Jamaica Inn, Bolventor

Last night's stop at the Britannia Inn was perfect for us. This morning we took a shower as we could refill Marge's water tank and empty our waste water. John lent a very young couple our hosepipe to fill their van with water. The girl was local, from Plymouth, living in the van full time. She said the trouble with driving in the area was there were just too many vans clogging up the roads whilst on holiday. Well one of those people has just helped you out you ungrateful little. O.K. Marge.  The grass the vans had all parked on had been freshly cut so we needed to give Marge a good brush out before leaving. The lady in a very nice Land Rover conversion near us was giving her sheepskin rug a good clean. If there's one thing you don't want it's your rug full of grass! It'll knit right into it. Aware the weather would change mid-afternoon we left by late morning heading to Bodmin Moor to the Golitha Falls.

Our journey meant taking the fast A30 across the moor. Marge did her best really going for it. The parking at the falls was a nightmare, and we had to wait a while for a space long enough to park the van in without it being in danger of someone running into it. Just when we could have shoehorned Marge into a more suitable space she decided to immobilise, big time. Thanks for that Marge, you're such an embarrassment. Now we've lost the spot to some little old sports car! Eventually, John coaxed her into firing up and we moved.

The paths to the falls were not well marked. We opted for one we thought would be fairly easy soon finding ourselves above the tumbling waters of the river Fowey. As older irresponsible people do, we climbed down onto the rocks beside it to eat our lunch. The power of the water roaring in our ears as it bounced from rock to rock. Right which way now? You guessed it, the wrong way. Our walking boots slipped on stones and got caught in tree roots as we criss-crossed the steep incline. Angela held on to John for fear of falling, forgetting if she did, they both would. A decision had to be made about our way back to the main path. We needed to climb further up. Below us the churning bubbling water gave us purpose. Eventually we found one of the main paths which wound its way through towering beech trees. Mounds of moss, smooth as green baize pushed up between a carpet of bluebells in their last throws of flowering. Back at Marge, we could hear her saying, here they are, bloody fools!

Our guide book recommended we also visit the Hurler's stone circles; a group of standing stones arranged in three circles. The site was surrounded by disused tin mines from a bygone age. We didn't really get the meaning of the stones as there were no information boards, so drove back towards Bolventor stopping at the side of the road to view Doniert's stone, erected in the 9^th century to commemorate the last known king of Cornwall, King Dumgarth. 

The rain now falling steadily we drove over the moor, beautifully manicured by the grazing sheep, cattle and horses to tonights stop. Cornwall's most famous smugglers inn, Jamaica Inn. 

The 18^th century coaching inn was immortalised in Daphne du Maurier's novel of the same name. The views from Marge tonight are beautiful, but the wet weather is relentless, which explains why the house opposite is totally weatherproofed in slate.

Tomorrow we will drive to Wadebridge to cycle along the camel trail to Padstow. Let's hope the forecast sunshine arrives.

Par

Marge always draws a crowd, and yesterday evening John proudly showed her off. Men being men, all our fellow van owners were keen for everyone to see inside their van. We all had the 'slam and bang' type, with sliding side doors. We were the only ones who did not live in ours.

There were four vans in total and John thought a good book would be a story about the four of us, where we went on to travel to and whether any of us met up again. In the U.K. chances were we might see each other up in Scotland later in the year.

 Around ten thirty, the tide beating a hasty retreat, our Polish neighbours lit a barbecue on the beach. As you do. They managed to convince a young couple from one of the other vans to join them, and yes they were noisy until the early hours. 

This morning Angela was very, very tired. She is a light sleeper and last nights shenanigans kept her awake so she was well grumpy. Nearby in a lively sea the heads of five male swimmers resembling five plastic footballs bobbed. Conscious not to irritate the locals we were all away by nine thirty, except our Polish friends. It's important not to outstay your welcome when staying overnight as change happens resulting in No Overnight signs going up. First stop Morrisons at Plymton. Angela was administered with a large hot chocolate to boost her sugar levels and mood before we stocked up on essentials including some very nice salad from the salad bar. Our YouTube neighbour Ben from last night appeared having left very early this morning to sort out his problem tyre. He was enroute back to Newton Abbot to buy a rim and tyre from someone on Facebook. It's not just us that has van problems then?

Our lunch stop was the 18^th century open harbour of Charlestown. The rain fell relentlessly and we sat in Marge eating lunch trying to convince ourselves the weather was an improving picture. Have faith Marge. We sat it out and donning waterproofs walked out as the rain eased. The sun broke through and we sweltered in our outdoor gear. English weather, you just have to go with it. 

Tonight we are staying at the pub. The Britannia Inn at Par near to St. Austell. They have a free camping field at the rear with toilets and drinking water. All they ask is you spend money at the bar, so we enjoyed a couple of drinks before returning to Marge for our evening meal. There are vans here from Belgium, Austria and Holland. Our neighbours, two sisters are in the area to attend a music festival at the Eden Project. One of them had recently returned from a trip around the coast of Ireland something we have planned to do so it was interesting to talk to her. 

Today we crossed the Tamar bridge into Cornwall. A sign at the entrance to a layby read, No Pasties Left in this Layby Overnight'. That's as maybe, but is overnight parking allowed? Tomorrow we will head north towards Bodmin Moor, hopefully the drive will be a little less demanding for Marge than that of the last few days. Hang in their Marge you're doing a fine job, just stop immobilising yourself please, we promise to invest in a new ignition key for you when we return home, hopefully that will cure your ills. 

North Sands (Salcombe)

Yesterday evening the sea behind Marge swelled and the water in the harbour in front of her rippled. What a contrast. This morning we were up by half past seven, blinds and door open. No, we had not stayed overnight. Our neighbours from Windermere in the Lake District decided they would stay on for another night. We exchanged information on places to stay and talked about travelling in France. 

First stop today, Dartmouth. But what a journey to reach the town. We drove up, up and up. Keep going Marge, you're doing well. Oh my god. These Devonshire roads! The parking for vans in Dartmouth if you can find a space, is right on the waterfront. Breath in Marge, we're going to shoehorn you in here right opposite the public toilets. How much? Twenty pence. Card payments accepted. After the nerve-wracking drive Angela was in need of a full twenty pence worth, squeezing out every last drop to get her monies worth.

Across the river Dart at Kingswear a steam train that ran to Brixham sounded, resonating across the harbour. Tired from our early start we lunched on Devon pasties, the best ever. They were so filling Angela decided we'd have fish for our evening meal.

Leaving Dartmouth early afternoon, the weather decided at long last to settle. The sun played hide and seek with the thin grey cloud. The steep inclines of this morning left behind we now had to contend with narrow roads dwarfed by high hedgerows. John had the line of sight whilst Angela driving on the left-hand side relied on his instruction. Does she know what's she doing? Yes Marge, no tricks from you please. As if. Well, what was all that about when we filled up with fuel? Immobilising yourself for five minutes. We just can't trust you, and don't think we didn't notice your engine management lights been on since we left this morning. Is this all-pay back for us going off in Wee Margie? 

The drive down to tonight's stop at North Sands was narrow, steep and winding. Perhaps it wasn't a good idea to bring Marge down here! The bay however is stunning and tonight Marge is one of four vans staying. The waves are rolling in crashing into the sea defence just fifteen feet away. A little worrying as it's a spring tide.

One of our two neighbours tonight posts videos on YouTube. One is the fitting of a Ridgeline fly screen which coincidentally John has just bought for Marge ready for our next trip to Scotland to repel the midges. He lives in his van and is travelling around the coast of the U.K. We are meeting more and more people who have chosen van life. Angela noticed one of his rear tyres was losing air so John lent him our electric pump which showed air was leaking through the tyres valve. 

Tomorrow we will all go our separate ways. Where will we all be tomorrow night who knows? But we will all remember crossing paths with each other.

Teignmouth

Some much needed rain fell during the night lulling us into a restful sleep. This morning dawned bright but a keen breeze blew across from the seafront. More chicken of the wood's fungi was cut from the nearby tree for John's omelette plus some extra to take with us. The man in the van nearest the tree had taken some also. In no rush we took our time to leave, showering, doing some handwashing and walking once again up to the tap by the life boat station to top up two five litre water containers to top up Marge's tank. By midday Exmouth was coming to life. Dog walkers, swimmers, in increasingly popular changing robe jackets and walkers all keen to catch the fine weather before the forecast rain of the afternoon arrived. Out in the bay a rainbow of colours drifted across a hazy sky. It was perfect kitesurfing weather. 

Today we would travel just over twenty miles to Teignmouth on the north bank of the river Teign estuary. The journey was more than a little demanding for Marge with some very challenging long steep climbs when we all held our breath. Marge for some reason has decided she has a full tank of diesel, when we know yesterday she'd used a fifth of her tank. Really Marge, you are a worry. A helter skelter of a drive took us down into the seaside and port town of Teignmouth. The overnight parking for the vans should be on the esplanade, but they are replacing the older street lighting for some that is more energy efficient so the road was closed. After some enquiring with other van owners we are now along with many others parked on the jetty behind Back Beach. The man in the van behind us has been here eighteen months, leaving recently to drive to Scotland to marry his girlfriend at Gretna Green. 

The promised rain came and went all through the afternoon and early evening. We dodged the showers walking out into the town stopping to buy John an onion bhaji pasty from 'Made in Heaven' (food from Devon).

They sold a large range of Devon pasties, including a very large one named the Beast of Teignmouth, several flavours of scotch egg including chocolate and a variety of homemade cakes. This was comfort food at its finest. 

The wind blew with gusto from the east churning the sea water-stained russet by the nearby red sandstone cliffs.

Surfers bobbed like seals in the heaving seas, occasionally finding their balance to ride on the forward section of an incoming wave before becoming upended in the foaming waters.

Back at Marge the waves pounded the sea wall, barrelling along the side of the jetty with a roar that resembled a fast-approaching steam engine. Waves at the far end propel spray around twenty feet in the air. We had taken the decision when we arrived to position Marge away from all this activity. Others, thrill seekers sat in their vehicles oblivious of the damage the sea water was doing. 

Around seven o' clock the weather settled. We were hoping it would clear enough for a reasonable sunset. Sunglasses on Marge, if it's a good one it might dazzle you.

Exmouth (Day 2)

After an omelette containing foraged herbs and the chicken of the woods fungi from a nearby tree John was raring to go this morning, but first we needed to walk along the seafront to buy rolls and cheese for lunch so it was midday before we left for the tent show.

We were surprised just how many people were at the small outdoor show at the Westpoint Arena near Exeter. A lot of people a similar age to ourselves were interested in the small lightweight tents and we got talking to a lady who told us how pleased she was with her MSR three person tent that could accommodate her, her husband and child and two lurcher dogs when they camped out overnight on Dartmoor.

Tempted to buy a MSR Hubba Hubba two person tent we thought a three person might suit us better with more storage space for our pannier bags. In the shop John was tempted by a Helinox camp chair and we were both on the verge of buying an Outdoor Revolution Skyfall mattress which would suit us when staying with Angela's son and his family. But just now we had too many other costs to cover what with both our car and Marge playing up. Yes, Marge is being troublesome again. We spent quite a long time at the show, the weather being glorious made us want to spend the night out in the open in one of the smaller tents. Sorry Marge.

Upon our return to Exmouth we had to wait for a dog walking lady to return to her car so we could park Marge near to the other vans, so we delayed paying the overnight parking charge of eleven pounds until we were sure of a spot, which we have now right under the trees with views across to the seafront. By the time we walked down to the beach to read a while it was five o' clock. But read for a while we could not as a young boy was offshore in a cheap inflatable dinghy and we could see no adults watching him. He struggled to turn the flimsy vessel and return to shore so we watched him until he caught the incoming tide and landed safely on the beach.

Needing to walk a little more we walked into town for a meal. It being Saturday evening the girls were out on the town. Which group did you fall into as a youngster Angela. Breasts out or a skirt barely covering your credentials? Neither. Too shy and self-conscious. More long sleeves and jeans even in warm weather. Each group of girls entering the pub seemed to be wearing less clothing, not leaving much to the imagination. Returning to Marge a little light rain fell. Let's hope the girls clothing wouldn't shrink in the damp conditions.

We have enjoyed our time in Exmouth, but tomorrow will travel around the coast towards Teignmouth.