2.5 absurdly good days in Cornwall. The incredible town of Portloe. [Photo below.] Hiked about 20-25 miles (about 5, 12, 6 I figure), hiked until 10 p.m., up and down the whole time. About zero fellow hikers. (Only about 1,000 vertical feet—not the Sierras or Maroon Bells.) Pasties. A great little hotel, the Lugger—their fresh fish (John Dory on Sunday night) lived up to its billing. Lovely conversations at the likes of shops the size of a postage stamp—also the local Post Office.
Work totally out of mind, thence very rough “return to civilization”—even though it was but a stretched weekend. No cell phone coverage! No Internet! Great trains! Joy to the world!
I feel completely at home in Britain, having been visiting for 40 years, since 1966, when I came over on a U.S.N.-R.N. midshipman swap—served aboard HMS Tiger, a cruiser. Well, not completely at home—which is great. Am completely comfortable—but also enjoy the cultural differences of a “foreign country”—even if it is “the cousins.”
