Port Isaac, Cornwall August 4-9, 2007

Cornwall is England’s Brittany. Cornwall is Brittany with cliffs. I discovered Port Isaac, this tiny fishing cove with its protective breakwater, in 1999 due to its proximity to the Arthurian site of Tintagel, which is just up the coast. This is a haven for artists and a summer haven for vacationing families from all over Britain. I stayed at the Old School Hotel, across the bay from my 1999 apartment. There are splendid walks to be had on the coastal path, which encircles the entire island, and inland across rolling farmland. I was deeply glad not to have a vehicle of any kind here, as the twisting narrow lanes defy modern traffic. The beach becomes a parking lot thanks to the low tide – but watch the clock to reclaim your car before it goes out to sea with the fleet. And be alert as you tool along the tight one lane road, as either you or the driver you meet will have to back up to a slightly wider spot to squeeze past. Imagine the bus.

I took the road to St. Endellion again, having returned with blessed luck the weekend of the music festival. The dress rehearsal Sunday afternoon offered up a feast of delight: the Elgar cello concerto with Tim Hugh, the Chopin nocturnes and Brahms piano quartet in C minor, and the Music Makers, conducted by Richard Hickox with Pamela Helen Stephen (mezzo soprano) and a 70 voice choir. Free for a 2 mile walk in summer heat going out and summer rain coming back. The tiny church acoustics simply enveloped me in the rapture of brilliant song.

One of the week’s highlights was the evening conversation with adolescent tourists on the steps of the shop by the hotel where I had found a wireless hotspot. We traded questions about life in middle school, Britain and America. They were simply delightful. The adult social blessing was an invitation from a very Irish gentleman at church to his birthday bash Wednesday evening. I boldly walked into the party and simply told the son that Stephan had invited me. The crowd turned out to be British vacationers who had been coming here with their children for 15 years, children who once met clam-digging on the beach and who now traded stories of University years. What a splendid network of friends, and how kind of them to include me!

My original plan had been to meet Ivy here, but since she was unable to travel, I chucked the plans for widespread touring and stayed close to the port. I did take the bus up to Tintagel but did not make the climb up the cliff. Mostly I worked on writing once more through the address book and composing blog entries, when I wasn’t out walking with the camera. The allure of the land kept me out and about, basking in the beauty of this special land.