Now the sun was setting slowly on the west side. The sky was still yellow but in a sleepy mood. All the tourists had gone; the places shut; I was the only soul in that small street surrounded by small houses or villas, with a small shop closed for good, the green hills in the distant, near the horizon, looking darker than before, and finally a car would speed once in 2 mintues. They were mainly travel vans named "Plymouth" or "Bodmin" or "Newquay". I was very close to hitchhiking as I had still a long long way to go. I was scared; for the the first time. I could still get stranded somewhere or the other as even I knew that I still have the hope to get the last bus to Wadebridge, I did'nt know when was the last bus from Wadebridge to Bodmin. Finally at 10 past 5 a middle aged lady walked towards me to catch the last bus. I asked her the timing when she told me it's due in the next 5 mins. Phew!
She started chatting up with me, telling me she is from Sussex and she and her husband have moved to a nearby village and she was at Tintagel looking for a job. I wondered about her life. Taking a bus from one village to another in the middle of the country side, buses that took years to come, and going back home to an almost uncivilised place and doing possibly nothing but counting time. I missed London! I really did. Finally the bus arrived and took me to Wadebridge, which I reached in another hour. Whilst we were approaching the Wadebridge bus station, on the oppopsite side I saw bus #555. DAMN!! My bad luck! So I got off the Wadebridge bus station and again finding myself all alone in this village, looked up at the time table to read that my next bus was after another hour! Now I started wondering about the train timings from Bodmin to London. Nah! Im sure they are running at every hour regularly. So I sighed and sat back on the empty bus stop, removed Castle Dor and started reading again, whilst my ears heard the rustling of the leaves with the head, a distant voice and sleeping houses.
Finally my bus arrived and took me to Bodmin Parkway. We reached Bodmin, a town less rural than the others I saw that day. Yes, finally some civilisation existed. I realised that the train station was actually a good 15 minutes away from the main townside. Anyway, I got off to that same platform in the middle of the forest and went inside the ticket counter. Guess what, I just missed the regular train to Paddington 20 minutes ago! And guess what, the next train was at 11:30 pm! So I had to wait at that station (mind you, in the middle of nowwhere) for another 3 hours! I waited for half an hour calling up my roomates back in London to get numbers for National Rail, UK to find out about other ways to get to London. My mum called me, of course she was mad at me, but she told me to spend the night back down south at Truro and leave for the next morning. No! I missed London. I wanted to head back; to people; to life! Then the ticket master cam out of his shed and told me not to wait in that station. "I am going to leave this station at 9:00 pm. There won't be anyone else here. I suggest you do not stay here. Cos I remember being here on Sundays till 11:00 pm at believe me its quite eerie up here. Why don't you take the next train to Plymouth which is in the next 15 minutes and wait there for the same train. At least there are people on the platforms. And you can find a bed in the train and spend the night there.!"
I could have done that, I was that scared, until I spoke to my mum again and she tempted me to stay back at Truro sleep well and spend the day in the train the next day and enjoying my ride back home with the gorgeous view. Fine! I did that. I called up immediately at Rowan Tree House, apologised for the last minute call and asked the landlady if I could spen another night here. "Of course, you're always welcomed here. I dont have any lodger for that room tonight. You can come as you like". Hmph alright so then again I took the next train to Truro in the next 10 minutes and headed back down south of Cornwall instead of going up north to London.
The sun was setting in the west with the pastures crowned by the shining clouds. All's
dusky and beautiful when the sun sets on my eyes. I passed St Austell again and then Par and finally Truro. I walked out of the station, such a deja vous! I walked towards the supermarket near the cathedral to get some food and water and walked out again on that same, empty cobble stonned square. I walked uphill to reach Rowan Tree House, where Ms Christine, the land lady welcomed me again and replied in narration to my whole story.
I went up to the same cosy room, settled myself on bed with Castle Dor and slept the catherdral shining on me.
The next morning I headed back to Bodmin, which looked so different as it had looked the previous evening. It was happy and beautiful and warm and welcomed more people. I sat down on the train, got the best window seat, saw little streams running parallel to my train covered with bridges once in a few meters, with people's boats floating on them and the sun shining on the yellow pastures. My eyes were open till I reached the Tamar Bridge. As I passed the bridge I looked back where on the opposite side on the metal bars was written, 'Welcome to Cornwall'. I smiled, turned back to the front and fell asleep till I reached Paddington.
Thursday, 25 June 2009
narrow escape (1)
I had the soundest sleep in a long time and nothing could be better than waking up early in the morning in a cosy bed, in a tiny room with the smell of the bread in the toaster. After taking a shower I packed my rucksack and walked downstairs while the land lady was making my breakfast. She was so welcoming and sweet that I was lucky to live in her house for the night. She was quite surprised to hear that I had planned to spend the day at Tintagel Castle all by myself as even getting there was said to be quite complicated-given that Tintagel Castle is on the coast away from the tiny village of Tintagel and there is no station there, nor is there any bus going there directly. (I was supposed to get off at Bodmin Parkway station and change to bus #555 to get off at Wadebrigde, then change to bus #594 to finally get off at Tintagel village).
She said. "You know what you're doing, so never mind, I wont worry". So I took off from the Rowan Tree House and headed towards the Truro Cathedral, as I was late to visit it the day before. Since I was the first one to enter the cathdral, this building looked massive from inside and I almost felt that even my breath may have echoed. (so you can imagine the tapping of my feet while I walked inside). As usual, just another cathedral; paintings from the bible, stained glasses, the gothic wooden seating arrangement (don't know what's it called, sure there is a word for it) for the priests. Postcards were filling up my bag as I walked out from the street to take a last look at the cathedral from the canal next to the antique shops. Finally I walked uphill towards the station to catch the 10:00 am train.
I was on time. I reached Bodmin Parkway in the next 45 minutes and I was lucky to find my bus at 11:15. I bought the ticket inside the bus and headed towards Wadebridge. Little did I know that this bus journey would be even more fascinating than the train ride I had while coming to Cornwall; a small highway swaying through green hills and mountains, and this bus taking me from one village to another. We were the only ones on the highway except for the few cars passing by once in every 2 minutes. (Green pastures, yellow daisies, grazing cattle, clear horizon and yes! a yellow sky). Suddenly out of the blue, trees would outline the highway and gradually you will find a farm or two and then a house, indicating the approach of a village. One tiny bus stop in every village. Finally I reached Wadebridge. A village with more than just houses. It had at least one of the traditional English pub with many bakeries and card shops and one or two department stores. No buildings and no houses more than 20 feet tall. Everything was small. I had to change here to take bus #595 to Tintagel. Realising that I had another hour to wait for the next bus because I had just missed the last one, I thought I'd walk up and down the street and grab something to eat. In 5 minutes I felt depressed, only because I barely saw a young face anywhere around me. If you'd go to Wadebridge you will barely see a youth walk by once in 20 minutes or so. The average age of people around me must have been at least 50. Everyone around was wrinkled, walked slowly like no tomorrow, or were dressed like the 50s. I wad depressed. I couldnt wait any longer for the bus which finally arrived in the next 45 minutes.
There again started another hour-long journey through small highways and green pastures and every stop at every village. I reached Tintagel at 2:15 pm. I knew I had to leave in the next 2 hours. So finally he dropped me off at a small slopy street. I looked at the route that I had written down on a piece of paper before leaving London and followed the directions. There were definaltely more tourists around me but more tours in coaches or cars. I followed signs on the corner of streets surrounded by tourist souvenir shops, antique shops, cafes and one or two pubs. I started walking downhill where the direction was wriiten on a board, "Tintagel Castle". It was like a pathway surrounded by trees, you might for mintue think you're entering a park. This pathway was quite steep and I knew I would have a good time climbing uphill while coming back. Slowly the trees reduced in number while the path turned towards my right. The trees opned up with the yellow sky bursting on my head and in front of me was a valley going downhill with 2 cliffs on either side of me. These two cliffs formed a 'V' shape in front me behind which was the bright blue Atlantic Ocean. What a welcome!
The entrance to the castle was from the left cliff through the thin pathway twining into the other side. I started walking towards it, clicking my camera all the way, to reach the edge of the hill. The castle was on another hill and there was a loose bridge connecting the two hills for us to pass by. I can't tell how many feet high was I but looking down took me to another world. There is something about the Atlantic Ocean, unlike the other seas England is surrounded by; so blue and pure and stark. It felt like a painting. Blue underneath, green around me with a hint of white and yellow for the daisies, and bright sky blue above, until I saw the rocky ruins of the Tintagel Castle in front. There were small rocky archs leading to halls which may have been a meeting point or a court in the Medieval Era. There were stories of King Arthur in every corner of the rocky ruins. From every arched window of the castle you would see the sea.
The courtyard was full of grass and daisies and I took my moment every now and then to sit back and look what's around me. Chirpy tourists and the strong sea, the wind blowing once in a while and the sun warming me. I continued walking through all the pathways. This Castle was built not just on one hill but on 3. So you would have climb up and down to explore the whole castle. I walked towards the other side of the side where there was another courtyard. Before crossing one hill I reached at the edge of the cliff and peeped forward to feel what's beyond me. I turned back to the other side to reach another courtyard and I kept on clicking photographs through the tiny rocky windows of the view it overlooked. I started walking back and downhill and I looked at my watch that said 3:45 pm. I started walking back towards the village through the valley between 2 cliffs, kept looking back; my usual habit of doing that everytime I have seen a breath-taking place or even when I have walked too much. I hated to leave. I could have been there another hour. I wanted to sit back again in the courtyard and sketch all afternoon. Only I was responsible enough to carry my pencils and my blank postcard sketchbook.
I started walking uphill, which I knew would be a challenge and headed back to the village. I reached the bus stop at 4:20 and waited for the bus. I thought I must make a quick call to the Western Greyhound Customer Service (the bus company) to find out about the next bus. I was told that I just missed the second last bus to Wadebridge and that if I dont take the last bus at 5:15 I would get stranded at Tintagel!
She said. "You know what you're doing, so never mind, I wont worry". So I took off from the Rowan Tree House and headed towards the Truro Cathedral, as I was late to visit it the day before. Since I was the first one to enter the cathdral, this building looked massive from inside and I almost felt that even my breath may have echoed. (so you can imagine the tapping of my feet while I walked inside). As usual, just another cathedral; paintings from the bible, stained glasses, the gothic wooden seating arrangement (don't know what's it called, sure there is a word for it) for the priests. Postcards were filling up my bag as I walked out from the street to take a last look at the cathedral from the canal next to the antique shops. Finally I walked uphill towards the station to catch the 10:00 am train.
I was on time. I reached Bodmin Parkway in the next 45 minutes and I was lucky to find my bus at 11:15. I bought the ticket inside the bus and headed towards Wadebridge. Little did I know that this bus journey would be even more fascinating than the train ride I had while coming to Cornwall; a small highway swaying through green hills and mountains, and this bus taking me from one village to another. We were the only ones on the highway except for the few cars passing by once in every 2 minutes. (Green pastures, yellow daisies, grazing cattle, clear horizon and yes! a yellow sky). Suddenly out of the blue, trees would outline the highway and gradually you will find a farm or two and then a house, indicating the approach of a village. One tiny bus stop in every village. Finally I reached Wadebridge. A village with more than just houses. It had at least one of the traditional English pub with many bakeries and card shops and one or two department stores. No buildings and no houses more than 20 feet tall. Everything was small. I had to change here to take bus #595 to Tintagel. Realising that I had another hour to wait for the next bus because I had just missed the last one, I thought I'd walk up and down the street and grab something to eat. In 5 minutes I felt depressed, only because I barely saw a young face anywhere around me. If you'd go to Wadebridge you will barely see a youth walk by once in 20 minutes or so. The average age of people around me must have been at least 50. Everyone around was wrinkled, walked slowly like no tomorrow, or were dressed like the 50s. I wad depressed. I couldnt wait any longer for the bus which finally arrived in the next 45 minutes.
There again started another hour-long journey through small highways and green pastures and every stop at every village. I reached Tintagel at 2:15 pm. I knew I had to leave in the next 2 hours. So finally he dropped me off at a small slopy street. I looked at the route that I had written down on a piece of paper before leaving London and followed the directions. There were definaltely more tourists around me but more tours in coaches or cars. I followed signs on the corner of streets surrounded by tourist souvenir shops, antique shops, cafes and one or two pubs. I started walking downhill where the direction was wriiten on a board, "Tintagel Castle". It was like a pathway surrounded by trees, you might for mintue think you're entering a park. This pathway was quite steep and I knew I would have a good time climbing uphill while coming back. Slowly the trees reduced in number while the path turned towards my right. The trees opned up with the yellow sky bursting on my head and in front of me was a valley going downhill with 2 cliffs on either side of me. These two cliffs formed a 'V' shape in front me behind which was the bright blue Atlantic Ocean. What a welcome!
The entrance to the castle was from the left cliff through the thin pathway twining into the other side. I started walking towards it, clicking my camera all the way, to reach the edge of the hill. The castle was on another hill and there was a loose bridge connecting the two hills for us to pass by. I can't tell how many feet high was I but looking down took me to another world. There is something about the Atlantic Ocean, unlike the other seas England is surrounded by; so blue and pure and stark. It felt like a painting. Blue underneath, green around me with a hint of white and yellow for the daisies, and bright sky blue above, until I saw the rocky ruins of the Tintagel Castle in front. There were small rocky archs leading to halls which may have been a meeting point or a court in the Medieval Era. There were stories of King Arthur in every corner of the rocky ruins. From every arched window of the castle you would see the sea.
The courtyard was full of grass and daisies and I took my moment every now and then to sit back and look what's around me. Chirpy tourists and the strong sea, the wind blowing once in a while and the sun warming me. I continued walking through all the pathways. This Castle was built not just on one hill but on 3. So you would have climb up and down to explore the whole castle. I walked towards the other side of the side where there was another courtyard. Before crossing one hill I reached at the edge of the cliff and peeped forward to feel what's beyond me. I turned back to the other side to reach another courtyard and I kept on clicking photographs through the tiny rocky windows of the view it overlooked. I started walking back and downhill and I looked at my watch that said 3:45 pm. I started walking back towards the village through the valley between 2 cliffs, kept looking back; my usual habit of doing that everytime I have seen a breath-taking place or even when I have walked too much. I hated to leave. I could have been there another hour. I wanted to sit back again in the courtyard and sketch all afternoon. Only I was responsible enough to carry my pencils and my blank postcard sketchbook.
I started walking uphill, which I knew would be a challenge and headed back to the village. I reached the bus stop at 4:20 and waited for the bus. I thought I must make a quick call to the Western Greyhound Customer Service (the bus company) to find out about the next bus. I was told that I just missed the second last bus to Wadebridge and that if I dont take the last bus at 5:15 I would get stranded at Tintagel!
Sunday, 21 June 2009
escape
I finally made it; I thought I'd never would; not at least alone. Ever since I read Rebecca, Cornwall was only a fantasy to me. Ten years later I got a chance to be there. I had been in London since September and I was waiting for the summer to start so I could plan my trip. I kept postponing it for at the back of my head I was still nervous to go alone, but I knew this could have been my only chance. So I let my last-minute instinct take over and I booked myself a room in one of the BNBs, only for a night.
I reach Paddington late, as usual and managed to get a train leaving at noon, hoping to reach Truro by late afternoon and spending the rest of it at the cathedral. I grabbed my favourite hot chocolate and sat down, finding the best window seat. Now this the first thing I would say about England- even the train journeys are worth looking forward to. So far I had only managed to travel up north and this time, South west. The view was pleasing as usual with the green pastures and blah and blah. I fell asleep until I woke up finding myself in Devon. We reached a station in a cute little town with pastel coloured Georgian houses, small villas, and of course the town's church or maybe chapel. I sat on the right hand so I only faced that side, where slowly cliffs started to rise up. Because I can recognize the presence of the sea in an a second, I looked on the other side and saw the waves of the channel. It was long time no see for the two of us. I felt a feeling of awakening. Now this is how it was- green meadows or moor lands on my right, outlined by church spires, the sea on the other side and my train inbetween.
To make this a perfect start of fulfillment of a dream I reached the Tamar Bridge crossing the Tamar river. The bridge said Welcome to Cornwall with it's iconic black flag and emblem. I couldnt stop smiling. I was crossing a harbour with boats parked and roads twined all in the middle of hills.
I had to get off at Bodmin Parkway to change to another local train to go to Truro. After a 4 hour journey I reached a station literally in the middle of a forest, yup, I wouldnt say it was a station, just two platforms in the middle of the forest. All looked gorgeous in the long lasting sunshine of the summer. The horizon was a pack of trees lined to the hills. I barely saw anything or anyone except for the ticketmaster. After buying my ticket, I took the next train southbound to Truro. I reached St Austell just a couple of stops before where I had to go. St Austell, the station where one of Daphne du Maurier's character dies only because he was travelling in time. This was another town, a little more commercial than the ones I had passed in these few hours. After I passed the station, before reaching Par, my train passed through a huge golf course which was backed by the Atlantic Ocean. To add to the character of this scene the sky was conveniently overcast at that moment. I wish I could get off the train and run through this course and parallel to the shore.
I reached Truro finally, as late as 6 in the evening. Definately I wouldnt visit the cathedral, but, never mind. I found my BNB- Rowan's Tree House, on a hilltop overlooking the left and the centre of the city. As I entered and met the landlady, I realised I was about to spend the night in her 4 bedroom house and she was letting me one of her single bed rooms. Thankfully I had the best view, a top view of the city towered by the cathedral spire. But I quickly took off after checking in to take a walk in the city.
It was 6 and the city was dead! No one on the street except me and probably an old lady or two walked by with our ears blessed by the sound of the speeding cars once in a while. I took a walk among cobblestonned streets, downhill through tiny villas leading to the city centre. I reached a huge square, empty of course, branched by lanes so small that if there were many people we would have to walk in a line. I took one of these by-lanes and reached the cathedral towering me from the sky. I walked past it's side reaching another square which houses the main entrance of the monument (which was surprisingly so young for its beauty, built in 1920!). There on a bench a man sat there who saw me and asked in a funny accent "Excuse me, are you Spanish?" I smirked and shooked my head. I walked around the building downhill through St Mary's Street. I kept looking back taking my own pictures seeing the cathedral seeing me. A tall creature protecting the little beings around it. I reached a bridge crossing a canal, the lane twined and at every spot the Cathedral never took its eyes off me. There were antique shops after the bridge. Wall lamps, Georgian houses, the sound of the canal streaming below, of course the rustling of the leaves, the chirping of a soul or two in the distant and the loudest sound-the silence of the cathedral.
I continued walking through all the lanes in circles till I reached the river and took a walk along side it. There were a group of kids staring at me, the only brown face in their home. One side of me was the river turning, the other side of me was a road to the highway, behind was the city centre, the obvious spire, and in the distant was the bridge on which the train would pass before reaching Truro station, and which crossed the two hills over the valley. I headed back to the city centre going clockwise, reached another square, bigger where they have Wednesday markets and festivals, This time it was empty. I bought my water and yoghurt from the convenient store and headed back home. I slept after reading a few chapters from Castle Dor, looking out from my window on the left side of my bed, which overlooked the cathedral shining in bright yellow light; the only star in the dark of the city.
I reach Paddington late, as usual and managed to get a train leaving at noon, hoping to reach Truro by late afternoon and spending the rest of it at the cathedral. I grabbed my favourite hot chocolate and sat down, finding the best window seat. Now this the first thing I would say about England- even the train journeys are worth looking forward to. So far I had only managed to travel up north and this time, South west. The view was pleasing as usual with the green pastures and blah and blah. I fell asleep until I woke up finding myself in Devon. We reached a station in a cute little town with pastel coloured Georgian houses, small villas, and of course the town's church or maybe chapel. I sat on the right hand so I only faced that side, where slowly cliffs started to rise up. Because I can recognize the presence of the sea in an a second, I looked on the other side and saw the waves of the channel. It was long time no see for the two of us. I felt a feeling of awakening. Now this is how it was- green meadows or moor lands on my right, outlined by church spires, the sea on the other side and my train inbetween.
To make this a perfect start of fulfillment of a dream I reached the Tamar Bridge crossing the Tamar river. The bridge said Welcome to Cornwall with it's iconic black flag and emblem. I couldnt stop smiling. I was crossing a harbour with boats parked and roads twined all in the middle of hills.
I had to get off at Bodmin Parkway to change to another local train to go to Truro. After a 4 hour journey I reached a station literally in the middle of a forest, yup, I wouldnt say it was a station, just two platforms in the middle of the forest. All looked gorgeous in the long lasting sunshine of the summer. The horizon was a pack of trees lined to the hills. I barely saw anything or anyone except for the ticketmaster. After buying my ticket, I took the next train southbound to Truro. I reached St Austell just a couple of stops before where I had to go. St Austell, the station where one of Daphne du Maurier's character dies only because he was travelling in time. This was another town, a little more commercial than the ones I had passed in these few hours. After I passed the station, before reaching Par, my train passed through a huge golf course which was backed by the Atlantic Ocean. To add to the character of this scene the sky was conveniently overcast at that moment. I wish I could get off the train and run through this course and parallel to the shore.
I reached Truro finally, as late as 6 in the evening. Definately I wouldnt visit the cathedral, but, never mind. I found my BNB- Rowan's Tree House, on a hilltop overlooking the left and the centre of the city. As I entered and met the landlady, I realised I was about to spend the night in her 4 bedroom house and she was letting me one of her single bed rooms. Thankfully I had the best view, a top view of the city towered by the cathedral spire. But I quickly took off after checking in to take a walk in the city.
It was 6 and the city was dead! No one on the street except me and probably an old lady or two walked by with our ears blessed by the sound of the speeding cars once in a while. I took a walk among cobblestonned streets, downhill through tiny villas leading to the city centre. I reached a huge square, empty of course, branched by lanes so small that if there were many people we would have to walk in a line. I took one of these by-lanes and reached the cathedral towering me from the sky. I walked past it's side reaching another square which houses the main entrance of the monument (which was surprisingly so young for its beauty, built in 1920!). There on a bench a man sat there who saw me and asked in a funny accent "Excuse me, are you Spanish?" I smirked and shooked my head. I walked around the building downhill through St Mary's Street. I kept looking back taking my own pictures seeing the cathedral seeing me. A tall creature protecting the little beings around it. I reached a bridge crossing a canal, the lane twined and at every spot the Cathedral never took its eyes off me. There were antique shops after the bridge. Wall lamps, Georgian houses, the sound of the canal streaming below, of course the rustling of the leaves, the chirping of a soul or two in the distant and the loudest sound-the silence of the cathedral.
I continued walking through all the lanes in circles till I reached the river and took a walk along side it. There were a group of kids staring at me, the only brown face in their home. One side of me was the river turning, the other side of me was a road to the highway, behind was the city centre, the obvious spire, and in the distant was the bridge on which the train would pass before reaching Truro station, and which crossed the two hills over the valley. I headed back to the city centre going clockwise, reached another square, bigger where they have Wednesday markets and festivals, This time it was empty. I bought my water and yoghurt from the convenient store and headed back home. I slept after reading a few chapters from Castle Dor, looking out from my window on the left side of my bed, which overlooked the cathedral shining in bright yellow light; the only star in the dark of the city.
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