vertical hill to conquer before reaching a pub perfectly situated on top.










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Day fourteen: Morwenstow to Hartland Quay

Joined Mike for breakfast in the old farm house b&b. I had camped outside on the beautifully manicured lawn. Our host had been the body guard for John Major and had plenty of interesting pictures of political figures adorning the walls.



Upon leaving the farm house we didn't get very far because the Old rectory tea rooms beckoned us in.



And also had to visit the church






Along the SWCP today we crossed the Border from Cornwall to Devon










Decided I wanted a bed tonight and stayed at the Inn in Hartland quay. A funky old time hotel with no room 3 or 13 because they are considered unlucky rooms.



I felt very lucky because my room had a bath.


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Day thirteen: Upton to Morwenstow

Today while walking, I learnt all about the battle of Agincourt. Have already forgotten the important details but it was something to do with Henry 5th and England vs France. Apparently the French had a cunning plan to cut off the middle finger of all the Brits so they could no longer pull their long bows. So when the Brits were eventually victorious they went around making the V sign to all the French, proudly displaying that they still had their bow pulling fingers. Hence the origins of the V sign or The finger.

Also learnt about the Battle of Waterloo, Napoleon (bloody French again) vs Wellington. The best part about the battle, was the exchange that occurred between Wellington and Lord Uxbridge after a cannon ball blew off Uxbridge's leg

Uxbridge: By God, sir, I've lost my leg!
Wellington: By God, sir, so you have!

With that Wellington rode off on his horse leaving this poor bloke. But apparently he survived and they even saved his leg which he buried in his garden with a tomb stone and shrine, inscribed "here lies the leg....." and people would come to visit.

While on this subject, I found this quote on the Internet which I thought was pretty funny.......

Just after the Surgeon had taken off the Earls leg, Sir Hussey Vivian came into the cottage where the operation was performed. "Ah, Vivian!" said the wounded noble, "I want you to do me a favour. Some of my friends here seem to think I might have kept that leg on. Just go and cast your eye upon it, and tell me what you think." "I went, accordingly", said Sir Hussey, "and, taking up the lacerated limb, carefully examined it, and so far as I could tell, it was completely spoiled for work. A rusty grape-shot had gone through and shattered the bones all to pieces. I therefore returned to the Marquis and told him he could set his mind quite at rest, as his leg, in my opinion, was better off than on."

No wonder the British have a reputation for the "stiff upper lip" and brings to mind a sketch from Ivan's favorite Monty Python movie.

Filled with all these stories of valiant English heroes and gory battles we (yes still with Mike) marched into Morwenstow.



Morwenstow consists of a church, a tea room, a couple of dairy farms and a fantastic 13th century pub (above) In the pub I met Stanley, a wonderful Staffordshire terrier with a hare lip.





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Location:Bartwood Ln,Weston under Penyard,United Kingdom

Day twelve: Crackington Haven to Upton

Awoke at 4:30 and had to make the same decision about striking out on my own. Let's see, I could get on the trail early, walk alone with my heavy pack and remain clueless of my destination until I arrived. Or I could stay here for a few more hours, have breakfast in the pub, walk with Mike and stay in his next b&b and sleep in a bed tonight.

I decided on the latter.

At breakfast we picked up a couple more lost souls. We sat around the breakfast table, all four of us on a quest to find answers to our happiness. Amazingly (although this seems to be the norm now) there was another Ali, walking for a few days and finding solace along the coastal path - a successful treatment for her depression. And then Andy, down here for a few days, on a retreat from oxford and at a cross roads with some life decisions, hoping that some time alone will provide the answers.

The path seemed different today. The cliffs are less rugged and often thickly vegetated down to the sea. Inland the countryside appears more rolling, agricultural with greener tamed fields and grazing animals.







On top of the cliffs, "my" path continues to meander. Mike has a map and GPS and continually stops to check his location and confirm our direction. I on the other had, without such tools have learnt to "read" the path and seem to instinctively know where it goes or if I have strayed. I am very happy to know that it is possible for me to develop a new sensory skill at this age and confirms to me that modern technologies have only served to take us away from our natural capabilities. So fun to tap back into these primeval human skills. I have always been in awe at those stories of dogs that travel thousands of miles back to their homes when lost and now I am beginning to understand a little better how that may be possible!

Mike and I make a good team. He has a fantastic sense of humour and regales me with non stop funny stories about his life. He is also an avid reader with a wealth of knowledge on just about every subject. So I consider him my teacher. I lead him along the path with my intuitive beacon and in turn teach him about the importance of putting out a good aura around animals so we can walk calmly and safely through the various farm animals we encounter.

Of course it doesn't take too much initiation to follow this path


Or these steps leading off the side of the cliff



But back to something way more important - both US and England play again today in the world cup so it wanted to be situated in a pub again to watch the matches.

USA were playing early so we stopped at the only pub along the way at Widemouth. Andy now needing some company and seeing mike as a bit of a guru in the field of chi gong (something he wants to pursue) joined us via automobile. USA drew in a very boring match but we had a pleasing meal and drinks before Andy drove us about a mile to our next b&b.

Apparently I am Celtic in origin because my second toe is longer than my big toe. Both Andy and Mike agreed I was like queen Boudicca and am happy with that association. When I feel low and lack confidence I will remember that I am like the great Boudicca and will gain strength from this.

Wish I could enlarge and turn this picture of Boudicca around - but oh well you get the idea.



We all decided to stay at the b&b for the night as it was splendid. A quintessential English b&b complete with ducks and geese, Shetland ponies and alpaca's that looked like overgrown poodles. TVs in every room and in the lounge where we watched the next terrible match England vs Algeria.
Mike even had a bath in his room but it was more like an extra large sink perfect for Cornish pixies or knockers. My room had a shower with a poorly placed step that I stubbed my toe on without fail every time I entered the bathroom. All rooms had kettles with selections of coffees, tea and hot chocolate. And I had a fantastic view out over the paddocks to the animals below.

Poodles:



I want this place, I have decided. Found out it was for sale for a mere £1.2 k. Perhaps not this place then, but I would love to have a small holding, be self sufficient and quite fancy the idea of a b&b. I will have to talk seriously to Curt about this.




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Day eleven: Tintagel to Crackington Haven

I didn't even venture out of the hostel last night. Dinner was pasta and this awful sauce, purchased from the tiny hostel shop. It felt lovely just to hang out and try to go to sleep early. "Try" is the key word here as my circadian rhythms are in tune with the days and the days are long here. I don't sleep until after 10:30 and then awake every morning at 4:30.

Legend has it that King Arthur was conceived and born in Tintagel The remains of his castle are visible on this island.


Problem is, this castle was built in 13th century, so it post dates King Arthur by many, many centuries (but supposedly there is the remains of a celtic monastery close by which could date back to his birth). It was here that the legends of Merlin, Sir Lancelot and the knights of the round table, Camelot, the holy Grail etc began to take shape and have been written and expanded on ever since.

Merlin's cave is said to be down here:




I was going to strike off on my own again today but the thought of carrying my back pack was not a desirable one and anyway, walking with Mike had been fun yesterday. So I left the hostel and walked over to Mike's B&B. My back pack was transported with his and we spent another day in each other's company.

It seemed like a leisurely walk and we stopped for a long lunch in Boscastle, site of the 2004 floods. The flood actually took out this 13th century building but they built an identical one so we could have a cup of tea in it.





I was just carrying my little day pack, with rain stuff and two massive Cornish pasties that must have weighed 5 lb each.

Crackington haven was a tiny sea side hamlet with only one pub which was also the b&b. Mike stayed there for the night and at dusk I set up my tent close by and wished I was staying inside.



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Day ten: Port Isaac to Tintagel

I am currently staying at the Tintagel youth hostel and have now walked 111 miles along the coast of Cornwall.

Can you believe that? I can't. Have never walked this far in my life. Twelve days ago I left Salt Lake and in that time I have been to Amsterdam, London, Lands End and walked 111 miles. I am thinking that is pretty good going.

Because I now have a guide book (courtesy of my Knight) I have been reading some information about the south west coastal path. The official path is actually 613 miles long and goes from Minehead to Poole. Nearly all guide books show it from this direction, so I guess I am doing it the wrong way round. And of course, I started more than half the way round at Lands End.

The origins of the path lie in Cornwall's smuggling history. By the early nineteenth century smuggling had become so rife that in 1822 HM Coastguard was formed to patrol the entire British coastline. A coast-hugging footpath was created to enable the coastguards to see into every cove, inlet and creek and slowly but surely law and order prevailed and the smuggling decreased. By the beginning of the twentieth century the foot patrols had been abandoned. In 1973 the Cornwall coast path was officially opened. It is england's longest national trail.

I walked all day today without my pack and it felt absolutely wonderful. I sent it on to this youth hostel with Mike's bag and we ended walking together again today. The guide books note this part of the trail as one of the hardest with lots of ascents and descents but without my pack, this nine mile stretch was easy. My back and my feet really enjoyed a break from all that weight.

Having a walking partner other than my shadow was a nice experience. Mike is English but has been living in Victoria, Vancouver island for the last 30 odd years and his mission to England this summer is similar to mine. Especially nice because Mike reminds me of my dad. And although Dad's spirit has been with me every step of the way, it was nice to feel as though he was physically along side me.






Wild ponies.



We never ran out of things to talk about. He is into Chinese medicine and Qi Gong. After stopping for a pint of extremely potent cider in trebarwith strand, he told me a particularly funny story about a time when he was on a mediation course on a small island close to his home. They were meditating and conjuring up "soul bodies". After the meditation, the participants were offering up the different soul bodies they had managed to invent such as beautiful women etc. Mike was silent as his soul body was a Chinese man on top of his head! The problem being it wouldn't go away! The next day he returned to work in his IT profession and still felt as though he had a Chinese man on his head. Never having experienced these soul bodies before he was at a loss for what to do so he called up the course director and received sound advice on how to get rid of his Chinese man. I guess his apparition still returns from time to time for no obvious reason, but luckily he is a source of comfort to Mike (as long as he doesn't stay on his head for too long!).

When I arrived at the youth hostel my back pack was waiting for me and my RA medication, Enbrel was in the fridge. Jill had sent it overnight to arrive in the hostel and I had requested they stick it in the fridge on arrival. Everything is continuing to work out perfectly :)

Sunset over this fantastic hostel



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Location:Bude,United Kingdom

Day nine: Padstow to Porth Issac

I really enjoyed my stay on the Freyja and entered into some lively conversations last night (especially after G & T) on all sorts of topics, such as:

Faeries and knockers:

Faery is the old way of spelling fairy. Legend has it that faeries used to be men going around on horses, absconding fair maidens and then taking them down to the bottom of the sea where they become mermaids.

"Come live by the brave moon
That pulls the strong tide,
Climb up in my horse love
And be my sweet bride"

Of course Cornwall is rife with folklore. Looking up faeries on the internet just brought up images of the typical fairy, called a Piskie here in Cornwall. These creatures were small, prankish, laughing and heel kicking, usually good spirited and liked to pick their noses. The knockers (and I am not referring to large mammary glands) were special Piskies that lived down the tin mines and would warn (by knocking) the miners of danger.

Personally, I like the sound of the male faeries on horses

Cornish pasties:



It was once said that the Devil would never dare to cross the River Tamar into Cornwall for fear of ending up as a filling in a Cornish Pasty.

Cornish pasties go back centuries, when miners wives would pack their husband up a pasty for lunch. It was a hearty meal usually filled with beef and potatoes. The big crust around the edge acted as a handle so they could hold onto the pasty with their dirty hands and then throw the crust to the Knockers.

Gardening:

The type of gardening Marilyn does has a name but can't remember it right now. But the idea is you don't have to dig but continue to lay down mulch in varying thicknesses (dependent on the size of the plant) on top of the soil and allow the worms to take it on down. The microorganisms like it because they go undisturbed, the worms like it because they don't get chopped in half by your spade and I would like it because it seems so much less work. The mulch keeps the soil cool and moist and can be any thing from weed free garden clippings, leaves, grass clippings, card board and even cotton T shirts.

Thinking I could grow a great organic garden in my socks right now. They are in the process of turning to mulch.

I left on the ferry over the Camel estuary from Padstow to Rock after going to Rick Steins for breakfast. Guess he is a famous TV chef over here (a Gordon Ramsey) and I had been hearing about his cafe from various people.

The ferry ride was short but beautiful and offered great views of the "Doom Bar" a bar of sand at the entry to the estuary responsible for many a ship wreck. Apparently the Mermaid of Padstow created this doom bar and being a little upset about something (forgotten what), lured ships onto it. But more importantly it is the name of Curt's favourite beer and had he been here we would be taking a diversion to their brewery in Rock to celebrate Curts birthday. Really wishing that Curt was here and feel guilty that he is not here to experience this with me :(

Curt this the Doom bar all covered in water, but I am here!



I walked for a few hours enjoying the absolutely beautiful weather and then stopped to eat my Cornish pasty (featured above - and of course veggie) After lunch, I was sort of sprawled out over the path in my usual exhausted way when Mike came along and almost tripped over me.

Mike was the first person I have met so far going my way. Most people are out walking small sections of the SWCP, a few are going long distances but all are going in the opposite direction.

So, with a common goal, we joined forces and walked together to Port Isaac. Mike is travelling light, doing bed and breakfasts and sending his bag on to his next destination. I camped down the road in "Anne's" field and felt like i had arrived at "Old Macdonalds Farm" with chickens clucking, peacocks screaming, sheep bah-ing and cows mooing. Then I went back up to his bed and breakfast " the crows nest for dinner and drinks with mike.

Seaside village of Port Issac:








Annie's farm:





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Location:Bude,United Kingdom

Day eight: Treyarnon to Padstow

Now where am I?

It seems the universe is still taking care of me. I am on a sailing boat, moored in Padstow harbour. I have spent a wonderful evening with Marilyn and Dave, the owners, had a fantastic home cooked meal comprising of organic farm grown veggies, a gin & tonic and now have my very own deluxe quarters at the front of the boat to sleep in tonight.

How can this be happening to me?

I can't go on any longer without saying how much I love the British people.
I had assumed that my rosy coloured view of my home land may be shattered by this trip but it has been quite the reverse. Britain is everything I thought it to be and more. I can't believe I have only been here just over a week and can say this with all certainty.

Such a small country but with such diversity, all crammed in to make it so user friendly. It is a country made for walkers where towns are conveniently located within walking distance from each other. And the British people are out in it, walking dogs, eating ice creams and seemingly there to assist in any way possible. The pace of life is slow and apart from the walking convenience aspect, nothing else is convenient and refreshingly so. Everyone just accepts that cell phone coverage is sketchy and often non existent, that the shops and information tourist boards will close at inconvenient times, that it will be sunny one minute and pouring with rain the next. I had thought the English people as cynical, as always complaining, but even that notion has now been thwarted because every Brit I have talked to so far appreciates Britain for the same reasons as I.

I learnt a new word today, "grockles", a Cornish word for tourist. There were grockles galore today as I approached Padstow and almost had to queue to get into this gorgeous traditional sea side port (oh queuing is another national past time of the British). They were sitting on benches, outside pubs, drinking beer, eating ice creams, eating Cornish pasties, buying buckets and spades. It is quite a shock to be around so many people again after the hours of solitude on the path.








"Freyja" - my home for the night







A strange thing happened today. Someone stopped ME and asked ME for directions. I must be fitting in with the landscape now and looking like I belong here. In fact that is how I met Dave and Marilyn as well, they were out walking and stopped me to see if I had a map. I didn't, but never-the-less got chatting and before the end of the conversation I had been invited back to their boat for the night.

I am not sure I would receive this kind of hospitality anywhere else in the world. I picked such a good place to have my mid life crisis.


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Location:Bude,United Kingdom

Day seven: Crantock to Treyarnon

"Set out into the unknown and the universe will a take care of you"

That is what Tim said today and I believe him.

Tim was my knight in shining armour (wet suit) and I was the damsel in distress.

I was stuck on the banks of the Gannel tidal estuary. Yesterday it had been a big beach to walk across but this morning it was a massive body of water. There was supposed to be a ferry and a foot bridge but there were no signs of either. I had followed the coastal path to where it entered the water with a sign post pointing across it to Newquay. I was confused and sat down to ponder over this problem


That is when Tim showed up on his horse (surf board) and agreed that I was stuck but then offered me a lift over.



I sat on the surf board with my pack balancing on the front and crossed my fingers that we wouldn't capsize. I wasn't concerned for my own safety but for all my technology within the pack, that would be ruined if it tipped into the gannel. But my knight in a wet suit swam gallantly across the Gannel, steadily pushing the surf board and delivered all of me safely to the other side.




Tim was not only my rescuer but a lovely, wise human who provided therapy (something I am always in need of), practiced meditation and Tai Chi and was a wealth of psychological support for me. Amazingly enough he went out with a girl from Ogden, had skied the Cottonwood canyons and knew Utah well.

I learnt that my blisters were more about my psychological state and that something was out of balance (true - my pack has made me continually out of balance for the last seven days). My bunions that were formed in the womb meant I never really wanted to come into this world and that if I took charge of my life and not rely on other people they would go away. I had not known that this trip would also rid me of my horrible bunions - fantastic. I learnt that it was a twelve moon year and that hopefully meant better weather than the thirteen moon years.

We agreed that if you can accept the worst case scenario in your life then life becomes easy. The key is acceptance.

Tim also provided me with a cup of tea, a guide book for the coastal path ( what a novel idea!), filtered water for my bottle recommending I should be sipping every ten minutes (this would avoid the constant need to pee caused by chugging water), a nutritious fruit bar, a book "The Alchemist" to read and then drove me to other side of Newquay to avoid the walk through town. Also, I left a pile of now unwanted gear (stove, billies, knife, fork, various clothes) with him to send back to my sister, Jill.

I was renewed by this perfectly wonderful and timely encounter, and felt sure that the universe was taking care if me. I walked with a smile on my face and laughed out loud when I stopped to pee on the path and Tom Waits via my iPod, with perfect timing, told me "don't be caught with your drawers down".

The beautiful weather turned to rain for about an hour in the afternoon and justified my stay at Treyarnon youth hostel. I had met a couple of ladies on the path, Ros and Jean and ended bunking down in their dorm. I was so tired in the evening, went to bed early and slept wonderfully in my cozy bunk bed.



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Location:Bude,United Kingdom

Day six: World Cup - Perranporth to Crantock

Guess what? Found my Ipod when packing up my stuff this morning. Yippee.

More of the same today i.e. cliffs, beaches, coves, rocks. All wonderfully spectacular of course.

Here is my strange walking companion:


Walking along the beach, although very tempting to avoid the cliffs, is really hard for me. It is monotonous, tough on my feet, I sink in the sand and basically it seems never ending. Surprisingly I do better on the ups and downs

FOOT STEPS IN THE SAND

One night I dreamed I was walking along the beach with "my strange walking companion". Many scenes from my life flashed across the sky.

In each scene I noticed footprints in the sand. Sometimes there were two sets of footprints, other times there was one only...........Mary Stevenson, 1936



It felt hard from the beginning again today. I was not particularly motivated to get up and go and when I did, it hurt all over. One too many beers last night and I definitely have a cold. I need to do better at rehydrating - I just looked at my face and it is looking very wrinkly.

So I stopped for a coffee (I know Curt, it's a diuretic!) in a pub conveniently located right on the trail but it was closed. I sulked and he made me a coffee.

An example of a perfect trail, flat, obvious and nicely groomed:



More hazards though. Now I am in danger of getting shot by a stray bullet.


What do you think these are? Are they trying to attract UFO's


The coffee helped tremendously and I was able to keep going. I was heading towards Newquay but on the way, I stopped and talked to a couple who suggested this would not be a good place on a Saturday night, especially a world cup Saturday night. "Too many drunks and yobs" they said "just like you hear on the news". They recommended a pub up on the hill and a campsite not far. I had to back track a little but it sounded like a good idea. I had to ensure a good pub for the match tonight.

I checked in the pub first, no wifi, but plugs and otherwise fantastic. Located on the cliffs, overlooking the bay, in a really cute little village. Then I walked down the road and saw the most perfect campsite yet.





This guy in the village fixes gramophones. He had all sorts of advice on how to get my Wurlitzer fixed in Salt Lake City. I had to come all the way here to this little village in Cornwall to find out this information.


I am sitting in the pub yet again and just waiting for this evening's festivities. This entire country has gone patriotic which is highly unusual. Only football, the national game, can bring England together. The St Georges cross is flying everywhere and even went up over Downing Street this morning. The country has been gripped by world cup fever and the first match is tonight against the USA - brilliant.

Back in the tent now and game is over. A draw 1:1 but I am sure you will all be aware of this by the time this blog goes to press. Sat squeezed in a couch with four other women. Lots of oh's and ah's, cheers and boos, kids and adults dressed in England shirts. But altogether it was a disappointing game. England was obviously the better side but lost because of a goal keeper mistake. USA on the other hand has a great goalie.

I talked to lots of people in the pub and gave out my blog address (people are interested and it makes me very happy!), received many tips such as sewing cotton through blisters, honey on digestive biscuits to boost my calories and of course lots of water (have really tried today and have not drunk any beer)

Don't have cotton for my blisters but did just do minor surgery to pop them and hope this works for tomorrow.


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Day five: Portreath or Perranporth

The "Upper Deck" pub is filling up and getting very raucous. My stomach is full of veggie lasagna and filling up with my second pint of Doom Bar.

Feeling great, considering how awful I felt when I arrived at Perranporth about noon today.

Left the farmers field at 5:00 this morning and got started on the path early. I was very aware that I was moving slowly and blisters were forming on my feet. I changed my socks yesterday, which was probably a mistake. I seem to do better with thin liner socks, anything else rucks up inside my boots.

I am now sporting a multitude of different shaped plasters of varying thicknesses all over my toes. My worst blisters are on the bottom of my toes and not sure how to dress those. My big toe nails are both black and blue. This could be a real problem.



Yesterday the SWCP had been like a road running along the top of the cliff
and today it was pretty similar but more up and down, as it dipped down into coves and back up again. The weather was fantastic with beautiful blue skies but cool enough to need a Smart Wool layer.

Today was a little bit of a walk down memory lane for me. Most of our early family holidays took place in Wales. Unlike most London families we would spend our summer holiday's not on the beach, but climbing mountains in Wales -I went up Snowdon (the highest mountain in Wales at 3560 ft!) when I was five. This was my introduction to the mountains, I loved them then and still do. Anyway, when I was about thirteen (i suppose she would have been about my age now), mum decided she no longer wanted to walk and we joined the masses of holiday makers on the beaches of Cornwall. We then spent our time at these beaches that I was walking over today.

I walked down into Chappel Porth cove (below)


And saw up the hill, the cottage I had stayed in with Sharon and her family. Then tried to spot the cave that my sister and I had sheltered in during a big thunder storm in the early 80's. For some reason this occasion was significant enough for me to remember. In the cave was a mother with her child and she was showing the little girl how to make a fire and light it. Jill and I both looked at each other and said when we had children we would bring our children up like this.

Hmmm...I don't think I have ever shown Ivan how to make a fire and light it and don't think I have ever been in a cave with him, but perhaps this summer if he comes out to join me?

Speaking of Ivan, I should take a second to explain why Curt did not end up coming out with me. It will be brief, because this all seems like history now and I have more immediate experiences to blog about.

So 24 hours before I left, curt was still coming and we were all packed and ready to go. We were traveling on buddy passes (stand-by) and having had previous wonderful experiences on them (traveling first class) I had not considered the fact that it was summer and things may be different. Well this was the case and there was no room on any flights to london.

Parental responsibilities overwhelmed us and Curt decided he could not risk not being able to get back for July 10th to pick Ivan up after his trip to California. Curt decided not to go. Initially I was disappointed, then relieved as Curt would now be at home to take care of Ivan, then panicked when I thought about the prospect of doing this alone.

I did consider not going myself. But as Deb pointed out, I had a lot of people living vicariously through my blogs and I could not disappoint - I think part of the reason I am writing this blog (keeps me accountable). I did however also consider living incognito for three months, in some form of disguise and just make up fabulous blogs about all of my adventures. Indeed I may have done this if I had thought my imagination good enough.

Anyway I landed in Amsterdam and caught a British airways flight to London City airport. Where? Had never heard of this airport but it took a beautiful flight path over London with fantastic views, touching down on a landing strip in the middle of the Thames. I had landed in the East London dock lands and that is where my London blog starts.

Things are getting wilder in this pub by the minute. Every one is dancing, clapping, stomping their feet and singing to "I'm a wanker" - a particularly lovely song! Just realized that it's Friday night. Which means tomorrow is Saturday 12th, which means that England vs U.S World Cup match on.

I had better get back to my tent and get some sleep so I can get to my next destination tomorrow in time to watch the game.

So quickly let me finish off about today.

The route finding was really pretty obvious but I think I have also become SWCP savvy. I am in synch with the path and can now generally recognize which path I should take - weird. I also take short cuts whenever possible and recognized one today when I saw the tide was out in one of the coves and rather than go up and over the cliff I went over the beach. It was a little tricky, as the rocks were covered in slippery sea weed and scary sea creatures - so once again, my walking stick came in handy to steady me. The path generally followed spectacular cliff edges with sheer rock faces plummeting down to the sea. Remote rocky coves and caves lay far below, a haven for by-gone smugglers to stash their pirated loot.







As I turned the corner and saw Perranporth beach stretched before me, I started to cry. Have absolutely no reason why, other than the fact I was exhausted, my feet were killing me and I was listening to a particularly stirring rendition of Amazing Grace by Susan Boyle (i know, a little embarrassing to admit but she does have a fantastic voice) on my Ipod. That was the last time I remember having my Ipod. I think I have lost it and I am gutted. I feel as though I have lost a friend and I am not sure how I will do without it. It must have fallen out of my pocket :(


I have got a cold and I never get colds. Better get some sleep now.


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Location:Beach Rd,,United Kingdom