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!