Kiwis and Fairy Bread

7 July 2024

It was time to start the journey home. But before we left Cornwall, there was one last site we wanted to visit: Tintagel Castle (pronounced tin-tadge-el). English Heritage and travel blogs alike extol this site as a way to walk in the steps of King Arthur. Don’t believe a word of it. It’s an exaggeration.

Driving into the town we noticed an atmosphere of a Jersey Shore boardwalk. It was crowded with people walking with ice cream cones along a Main Street lined with shops and pubs with names of Arthurian characters.

We parked, I almost got hit by careless driver pulling out, and we went to the Tintagel Visitors Center to buy our tickets. Too late I asked “So what makes this site related to King Arthur?” Blandly, the bored woman behind the counter replied “King Arthur is a legend. There’s nothing historical about him”. Strike 1.

Outside another staff member was giving directions. I asked her the same question. Her answer was a bit more detailed but no less encouraging: there are lots of places that claim to be associated with King Arthur. “Its kind of a folly. A man did build on this site, but it was a rubbish castle really, and fell apart rather quickly”. Strike 2. I couldn’t help but think that English Heritage really should train their on-site staff as well as they do their website content creators. Couldn’t they at least pretend?

Having paid our admission anyway, we followed the crowd down to the cafe, and ate our lunch with a beautiful view of steep cliffs and sparkling blue water. It was low tide so we would be able to go down to the beach and into Merlin’s Cave. It was a very cool beach. Difficult to get to, as steps have been damaged by the tides, but this, at least was worth the effort. Fresh water falls from high above and into the sea. Kelp in a vivid shade of pink hugs the water line. Stones sparkle like mirrors. The cave is large and creepy and the more adventurous were braving uncertain currents to walk through to the other side. Rocks worn by eons of water were worn smooth into seat-like shapes. OK, I can see that Merlin would have liked performing magic here. At low tide, at least.

Trying to get up and out of the beach we had to contend with bird-brained tourists who couldn’t navigate their way from the steps to the boulders to sand. “Why not put your phone in your purse?” I suggested to one woman. “It would free up a hand so you could balance”. It dawned on her that that was a good idea. Jeez People!

Finally made it past the stupid tourists and up the steep steps, across a supposedly impressive bridge where someone finally looked at our tickets. Still no sign of King Arthur, but the crumbling rubbish castle did have atmosphere. The contrast of the blue sky, rolling sea and stone that was laid centuries ago made for a nice place to rest. I was tired! And the weather kept changing. One minute freezing, another hot. Strike 3.

Continuing up the path I got to the top of some stone steps, lost my balance and that was it. No more “up” my body said. Out.

Mike and I agreed that he would go on up the path and I would meet him down at the cafe. He did see the impressively ghostly sculpture of Arthur.

SO someone decided to put a really good piece of artwork up on a cliff with a rubbish castle and declare that King Arthur, who might have been a Cornish king and might have passed this way. If you make it they will come. I guess I can’t fault that.

There may, actually, have been magic somewhere in the air, because our two hour drive out of Cornwall was filled with rainbows! Big, bright colors. Wide rainbows that made perfect, low arches across hills of crops and livestock. We drove through rainbows on roads where trees made deep green tunnels. The clouds made impossible shapes, billowing in shades of gray and white. And the blue sky peaked through the golden sunshine. It was a sight to enjoy in the moment.

(My apologies to you, our readers, that the rainbows were so fleeting and the roads so narrow, and there was no chance to take a pic)

And suddenly we were driving past Stonehenge! Really and truly. It’s right off a county road! One thinks it is in the middle of nowhere and the English Heritage site does try to make it seem that way. Ben, Mike and I were there six years ago and we walked a mile and a half from the parking lot. I preferred that illusion.

The rainbows were gone and the rain was pouring down when we arrived at our destination: Lyme Regis. Yes! We were back again so soon. Turns out it was just a two hour drive from Tintagel and three hours from Heathrow, where we were to catch our plane the next day. The Royal Lion was booked, but we did find a room at the almost-as-nice Rock Point Inn.

I have decided that I really like small hotels. Our room was very cozy with a view of the rolling sea and nesting pigeons. Dinner was a homey Sunday Roast with crisp Yorkshire Pudding and a Cauliflower Cheese. We walked through the rain to The Cobb where high tide and rough seas splashed above the walls. A very different, but equally nice, experience than we had had last week

I can see coming back to Lyme Regis. Years from now when Mike and I are older and ready for a quieter vacation. We’ll take the train. Stay at one of these small hotels where the young people will serve us good British food. We’ll walk to The Cobb and back over and over. Sit in the public garden, pet a cat and read aloud to each other. We’ll beachcomb. Find a fossil. Watch the sea bathers. Eat ice cream. We will be together. And life will be good.