We arrived on the ferry to Torpoint and drove through the winding hedgerows to arrive in the tiny town of Kingsand. I settled into Hannah's 17th century smugglers' cottage (after bashing my head on every doorway, ceiling, and entrance possible) to the soothing sound of the sea and pleasant sounds of children running up the lane to the sweetie shop just a few doors up.
We went for long walks (our last was cut short by the arrival of the strong winds of the St. Jude's day storm) along the beach, which is just steps from the front door of the cottage. We climbed up over the buffs and looked down on the angry sea, with wind whipping our hoods and hats off. I saw where a ship was wrecked and still lays at the bottom of the sea, tangled in the rocks. We saw deer high up on the hills, nibbling the grass, and sheep staring as we passed. We even saw a little washed-up crab who was either dead or so frightened of us he didn't move!
The tiny town is about 4 streets (with 8 pubs, apparently, ha!), and the neighbours all say hello or wave, which I found charming- especially after living in reticent Finland. One of Hannah's neighbours puts a new sign on her window every morning with some little quip or quote, and the neighbour across from her was a constant presence, with just her little grey afro puff visible in the window of the living room every evening. There was no Boots, no Marks & Spencers- just a little corner shop selling the basics- and clotted cream fudge, of course. It was so idyllic- the perfect place to have a family and grow up. I'm tempted to move us there, now!
The week flew past, as it is wont to do when you're having fun, and soon enough it was back on the train to London, and home to Helsinki. Thankfully I just missed the apoca-storm that the telly was hyping up, and got home safe and sound...and a few pounds heavier. Damn you, clotted cream!