Another exciting bus ride took us to Porthcurno, where there is a theatre carved into a rocky cliff on the English Channel. This idea dates from 1932, when a local group wanted to stage “The Tempest” in a perfect setting. Ever since then, with time out for WWII, the Minack Theatre has been going and growing. It is quite a wonderful location and quite a story (which we will spare you).
We climbed the cliffs to get to it and later walked back down the narrow road, always on the look out for cars. Since there was nothing else in the vicinity except a cafe and a telegraph museum, we passed the time until the bus came by sitting on the beach below the theatre, watching the surfers.
When we left Sennen Cove campground we asked if they had a place where we could dump our black water (toilet) tank. European motorhomes use a casette system: they remove and empty a small container into a “chemical disposal site,” usually a raised, out-of-the-way sort of sink. But like most or all other American RVers, we need the inground direct-to-sewage-line site. The managers at Sennen Cove did not have that and claimed they had never been asked about it before. (We had asked because it had been four days since we’d last dumped, and while we didn’t urgently need to use it, we don’t want to wait until it’s too late--we’ll leave you to fill in the blanks there.) But at the next campground we actually had a direct sewer access and water right at our pitch--a first for this trip. Twice campgrounds have opened a sewer cover near the bathroom building to accommodate us, and another had a special unit built for requirements like ours.
Our next drive was to St Ives. on the northern coast of Cornwall--only 18 miles away, all on “B” (read “semi-scary”) roads. We had planned to retrace our way on “A” roads, but that would have brought us into St Ives from the east, and both the GPS and the campground guide warned that we should approach the town only from the west. So we had an incredible drive along the coast through farmland. Stone fences divide the farms in patchwork patterns. The cows tend to gather together, but the sheep seem to need their personal space.
They spread over the hillsides like little tan polka dots. Knowing that buses used this route all the time--and knowing ahead of time that the route would be dicey--gave David a bit more confidence that we could make it through. We did . . . although we had to back up once at least 100 yards to let two buses pass on a particularly narrow stretch.
When we got to St Ives and walked into the town, we saw why an RV should not approach from the east: you can’t get through! The city is huddled around a beach and harbor, spilling down steep hills--the streets are all hills. Susan asked the campsite manager how to get into town and he said, ”Just keeping walking downhill.” The further you walked, the tighter the streets. When we walked down a second time to go to dinner, we investigated the route that the GPS was suggesting for getting out and found a one-way street going east that we could safely use. We would be able to get out going east--just not come in . . . incredible. St Ives is a total tourist trap and totally charming, even in a sharp Cornish wind and increasing rain. But by dinnertime the rain had cleared, and even our second walk back up those hills wasn’t too bad. The campsite was on the edge of the town at the top of the hill, overlooking the ocean and the city. It was the best view yet--quite spectacular. And the campsite gets the award for the best toilet/shower house yet.
We left the next day, going east on our one-way road for a few blocks, and safely made it out of town and headed to Tintagel, which claims to be King Arthur’s castle on the coast. A trip consisting of some divided highway balanced by some nasty narow roads brought us to a campsite view even more spectacular than St Ives’s had been. We are looking out over the ocean again, from just beyond the edge of a cliff. We can hear the waves breaking below.
We hiked along the coast path and through a cow pasture to get to the town. And exhausted from the climbs, we saw the ruins of the castle from a great vantage point. Yet another total tourist trap; yet another welcome bus ride back to the campground. We weren’t going to do those cliff walks twice.