St. Ives - Zennor

A brisk 5 day waltz along the South West Coastal Path with Matt - part I




Pre-walking fun & games in St. Ives at the Tate and the Barbara Hepworth house/garden







I hadn't been back to Cornwall since I was about 12. We always used to visit in the Easter holidays - the loooong 6 hour drive squeezed into the back of an overloaded family vehicle still imprinted on my mind. But strange what I can and what I can't remember.
I remember the regular stop at Exeter motorway services. I remember the kids playground there. And I remembered Hepworth's garden... but I didn't remember it like this. I remembered a large complex, rooms upon rooms. Not the small 2-room house I am now confronted with. It took about 15 minutes to 'see' everything, so I just had a sit down on a bench to let it settle.
I didn't remember the overwhelming screaming of seagulls permeating the serene garden. And I didn't recall the golden burnt orange covering every rooftop - the Cornish lichen that grows all over everything that doesn't move down here. Clean air. Sea air. Everywhere.








The first day took us to Zennor, along probably the hardest stretch of the whole walk. Marked in the guidebook as only 6 miles, it felt like 16 - and a hard 16. The Coastal Path is just that, endlessly and tirelessly following every inlet and point, endless ups and downs offering an absurd number of perspectives on the sea and the rock. Setting off after lunch in the greys - even the grey here looks dramatic, every strip of light taken and absorbed by the landscape and thrown back in other directions.
The water colours were incredible - changing every five minutes the entire week. Everything from turquoise blue tropical invitation to bleak cold black caps racing - threatening vessels and promising sirens, mermaids and pirates in equal measure.
It was only fitting then that Zennor's local tipple was 'The Zennor Mermaid' in the Tinner's Arms, the best pint(s) I had all week.







Zennor was another memory - of Easter Sunday services in a cold drafty church. I remember an Easter egg hunt too, but can't remember if that was here or a crossbred memory of another place grafted for convenience here.
The unfriendly backpackers told us the nearest camping was another 5 miles away and wanted to charge us full whack for a bed each. The friendly pub told us 'unofficially' there was a nice spot behind the wall in the thick grass in the village car park that no-one would notice if we set up in the dark. No-one did.