After the slightly stern grey granite beauty of Edinburgh, St Ives was all human scale whitewashed and welcoming. Seaside fun for all the family with an obligatory brightly coloured plastic spade for everyone. Evoking Enid Blyton for me. In fact I’m sure the Five went to Cornwall and caught some smugglers red-handed.
The old part of town is a tangle of tiny cobbled streets where every second cottage is a gallery. After dinner we joined the promenade along the seafront where the many benches were filled with ice cream eating families.
Everyone from the woman delivering local sausages to our B&B to the man at the farmers market and even the local couple we had a chat with over a drink at the Rum and Crab Shack warned us of the difficulty of the first bit of the Coastal Path and the awful weather expected. “Today is only fit for staying inside and having a cream tea” said the sausage delivery woman. “Stop being so optimistic” (with a laugh) when I suggested it might clear?
And they were all completely right about the weather – the fine misty drizzle steadily thickened and we were soaked and sodden, squelching with every soggy step. The rugged coast was a little lost in the mist which was rapidly turning into a thick fog.
We bailed on the last couple of miles to catch a bus from Zennor to Gurnards Head. Any worries about messing up the bus with our drips were proven unwarranted when the bus itself was leaking from every gap.
So what a pleasure when the bright yellow Gurnards Head pub emerged from the gloom. We were soon dry, toasty and treating ourselves to a great meal in a cosy lovely gastro-pub, while the fog grew thicker. Great weather for smuggling as Tim said!
The following days walking to Lands End were much drier and by the time we got to Whitesand Bay the sun was shining, we got sunburnt and it was back to seaside holiday fun.
We had meanwhile walked over beautiful rugged coast and past remains of the substantial tin mining industry and some wild Cornish ponies.
Way-finding was interesting at times with such a tangled web of public footpaths, permissive paths, bridlepaths and random tracks, none particularly well signposted.
I like to imagine the chap who made this kicking back in admiration of his handiwork saying with some satisfaction “Rightio then that should clear up any confusion down at Lands End.”