Date: January 2013
Position: 50°06′N 5°71′W
Conditions: Winter in the UK – damp!
If I was sensible, I should have returned to my B&B in Exeter that night. I wasn’t. I thought it would be far better to drive down the A30 to Landsend. In the Rain. The Dark. And in a Fiat 500 on a motorway with a speed limit of 70mph. The Fiat 500 (named Flea) managed about 75mph – down hills. Passed two trucks and one car. Got caught by quite a few more! In short, Flea was performing like a champion.
LandsEnd
I had a flying stop in Penzance at a cashflow machine (with the vain hope it would break down and spit out heaps of cash) and carried on to Landsend. It was dark by now, and I couldn’t see anything. It was probably about 5.30pm! No sign of smugglers. No sign of food or accommodation either. I had spotted a pub on the road called “The First and Last Inn in the World”. I popped in to see if they had a room.
In the tradition of Ye Olde English Pub, one is never too sure if one is about to walk into a pub or someone’s lounge. Luckily, it was the pub with a vacancy. They also sold food. It was Saturday night, a band was playing, and I was the only foreigner in the bar. Everyone watched me eat my dinner. I finished up and went out for a smoke. Half the bar came out. They all went back in when I did. About ten minutes later, I went out again. The same lot all trooped out. As is the norm with smokers outside a pub, we were all best mates in minutes. It was a bit disconcerting when later on in the evening, the lead singer came up to me and exclaimed: “you must be the reason why everyone keeps disappearing!”. Oops.
Impromptu parties
About twenty new friends, ridiculous amounts of wine later, we decamped to a local house for an impromptu housewarming party. I got asked how long we had been flatting together – one of the guys lived there replied with “well, we know she’s a kiwi, and we think her name is Sarah, and she has just sailed across the Atlantic”. With that, everyone started giving me advice on sites to see the next day. By one in the morning, they were asking what kind of car I was driving so they could avoid it. Red Fiats are easy to spot! By about three in the morning, they were busy telling me the roads to follow so I wouldn’t see any cops……..I’m not sure what time I staggered the 40 feet back to the pub!
Hungover
With a late start the next morning, I headed off to view LandsEnd in daylight – it is pretty cool when you can see it! Sitting there looking at the lighthouse on the rocks, I thought I would drive through as many towns as possible. Hungover decisions are great. Starting with Penzance in daylight, I thought I would crisscross the peninsula and work my way back to Exeter via Plymouth.
The GPS is a great invention, but sometimes it is very frustrating. It always wants an address. Quite often, I do not have an address. It also doesn’t give you pertinent advice that guidebooks do (if you read them). The first stop I had on my way to Penzance was to see some standing stones in a farmer’s field (courtesy of my new-found friends). Not GPS friendly, so I decided to revert to the good old map. These were cool. A set of 19 stones called the Merry Maidens, that legend has it were women (witches maybe???) frozen in time.
Rolling through St Ives
Driving through the delightful town of St Ives, I stopped by the Tate Museum. There is a cracking view of the beach and harbour. “I’ll just drive down there and have a look”, I thought. Driving the tiny streets towards the town centre, I was thankful for the Fiat. Sure I was negotiating alleyways, I wasn’t sure there were even pavements for pedestrians. It was rather a surprise when five minutes later I got spat out the other side. No sign of the beach. Maybe I missed an obvious turn, so I retraced my steps, and ended up back at the Tate Museum. “Third time will be a charm,” I thought.
Alas, t’was not to be. I ended up back on the wrong side of town. I pulled out the trusty Cornwall Guidebook. Under the heading “St Ives”, the first thing it said in bold was “Do Not Drive Through the Town Centre”. That would have been nice to know twenty minutes ago! Giving up the harbour idea, I went and had a look a the surf beach instead. From the relative warmth and comfort of the car, I appreciated the hardy locals in their wetsuits braving the cold. Win some, lose some.
Plan A: Rick Steins Place
By now, I was getting hungry. Having a soft spot for celebrity chef cooking shows, I knew Rick Stein had a couple of restaurants in Cornwall so figured I would sample some of his fish and chips. With high expectations, I pulled into the village of Padstow as darkness fell. After a quick spin around the marina and a couple of dodgy photos, I tracked down Ricks eateries. It was Sunday, and I had a vision of a leisurely meal with wine to accompany it. Unfortunately, none of his restaurants was open. If I had consulted my guidebook, I would have been forewarned. Bugger.
Plan B: Cornish Pasties
Oh well, the next best thing would be a Cornish Pasty. Loving a good pasty, I thought it would be cool to have a real Cornish Pasty made in Cornwall with Cornish produce. No such luck. The Pasty shop was turning its lights out when I stopped, adding insult to injury. With my hopes now dashed, I thanked God for BP service stations. A sad end to my intended gastronomic journey. And now it was dark. Eating my pie in the car on the side of the road, I contemplated my options.
Plymouth Hoe
I had a general destination in mind. Plymouth. The name alone was insufficient information for the GPS. It wanted specifics, so I told it to find a McDonald’s, in Plymouth. It gave me a selection, and I chose the McD’s near Plymouth Hoe – a rather lovely lighthouse. There is always a McDonalds near city centres or tourist destinations. I just kept pressing accept to get it to shut up and get on with the job of navigation. The trusty Fiat 500 that was itching to see the back off me departed Padstow for a very circuitous route home.
Scary Ferries
Sightseeing at night is fantastic. You can’t see the surrounding countryside. Rain adds another whole level of challenge. Thankfully, I was back on a motorway now rather than tiny back roads, and there weren’t that many cars around. It was all cool right up until I realised I was in a Ferry Lane – I couldn’t get out of it and had no idea where it was going. And I had signed a rental agreement that stated explicitly I would not take my rental car to another country; my passport was back in the Exeter, I had no clean clothes. My stress levels elevated alarmingly. With no alternative, I pulled onto the Ferry. I was stuck in the middle of all the cars when the lady who collects payment came around. I must have looked like a complete dumbarse when I asked her “where it this ferry going?”. She laughed at me and said “the other side of the harbour. That’s two pounds!”.
Having survived the Torpoint-Devonport ferry ride which was all of five minutes, I followed the route to Plymouth Hoe, via a bus lane – nice of the GPS that cost a 35 quid fine! By now, I was getting over being a tourist. I stopped on the road below the reconstructed lighthouse, thought about taking yet another blurry low light photo and decided no, it was time to head back to my hotel before I murdered the GPS.
