A Trip to Cornwall

The Downderry Diaries

Saturday 22nd August 2009

Arrived in Downderry after a short detour around Plymouth:

Me: ‘Do I need to look at the map?’

Terri:’No, it’s really simple.’

Terri: ‘Which lane should I be in?  I’m not sure which way to go.’

Time passes.

Me:  ‘This doesn’t look right.  This looks like we’re driving away from Plymouth again, and there aren’t any caravans in front.’

Terri:  (Snippy now) I know that, I can’t just turn round.  Look, there’s Derriford Hospital, find that on the map.’

Me: ‘The hospital’s not on the map.’

SILENCE FOR SOME WHILE

I imagine something similar is going on in most cars heading down to Cornwall.

Once in Downderry we found the chalet very easily, but then it took us a while to locate the key.  Strictly speaking, it took Terri two failed attempts to locate it, and then I went to look for it and found it exactly where we were told it would be.

We let ourselves in and the first impression was an overwhelming smell of damp overlayed with Febreze, which opening the windows did nothing to alleviate.  The dogs, however, thought the place smelt just great.

Zebedy completely understands the holiday thing.  She knows that once a year we will leave our warm comfortable house, drive to another part of the country to live in an unfeasibly small, wet tent or fusty chalet, all for the sake of a sea-view.  She is prepared for this and knuckles down to make the doggie best of things. Archie, however, does not undertsand and spends the first twelve hours trembling; during last year’s tent interlude he vibrated for a whole week.  He has perfected a hang-dog expression in its truest sense and I’m sure that if he had a little doggie mobile phone he’d be on to the RSPCA.   As I wrote this article, he was sitting on my feet, vibrating and observing himself miserably in the full-length mirror (we don’t have one at home).

The chalet is situated on a cliff, so Terri lugged our possessions down some 40 or so unevenly steep concrete steps, but we have a spectacular sea view.  There is nothing between us and the sea, except that the owners have planted a Eucalyptus tree, slap bang in the middle of this panorama.  It’s currently beginning to intrude on the view, but next year, I suspect there will only be Eucalyptus visible!

The weather had begun to close in once we reached Plymouth and a chalk-white sky blanketed everything.  We could just about make out gunmetal waves beneath the haar, and when we opened the patio doors, the wind whipped Cornish drizzle into our faces.  There was only one thing for it; being British we togged up in waterproofs and took the dogs for a walk on the beach to Seaton and back, a distance of around a mile.  The sand along this stretch of Cornish coast is grey, derived from the slate rocks, which added to the overall theme of greyness.

On the way back to the chalet we explored what Downderry had to offer, one convenience store with surly, ignorant youths at the tills, one cafe (The Swan) and one pub/bistro (The Inn On The Shore).

The menu at the pub looked really good, but because of Archie’s general terror that we might have to live here forever we decided to find a takeaway and stay home to keep him company, on the first night at least, so we set off to Looe to look for an Indian.

We joined the steady stream of cars circling Looe looking for a parking slot:

Terri:  ‘You’ve got the little purse with the change in it?’

Me:  ‘No.’

Terri: ‘Well I gave it to you earlier when you went to the  inconveneince store.’

Me:  ‘Well I put it back in the bag in the chalet!’

Terri:  ‘Well, I’ve only got notes, so we might as well go home.’

SILENCE FOR SOME WHILE

We stopped at two pubs on the way home to enquire about a takeaway service, but no luck.  We had to visit the inconvenience store again.

We sat on the balcony, watching the pale grey light fade to, well, darker grey over the sea.  We ate home cooked chicken and rice and drank a good bottle of red and planned a long walk, then fell asleep listening to Spem in Alium.

Sunday 23rd August

THE WEATHER CHANGED!!!

White fog enveloped everything, even the Eucalyptus disappeared.  Steely rain intermittently permeated the mist and the light levels were about the same as a January day.  We shelved the idea of a nine-mile round walk to Looe in favour of a car journey to Fowey instead.  Thick fog all the way there didn’t look hopeful, but we persevered.

We decided to take the pedestrian ferry from Polruan accross to Fowey, and parked in the designated car park at the top of the village.  Polruan is probably most people’s idea of a traditional Cornish village, cottages clinging to the cliffside, separated by narrow lanes, although I didn’t hear many Cornish accents.

The ferry which runs every fifteen minutes, or so has been run by three generations of Thomas family.  It was begun by Charles Thomas, boatbuilder, to take horses across the river.  The current Mr Thomas is hoping his children might also be interested in taking the work on.

The dogs have never been on a boat before.  Typically, Zeb loved it and was fascinated, whereas Archie turned to jelly and jumped all over Terri leaving the only pair of jeans she brought with her covered in black paw-prints and a suspicious brownish stain.  

Fowey is lovely and attractive town (?large village) hugging the hillside overlooking the busy harbour, and today was full of people just like us seeking entertainment in the fog and rain.

Fowey’s streets are full of busy cafes, bars and restaurants.  We particularly liked the look of Nathan Outlaw’s Hotel on the Esplanade (although I hear that he is selling up and moving back to Rock), but today we  settled for standing beneath the extractor fan and inhaling vicariously – smelt divine!The food at the Taipan Restaurant also smelt wonderful (we really must get over this curry fixation!)

Most of the other shops on the town stock variations on designer housewares, all creams and beiges.  Designer tatt it’s called in our household (except for the pieces we like, obviously!).  Surfwear shops such as Fat Face and Sea Salt were doing a roaring trade and we almost bought more clothes that we liked the look of but didn’t need.

We came away with some fudge (lemon curd for me, dairy for Terri), some joss-sticks to mask the smell of the chalet and the details of a holiday bungalow for next time.  The weather had cleared, so after a little rest at home (interesting how quickly these temporary dwellings become ‘home’) we walked the dogs along the beach to Seaton again.  We found a Portugese Man O War jelly fish washed up on the strand, its colours iridescent in the afternoon light.

That evening, after a little rest and a read of Saturday’s Telegraph, we visited The Inn on the Shore for supper.  We’d booked, so had a good table overlooking the Channel.  They really need to lose the nick-nacks from the window ledges though, as they pointlessly impede diners’ sea-views.

We both ordered whitebait to start and a huge platter of crunchy, deep-fried fish arrived, accompanied by a side salad of mixed leaves with a mustard dressing, and some buttered brown bread – scrumptious, but huge.  We ordered the Sauvignon blanc to go with the fish, but it didn’t have much nose (smelt a bit like rainwater) and was a bit lacking in the gooseberry flavour normally expected, but it was OK.

I’d ordered Sea Bream with garlic butter served over crushed spring onion potatoes and a side salad.  My fish fillet was cooked to perfection, but served over half a sack-full of crushed potato; lovely but too much.  The side salad was exactly the same as I’d had with my starter, so as I’d already eaten it once this evening I gave this one a miss.

Terri ordered crayfish and smoked salmon salad with crabmeat.  Again, the portion was just too big.  A layer of by now very familiar mixed leaves was covered with around 200g of prawns, which were layered with sweet crayfish tails and some of the oakiest smokiest salmon I’ve tasted in a long time.  Two huge balls of crabmeat (mainly brown) sat sentry on the sides of the dish.  Apart from the daunting size of the platter, the prawns were pretty superfluous as they couldn’t compete withe the other ingredients, and the amount of crabmeat could have been halved and still been plentiful.  Terri felt that the salad was a bit light on the Marie-Rose dressing, as there was only a thin, cheffy drizzle over the top.  Judging by the other plates being returned, we weren’t the only ones struggling to manage a full serving.

The steep lane on the way home was a struggle.

Monday 24th August

The hammering rain woke me this morning.  Those bastards at the Telegraph lied.  There was definitely not a big, black, rainy cloud on Cornwall’s weather map for today!

However, as we were showering:

Lo! a strange light did appear in the sky.  And all was suffused yellow.  And we were sorely afraid.

OK, the sun came out, so we donned vests and shorts, slathered on the Factor 50 and went for a long walk, carefully taking all our waterproofs in the back-pack just in case.

We walked the South West Coastal Path from Downderry to Looe.  The contour was quite up and down, but not too challenging.  There were only a couple of bits where I thought my lungs were coming out of my mouth.

We stopped briefly at Millendreath, which must have been charming at one time, but now comprised concrete appartment blocks and boarded up buildings.  It looks how I imagine East Berlin might have before the wall came down.  Fortunately the ‘No Dogs’ and ‘Private Beach’ signs were going the way of the decaying architecture and no one took any notice of them.  The beach was full of families with dogs and dinghies having a great time.

The walk from Millendreath to Looe takes you through one long housing estate of huge, whitewashed, balconied buildings, some of which seem to have bypassed the planning office.  Despite the very obvious wealth, the area felt tacky, soulless, empty and deserted; like a shuttered Spanish town at siesta.

Looe town was packed with people in the way that Cornish towns can be during summer, but we spent a pleasant couple of hours wandering through the throng and taking it in turns to go into shops (one of us has to stay outside with the dogs).  We ate a BLT and a Cornish ice cream at the Pier Cafe on Banjo Pier, and it was good to just sit down and not have to dodge anyone.

During the latter part of our walk to Looe, Terri’s lateral collateral ligament (knee) started playing up, so she visited the chemist while I waited outside.  A guy came along, smartly dressed – decent watch and shoes (my Mum always said you could tell someone’s wealth by their shoes).  He picked up a polystyrene takeaway box from the floor and headed for the bin.  I was impressed and thought he was being a really good citizen.  Before he disposed of the chip tray he shook it and it rattled.  He opened the box to reveal the little wooden chip fork.  He carefully closed the box and put it in the bin.  He picked up another container from the floor and repeated the process, then another and another.  Running out of boxes on the floor he began to rifle through the bin quickly, becoming more and more irritated.  He grumbled his discontent and scattered the whole lot on the floor again before dashing off to find another bin.  Seagulls rapidly descended to pick through the mess.  Our two Russels added to the melee, lunging, snapping and snarling at the gulls; Archie making his own peculiar screaming sound, which usually stops traffic.  People were beginning to stare as I dragged the dogs away.  Zeb jogged happily accross the car park, tongue lolling and smiley faced.

We strapped Terri’s knee for the journey home.  She found that she was pain-free if she waddled a bit like a duck with her foot turned out on the downhill sections of the walk, thus relieving the load on her lateral collateral ligament and transferring all the force on to the medial – a temporary solution I thought.

On the way ‘home’ (there’s that word again) we stopped at The Smugglers Rest in Seaton.  Terri decided that the only proper pain relief for her knee was ice-cold lager and I was hankering after a chilled Sauvignon Blanc, which was a shame as the pub only had Chardonnay that day, so I settled for red which wasn’t the same. 

That evening it was back to The Inn on The Shore, but this time we only ordered starters.  We asked for oil, balsamic and bread and would have liked to follow this with the bacon, avocado and feta salad, but we were told the chef was busy so the starters would all arrive together.  We ordered a bottle of house Champagne to go with this, which was OK.

The salads were familiar, but fresh and tasty, with the addition of a huge, buttery avocado and flavourful feta.  The only disappointment was the smoky bacon, a sprinkle of what appeared to be catering bacon garnish.  We would have liked a few nice crispy rashers or some lardons.

Tuesday 25th August

We spent a lazy morning writing and reading the Sunday paper, then had a late breakfast on the balcony.  It’s a relief to be able to open the patio doors and drive out the damp smell.

Another sunny day, so we donned shorts and tees again and walked the dogs on the beach towards St German’s as far as possible, then back towards Seaton.

Bursting for the loo, Terri asked the woman at the gift shop where the public toilets were.  She shrugged, nodded unsmiling and without eye contact  and said “there’s a big sign up telling you,” which was the sum of her helpfulness.

We eventually found the loos at the back of the Beach Cafe, and as we were there we thought we’d have a cup of hot chocolate and a mineral water.  Sadly, although they were on the menu, they had neither, so we pottered back to Downderry along the sand.  We staked our place against the sea wall and Terri went off in search of lunch.  She came back with sandwiches from the Swan Cafe; curling, dry white bread with a sliver of hard cheese and a skim of pickle for me and curling dry bread with tuna and mayo for herself.  This and a couple of drinks cost a shade under a tenner.  The dogs’ sausage roll was looking tempting.  Somehow this wasn’t adding up to a good food day.

We relaxed in the sun until the dogs became spooked by a kite and Archie started screaming and trying to sit on Terri’s head – time to go.

We thought we’d try somewhere different for supper, so walked to The Smugglers Inn at Seaton.  It’s a huge pub inside, but was virtually empty, just a handful of young kids screeeeeching over the pool table and another couple.  We picked a cleanish looking table and tried not to notice how our forearms stuck to the surface.  We sat next to the dartboard/dance floor/speaker stacks/mixing desk/traditional piano with candelabra.  I’m not sure what image they were trying to portray, and if Mary Portas did pubs instead of shops she’d have a field day!  The controls to the juke box had been taped over to prevent customer choice and piped frenetic techno music filled the air.

We had a very good sirloin steak with mushrooms, tomato, peas, onion rings and a huge pile of crinkle cut chips.

Now, there is an art to eating chips, and I have to eat mine in a certain order, which Terri finds very strange (they’re just chips!  Eat them!).  I select my favourite chips and eat those first.  They should be nicely oblong and quite chunky.  The colour should be golden brown and the texture a blend of crunchy softness with a little oil.  Next I will eat any crispy burnt bits.  All of the small, odd shaped chips will be left to last and I’ll eat these only if I’m hungry.

I know I’m not the only one who does this ………………………….am I?

Wednesday 26th August

I woke at 5am, I’m not sure what woke me, but the tail-end of the hurricaine had begun.  A terrific wind was thrashing the coast.  I couldn’t get back to sleep so listened to the wind and Terri and the dogs snoring.  A couple of hours later torrential rain began and the grey sea was topped with white horses.  The eucalyptus tree was bowing horizontal, but the damn thing survived.  We did consider bending it a bit further, but we’re too honest.

We had a lazy day and by 3pm the storm was dying out, so  we saddled up the dogs and walked them up the lane by Tregrieve Organic Farm, Deviock and along the country path which led us towards the nature reserve in Seaton, passing ponds teaming with brown trout and pink and white waterlilies.  We ambled back along the beach and threw countless pebbles into the waves for Zebedee to chase (there was a sharp intake of breath at the imagined vet’s bill when she caught a biggish pebble).  Archie contented himself by digging in the wet sand, most of which he dumped over our clothes later.

In the evening we ate at the Inn on The Shore again, having had the previous night off, and we had a really good grilled chicken salad with a few crispy sauteed potatos.  The salad was exactly the same as all the other salads, but the chicken was superbly cooked.  We washed this down with a very good bottle of chianti as we chatted to Barbara from Zurich, who’d kindly invited us to share her table.  She was a publisher of culture magazines now retraining as a speech therapist. 

Wildlife seemed to be invading the chalet.  There was a tarantula on the ceiling which was too big for either of us to deal with, despite the fact that I’m usually the one who takes out the spiders at home and at the hospital.  There was a slug, sliming slowly up the inside of the patio doors.  Terri said there are slugs in the kitchen too.

And yes, I also have to eat sauteed potatos in a certain order!

Thursday 27th August

Moretonhampstead’s carnival day!  There will be alot of heavy drinking going on at home.

The weather today was cool and cloudy, but dry.  Lots of little boats are out on the water, all containing one man wearing a red boiler suit standing and fishing.  I wondered how they didn’t fall off.  Later, when I had my glasses on I realised that these red boiler-suited men were the sails of the little boats.

We took the dogs along the same route as yesterday, but instead of coming back along the river to Seaton we crossed over it and walked through the nature reserve, which is a Site of Special Scientific Interest.  They have Silver Washed Fritillaries there.  I know this because one of them socked me in the eye.

We wandered back through a little housing estate. I love doing this because I’m always intruiged to see what people have done with their gardens.  I’m just plain old nosey really.  Once at the beach we pottered along the sand and threw countless pebbles into the waves for Zebedee, trying to miss her teeth this time.  When she was beautifully wet and sandy she decided she wouldn’t walk past any of the kites, so I had to pick her up and carry her, after which she was clean and dry and I was wet and sandy.

When we arrived home (!) I found a dessicated slug on the duvet.  Last night when my bladder became so pressing that I had to get up and I put the kitchen light on there was a little sluggy get together going on on the lino.  The wildlife is taking over.

We had pasties on the patio for lunch, and spent a lazy afternoon Reading (Terri) and writing (me).  We visited the Inn on the Shore again for supper and had a very familiar chicken salad.

Friday 28th August

We’ve decided to go home tonight to get away from the smell, the slugs and the Saturday changeover traffic.  Typically it’s a blue and golden sunlit day.

First, we’ve arranged to meet up with my cousin, Roger, who’s also holidaying in Cornwall and whom I havn’t seen for 30 years!  Will we recognise each other?

Actually yes, we did. He looked like Roger, but older and I expect he thought the same about me.  We met his partner, Jill for the first time and spent a lovely afternoon catching up on the news from all the other cousins.  Roger’s done a family tree, which I’m keen to look at as soon as I register with Genes reuinited.

When we parted I flippantly said ’see you in 20 years or so’ to which Roger replied ‘don’t leave it that long, we might not be here.’

Makes yer think don’t it?

5 Comments

• 

  By Marianne Moss, September 9, 2009 @ 2:27 pm

  Must I be sad ? NO, an amusing ten minutes relating the tale of your fun packed vacation to the Costa Del Cornwall, (it EVEN raised a chuckle from Mr Moss) not one to laugh out loud you know. The smell you described was reminiscent of the chalet we stayed in last year, same air freshner do you think? must remember tip re chips and DO YOU treat saute pots likewise? Despite the disappointing weather hope you had a good time and doesn’t it make you appreciate YOUR home when you’ve spent a week in a smelly matchbox

• 

  By shelley, September 12, 2009 @ 1:33 pm

  you’ve got to know the place to appreciate the background.i found this amusing and so true to life.nothing ever changes on the south coast.the gray sky’s and the people.the sunshine comes out and everthing changes.everone is in a happy holiday mood.well worth a visit if writing a book. Shelley

• 

  By nidoCansall, April 24, 2010 @ 6:29 am

  I risk to seem the layman, but nevertheless I will ask, whence it and who in general has written?

• 

  By Helleojagasip, June 17, 2010 @ 4:13 am

  Hi VEry nice posts i’sure i’sts nice

• 

  By On Line Mba, July 22, 2010 @ 2:20 am

  Must I be sad ? NO, an amusing ten minutes relating the tale of your fun packed vacation to the Costa Del Cornwall, (it EVEN raised a chuckle from Mr Moss) not one to laugh out loud you know. The smell you described was reminiscent of the chalet we stayed in last year, same air freshner do you think? must remember tip re chips and DO YOU treat saute pots likewise? Despite the disappointing weather hope you had a good time and doesn’t it make you appreciate YOUR home when you’ve spent a week in a smelly matchbox
  +1

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