On Our Own in Southwest England -- Devon and Cornwall (2 of 2)

 

"Woolacombe" sounded more to me like it should be Australia than England, but there it was on the driving directions. Sydney's notes said we were booked into a 4-star hotel, but I only had eyes for the scenery. It was a chilly blustery day, more like March than August. The ocean was frothy, but oh! the black rocks! Geology nerd friends — we’re in the “Devon” from which the Devonian Period gets its name! Check out these vertical shale layers! (Yeah, it kinda looks like Sydney sent us to vacation on another planet again) For scale, those tiny specks near the water are people — these rocks are huge.

We had planned to hike down again the next morning, but the sea had come in. Seven meter/20 foot tides in this area. I can't figure out how come these formations hadn't eroded away to nothing under the force of the waves.

Beach at low tide. Completely gone at high tide.

Sorry/not sorry for the photo overload here; my mind was officially blown by the amazing geology. And our next (and final) stop in England couldn't have been more different, from these rugged wilds to the genteel town of Bath and its Roman baths. Even the weather cooperated, changing from the fierce bluster to a mild sunny day. 

Had a wonderful evening catching up with former shipmate Ross. The conversation never slowed. One of the fascinating tidbits he mentioned was that buildings in this town are required to be built out of this beige-y stone. Pretty in its own way, but a bit … bland? constrained? Weird looking back at my photos, but here’s a few anyway. 

What else would you do with those iconic phone booths now that everyone has a phone in their pocket?

Pretty gardens

Dark polished wood, tile floors, sparkly brass ... all the traditional elements I'd imagine in an upscale setting here.

Found at a tourist shop behind the cathedral and Roman baths. Oh how I wish I had the space to bring rubber duckies home, because I’ve seen some epic ones here to add to my collection! But no. The very generous friend who’s looking after our boat requested refrigerator magnets, “the campier the better,” and it has turned into a kind of delightful quest. Instead of a burden, it’s a wonderful excuse to go into the kind of shops we wouldn’t otherwise visit. Fact: a substantial collection of fridge magnets take up very little space, but are surprisingly heavy. Hope the airline doesn't weigh my backpack!

The car’s satnav took us on the scenic route to the airport, where we passed this balloon fiesta. Airport security has no lines at all this early on a Sunday morning; luckily for us as my backpack had a combination of neatly rolled coins (our last set of tips from the Galeon), a tangle of disorganized charging cables, the collection of fridge magnets, and weirdly, a bottle of vitamins that added together to look “a little dodgy” as the screener put it. So he had to do a complete hand search of the contents. Almost funny, the chaotic collection of junk in my pack.

The roads were narrow and windy, with hedges to the edges (or loose-laid rock walls), or "green tunnels" of trees. This isn't the most extreme example of the phenomenon -- in those, I was laser-focused on simply driving safely!

And we're off! I love airports where you get to walk across the tarmac and up the stairs to the plane instead of the jetway, kind of like an old-time movie. I'm guessing here we're above the Pyrenees, mountains between Spain and France, on our way to Barcelona.