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| St Ives beach |
My first visit to Cornwall was when I was a toddler. I have no active memory of it, but I do have vestiges of the feeling of liking it. The family story is that I adored Tintagel castle. Part of my mother’s family originated from there, or so we think. My parents have a story of them on a visit once, going into a pub there and seeing people who looked identical to the family reunions usually taking place in country New South Wales. Only these old men wore woolly jumpers and drank pints of bitter or ale flavoured by the log fires warming their stone pub, whereas the Aussie folk would have been in work trousers and downing Tooheys or the like.
Since moving to the UK, I’ve travelled to Cornwall a few times. I stayed in Penzance once, back in November 2006. I stayed at the Youth Hostel and went on a few walks along the coast. I visited St Michael’s Mount one day before hail storms drove me to a pub. On another night, a storm whipped the sea up onto the road and I discovered the Ship Inn and a fabulous sea food dinner.
Two Australian friends announced they were visiting Europe this northern spring and asked if I would like to go with them to Cornwall. They were hiring a car and planning on visiting Tintagel, Boscastle, St Ives and as one of them is a bit of a foodie who loves seafood, to check out Padstow.
I said yes.
We caught the train on 25 April 2012 from London Waterloo to Salisbury where we picked up the car. We drove to Boscastle via Stonehenge and the northern tip of Dartmoor, mostly dodging the rain. That bucketed down in sheets mostly while we were on the main roads but we were lucky in that when we stopped for a nice pub lunch at the Mulberry in Cheriton Bishop (Devon) we didn't get soaked. I had a tasty enough Otter Ale in a fun glass (see right) and the first of many fish meals, a not bad fish and chips. The weather (and the car) was against us so we pressed on to the Atlantic coast.
The rain lightened up when we got to Boscastle so after we parked in the expansive car park that doubles as a flood plain, we wandered up to the harbour area (see left). The tide was obviously out, but as it wasn't tipping down with rain pretty much everyone was out clambering over the rocks and looking at the amazing coastline with its jagged grey rocks and pounding sea.
But, the rain returned just as we were heading back to the village to check into the Riverside hotel. Friends of mine had recommended we go to see the Museum of Witchcraft (see right) as an example of something odd. We paid over our three quid each and were immediately into a 1970s film appreciation school or something, focussing on the various depictions of witches dating from then. I understood the point that they were trying to make: that the popular image of witches is a confused one and not exactly accurate. The next little section was into the historic suppression of witchcraft and women (and some men) who were believed to be witches. This was immediately sobering because while I was certainly aware of some of the medieval tortures and tests, seeing a selection of these implements along with contemporary and more modern descriptions of how they were used highlighted just how brutal they were. Seen through the prism of the resurgent war on women in parts of the USA, that brutality is horrifying. The next room was devoted to various old rites and festivals, many of which are still celebrated today in parts of England and Cornwall. Then through an interesting array of folk medicines and biographies of traditional healers, then upstairs to a collection of various items including devil and satanic items. All in all, I'm glad I went to it, and it did provoke some interesting discussions about belief and non-belief, and history, and interpretation while we three nursed a pint each of Cornish ale in an atmospheric pub surprisingly full of locals rather than tourists. But, the museum is such a bizarre mis-match of things and ideas that jar it really does need a good curator to come and give it a good think and shake up.
The hotel was not full, and we had a pleasant enough dinner although the fish was not cooked too well. We planned out the next day but retired early to the sound of rain. I had a good night's sleep, but my friends had to deal with an alarm clock left set for 3 am by some American tourists the day before, so the hotel people explained.
In the morning, one of my friends and I went for a short walk around the harbour and through some fields and back down into the village before breakfast. The weather clear, cool, and the paths surprisingly not too muddy given the amount of rain. We met a chap walking his Jack Russell, both of whom were very friendly. As we were going the same way as the walker, he chatted to us about the village. He and his missus had moved to Boscastle five years ago (so after the flood) from Yorkshire. She is an artist but they both loved the place and stayed. The bluebells and wild garlic plants were out in full bloom and my friend and I were ready for a good breakfast when we returned to the hotel.
We drove the short distance to Tintagel and headed to the castle, which had a few school parties. We mostly avoided them and enjoyed the spectacular views in peace. English Heritage has done a pretty good job with the castle in terms of laying out information on the different sections. The ascent to the peak on the island part was in good nick, as were most of the other parts. I loved the place again, mostly because of the sea, the rocks, the windswept wildness of it. It might not actually have anything to do with Arthur, the Round Table, his knights, Merlin and dragons, but the place is so evocative it's not at all surprising that various poets and novelists have drawn inspiration from here.
After the awesome might of Tintagel, we headed to Padstow, which was a contrast. We arrived a bit after the lunch time crowds, but they were still ambling about. After a bit of a meander, we found Rick Stein's Fish and Chip shop down on the south quay and managed to grab some lunch before it closed up for the afternoon. I had a grilled bream, which was rather nice. It reminded me of Doyle's in Sydney.
We then roared off to Penzance where we had rooms waiting for us in a new guesthouse - so new, it didn't yet have its name plate up. Ameria House is the name, and I have no problems recommending it. We went for a wander about the town and I found the Ship Inn again, where we had dinner.
After a lovely breakfast, we packed up the car and headed to St Ives. There, we were greeted by the sun and a chap practicing his para-gliding. We walked along the beach, then through the town and to the harbour. We visited the Tate and were all disappointed by the exhibition there and the lack of any permanent exhibition showcasing local art. But, the views from the cafe were magnificent. We went to the Barbara Hepworth sculpture garden and while I'm not really a fan of her work, in situ I could understand more about what it is she was trying to capture being the great ancient stones and how humans interact with them.
On the advice of a person at Boscastle, we headed to the small village of Lamorna on the south western end of Mount's Bay. This was to try a Newlyn crab sandwich, which we did, and it was delicious. Unfortunately, the rain had returned, and while we stopped off at Mousehole so my friends could have a Cornish cream tea (one used the clotted cream as butter, the other didn't - who is right?) we headed back to Penzance to have a final wander around. On advice from a ticket office bloke in Penzance station, we deposited our luggage at a nearby pub / hotel and then headed back to the Ship Inn for dinner. It again didn't disappoint.
Finally, it was time for the sleeper train back to London. We had a chat in the dining/lounge car before heading to bed. I slept amazingly well, but woke as we were heading into London Paddington at 5 am. Interestingly, they allow you to stay on the train until about 7 am. I had breakfast then farewelled my mates as they headed off to mainland Europe for a bit.
In the morning, one of my friends and I went for a short walk around the harbour and through some fields and back down into the village before breakfast. The weather clear, cool, and the paths surprisingly not too muddy given the amount of rain. We met a chap walking his Jack Russell, both of whom were very friendly. As we were going the same way as the walker, he chatted to us about the village. He and his missus had moved to Boscastle five years ago (so after the flood) from Yorkshire. She is an artist but they both loved the place and stayed. The bluebells and wild garlic plants were out in full bloom and my friend and I were ready for a good breakfast when we returned to the hotel.
Rain the whole rest of the way until I emerged from the clouds into the sun again. Waited for the bus, and had a little snooze at the hostel before heading to the Inn for a proper dinner. I had local mussels (small, but very tasty), local salmon lightly poached (delicious), washed down by the local dark ale called Black Face after the local sheep variety, and then a local single malt whisky not made by Talisker. Hm. That’s a mystery, and annoying because it was seriously nice stuff.
I took the cab, with a little bit of a strange thrill. Their reputations aren't great, but I had an uneventful trip along the motorway that was almost devoid of traffic, and what traffic there was happily zipped along with no snags. My cabbie was polite, helped with my bag when I got to my hotel, and I was happy to tip him. (Yes, I've had US tipping etiquette explained: this is only a comment on my feelings based on the countries I've lived in where tipping isn't a necessity, but is a useful way to show appreciation when it's deserved). On the trip I could see banks of snow piled up along the road and in front of the houses. I'd been lucky: over the weekend Washington DC and the eastern states had been dumped on again with snow storms. Not only was New York not so badly hit, it had stopped in time for JFK to be clear. No, the delays I had was because of scheduled, but not well publicised, works to improve its main runway (thus closing it) and a bit of a scandal to do with the children of air traffic controllers speaking to air crews... Youch. Good thing I'm a good flier, and I don't think my flight was one affected.
My hotel was mid town, not too far from Grand Central Station, which lived up to its reputation as something pretty special. On Day One I walked to it and went inside. It is a photogenic type of place, especially when shooting in black and white, and I was mucking about with trying to get the movement of the people rushing about getting to work, or maybe other places. I'm pretty happy with this shot. I didn't hang about though, but made a mental note of next time making sure I would catch a train from this amazingly cool place.
As a long-time Beatles and John Lennon fan, of course Strawberry Fields was a must. Since Central Park is HUGE, I headed to the west side and walked north. I was surprised that the mosaic with the word "imagine" was pretty much it. The park benches around all had little plaques, but not all of them had anything to do with John. There was an understated one from the people of Liverpool to the people of Manhattan following 11 September 2001... 
I headed south on one of the avenues and paid over the dosh for the still spectacular views of Manhattan afforded by the Empire State Building. It was a shame that the sunny crispness I'd enjoyed at Central Park in the morning had started to haze over a bit. I was very impressed by the way they are geared up for massive crowds (which they must get outside of winter!) but happy to adapt to quiet days like the day I went. Less impressed by the pressure to have your photo taken, but actually here they were pleasant about it unlike at the wharf waiting for the Alcatraz ferry in San Francisco. It was here at the Empire State that I think I worked something out about New Yorkers - if you make the opening gambit, they seem quite happy to have a chat, if they're not pressured by other things. At least, that was my experience. I just said thanks to a lift attendant as I was leaving (a woman who must have been having a very boring time of it) and we then engaged in a bit of a conversation while waiting for the lift to turn up. She told me it was her birthday and what her plans were to celebrate. 
The rain and sleet promised by the excitable weather guys on the TV actually eventuated, but I was lucky in that it didn't really start to dump down until after I got to the Natural History Museum (near Central Park). I walked there via Times Square, which surprised me in how small it was relative to how I'd always imagined it. But it was bright, and the lights and ads and TV shows an assault on the senses. And that's early in the morning! I spent much of the day at the museum, along with half the NYPD it seemed, who were there en mass in their dress uniforms and medals with their families. The museum itself reminded me of the NSW Museum and the Horniman in south east London - all of a similar ilk. Built during a particular time and for a particular reason, and now having to change to cater for new audiences with different needs. It was full of dioramas of American animals over the millennia, an interesting collection from controversial anthropologist Margaret Mead, and bones. Lots and lots of bones. Dinosaur bones. Great stuff. I loved the one in the entrance hall, and mucked about with a new lens.
I also got down to Battery Park through various road and other works around the financial district. Using the zoom, I got a few great shots of the Statue of Liberty, but decided against catching the ferry across. The viewing deck was closed, so for another time. There were some guys practicing some hip hop dancing, and a few tidal waves of tourists. Otherwise, very quiet and a place where you could lose yourself if you wanted to just sit and stare out at the water. I went to the NYPD museum and realised that this holiday I'd been to where Al Capone had effectively ended his criminal life (Alcatraz, although he didn't die there but had been released because of his syphilis) and now where he'd started out as such a violent thug the "mafia" told him to bugger off to Chicago. I also saw the court house familiar to anyone who watches Law and Order, and other New York cop shows I just adore. I walked along Wall Street for a little while, diving into the maze of little streets down there that unlike the rest of Manhattan isn't an easy-to-navigate grid.