The British Invasion: Part VI - St. Ives, St. Michael's Mount, and Land's End

[shanmonster]

On the coach in Cornwall, my mind kept reciting the following poem over and over again:

As I was going to St Ives
I met a man with seven wives
Each wife had seven sacks
Each sack had seven cats
Each cat had seven kits
Kits, cats, sacks, wives
How many were going to St Ives?

The answer is a bus-load, because St. Ives was exactly where we were headed next. St. Ives is an artist colony, and a picturesque town. Yet somehow, I didn't feel compelled to take many photos. Yes, the light there had a different quality, I suppose, than the other places we had been, but the scenery didn't grab my attention. The sign in the loo did, though.



Yes, I had the pleasure of peeing in an award-winning loo. I've gotta say, though, the toilet paper was no less harsh there than in any other bathroom I used in England. People keep telling me that British toilet paper is perfectly fine, but knightky and I must have had shitty (heh) luck, because every single bit of toilet paper we encountered was calculated to turn our bungs into saddle leather cheerios.

And 'nuff said about that.

The thing that pleased me most about St. Ives were the many blackberry bushes. They grew everywhere, and I picked plenty while walking.



Since we hadn't yet broken our fast, our number one goal was to get food into our bellies: preferably, delicious food. We wandered into a tavern and found just that. I was pleased to be able to avoid all greasy fried foods. I ordered a ginger ale to settle my grieving stomach, and mussels steamed in cream and white wine. Kyle got some sort of meat sandwich, which he says was delicious. I know my mussels were great, and my stomach thanked me mightily for sparing it. It thanked me so hard that it even stopped hurting a bit. I had fresh baked bread to sop in the mussel sauce, and that was a pleasure, too. Oh, so good. To add the cherry on top, the bartender was cute.

By the time we were fed, we had to make our way back to the coach. We managed to peek into one of the many tiny art galleries, and I bought a big bottle of ginger ale to further ameliorate my belly, and then it was time to go.

We drove for many miles. Our next stop was a disappointment. Our tour director, Steve, told us all sorts of interesting folk tales about the genesis of St. Michael's Mount, and how the causeway there was build by a giantess. Cornish legends are full of giants. We were told a castle is on the Mount, and Kyle and I were looking forward to exploring the region. We pulled over, next to the beach. I went out onto the sand and mud and took a couple of photos.

Then it was back onto the coach and off to the next stop.

Wait. What? We didn't get to go out on the causeway? We didn't get to go out to the mount (not that it's much of a mountain, mind you)?



Disappointed, we drove on to our next destination: Land's End.

We were warned ahead of time that Land's End contains an eyesore. A large tourist centre has been built there, obscuring what would otherwise be a gorgeous locale. The building is enormous and gaudy, like a slice of Las Vegas stuck on an otherwise pristine Cornish coastline. There are few spots which aren't adulterated with tacky tourist paraphernalia. The store is full of overpriced and poorly-made plastic merchandise, Union Jack thongs, and ugly stuffed toys bearing no relevance to the region. Inexplicably, there is a huge display devoted to scary dinosaurs in 3-D. At the tip of the peninsula is a sign post pointing to various locales across the ocean. One of the women on our tour stood beside it while her partner snapped a photograph, only to get told off because apparently you're supposed to pay money if you want a photo taken in that spot.

I chose to take photos in the few spots where people could not be seen.

Crows in England look different than they do in Canada. Their heads are larger, and they seem to have more personality. They don't seem as wary, and are cheekier. We passed by numerous fields dotted with huge murders of crows. Shortly after this particular photo was taken, the crow jumped off the fence and flew straight for Kyle's head, turning aside at the last possible moment. I wish I could have taken a video. Though we'd been warned about the cocky giant seagulls of St. Ives, I hadn't realized the crows might share similar predilections.



This is a view of the lighthouse just off Land's End.



Though the beach view is gorgeous, I honestly would rather we had spent time at St. Michael's Mount and skipped the long drive to the tacky, tacky, TACKY Land's End altogether.



Our next destination would be the most interesting of the day: Dartmoor.

For more and larger photos, visit my annotated gallery of St. Ives, St. Michael's Mount, and Land's End.