Day 17: Devon

I began the day at 6am with Cocoa Pops then we navigated nearby roadworks (which stymied an ambulance driven by a harried-looking woman) to arrive at London Paddington Overground Station. The seats were less cold than I remembered but the toilets were still staffed by watchful eyes, ensuring you paid the 30p required for relieving yourself.

We boarded what we thought was carriage D in our train to Devon, where my Internet friend Jon was awaiting us (or would be, at 10am). We sat in the right seat numbers, surrounded by noisy passengers including business people who were showing their laptops to their colleagues sitting across the passageway. One man was bashing the keys of his compter in a loud and rhythmic fashion.

It took a long trip to find a free bathroom for me to realise our reserved seats were in the genuine D carriage - relatively empty, quiet and with better wifi speeds. Seats that should have been filled were left bare - it seemed others had fallen into the same trap. We moved immediately, enjoying the lower bathroom-to-passenger ratio.

It was a long trip, but a picturesque one. I made sure not to miss the gorgeous water alongside the track on the way to our stop. Luckily no storms rose to batter our train.

Once the train pulled into our station, the passenger at the door did not seem to know how to open it so I, having read the instructions, put the window down and opened it using the handle on the outside. Then we were loaded into Jon’s hatchback, heading for the cliff tip railway at Oddicombe Downs. The rail was restored from its early 20th century self and provided a quick way down the hill to the beach below. The car stopped before finishing its journey, inching the rest of the way home before we were allowed off.

How quaint.

Oddicombe Downs was full of people eating, sitting on rented beach chairs and shopping at a kitschy stall that supplied buckets and rakes. There was even a trampoline vendor. There was no sand, only smooth small rocks underfoot. Returned to the top of the cliff.

It's worth going down to Oddicombe Downs. :D

We were early enough for seats at a decent tea place, so imbibed there while we waited for the nearby fish and chips shop to open. Ah, God, it was good to have loose leaf tea again.

We killed time walking along the cliff and laughing at the misfortune of the owner who bought a house on the Internet that fell from a red cliff down to Oddicombe Downs. A few spots of rain got us. They kept coming. Then it was really raining as we sprinted across the road to the restaurant section of the fish and chips place.

Torquay is just so photogenic :)

We sheltered there, among a mishmash of old stones, ancient wooden beams, bright newer wood slats and plaster. Our placemats showed cartoonish scenes of the area, though the Oddicombe Downs scene seemed to insist that in summer people wore bikinis there - we had seen none earlier!

My fiancé made chip buddies (chips on bread). Very British! The rain eased by now.

Next to Paignton Pier, famous for hosting Monty Python. The seafront was closed to cars, the lawns taken up with many fun rides - and foreign students enjoying the sun and fun of a beachside town. We waltzed down the pier, eating 99s and dodging the frantic gamblers vying for toys and tickets in the long, packed arcade. Jon seemed amused by the netted trampoline which was on the end of the pier. Perhaps a daring kid with too much bounce could end up in the water!

Popular with Pythons, children, gamblers and ice cream addicts. ;)

It was a nice view. We continued our walk back on land, avoiding the sandy beach and squalling baby seagulls chasing their mothers for food. The babies had completely different markings than grown-up ones - and black beaks instead of orange! At least the dusty feet were the same.

After dodging the amusement rides to get back to the car, we were off to Totnes Castle which sounded exciting, despite being only ruins. We spotted it on the hill. Excitement grew. Then we hit slow traffic squeezing through a roundabout. Undeterred, Jon followed the signs to the historic town centre. The steep road narrowed alarmingly and was thankfully one way, but the walls still closed in. Jon missed the turn off and we were spewed out onto a main road full of fleshy bodies compared to our steel one.

Jon had hit his tyre on the edge of the narrow road so I was panicked, freaking out, trapped in Totnes. Jon left the scary place only to re-enter at the bottom of the hill, beginning to reascend. The narrow street expunged us into a public parking area and we decided it would be best to walk, rather than risk the car arriving at a castle without parking spaces, making us circle back again.

The parking lot was small and on a steep gradient, but Jon persevered despite their being no spots - then we stopped dead. Blocking our passage was a car that appeared to be reversing - but it wasn’t. It was devoid of a driver and looked as though it had rolled out of its spot, abandoned by a handbrake. Nearby, people idly chatted at their cars, apparently unfazed.

By now I was in hysterics and laughed so much my eyes grew damp. I readily agreed to Jon taking us somewhere else, too relieved to be escaping the Torture of Totnes to be disappointed. What a nightmare. But a funny one. Totnes became a running joke that afternoon. I said solemnly, “The first rule about Totnes is you don’t talk about Totnes.”

“The second rule about Totnes,” Jon added, “is you definitely don’t want to talk about it and you don’t go there either.”

Jon took us to Berry Pomeroy Castle, an old friend of mine. The narrow road was bordered by shrubbery and passing places. The parking lot was a squeeze…but a blue sky reigned, delivering unto me a much better backdrop for my photos than last time!

We meet again, Berry Pomery...

The narrow steps in the towers were not slippery deathtraps, so unfortunately the screaming children outside were side. The gun slits make it easy to aim for them…

While my fiancé and I used the facilities, Jon was approached by the creepy ticket seller who’d had a sword hanging up behind him at the register. The man said sometimes the children made him wish he had a machine gun. Jon was perturbed by this. As we drove away, for the Argus Filch character (he resembled him in face and temperament) watched the children on the grass with narrowed eyes.

Next to Sainsbury’s for dinner for the train. We talked animatedly in the park there before heading over to “The Railway” pub at the station, drinking and chatting. Then it was time to depart from Platform 3.

I dozed on the way to London Paddington while my fiancé used his phone to become Facebook friends with Jon. There was an annoying couple playing pass-the-time games - the woman had a stupid voice and insulted her boyfriend a lot.

Remembered to message Jon when we were safely back at hotel.

Day 32: Devon

I awoke to an empty room and the trilling of my phone alarm. I gathered together my meagre things, ate a simple breakfast and waited downstairs, chatting to the landlady. Then I waited outside in the chilly morning air - Jon was ten minutes late. But when he turned up, he came bearing gifts. He and his parents gave me my first birthday presents and cards of the year - handmade bookmarks and books on Devon.

We first headed to Babbacombe Downs where Jon gleefully parked across four spots before we traversed down a valley to the seaside. The water was a stunning light turquoise which Jon was unused to. A couple followed us down to sip at their coffees while admiring the same view. 

Down, down, Babbacombe Downs!

Jon drove us to Kents Cavern via Gleneagles (where Monty Python stayed to film Flying Circus and where a hotel owner inspired John Cleese to create Fawlty Towers). After paying and displaying, we discovered that there were no cave tours for an hour. We decided to try the tea place recommended by Jon’s mother - Angels. I was finally able to have real tea for the first time in weeks (I chose lapsang souchong). 

BASIL!!!!

I scoffed my scones (they had genuine Devon clotted cream) while Jon sipped idly at his Pepsi and laughed at my inability to spread the cream - it became more like artistic drizzling, I’ll admit. I hurried him on because by then (10:20) we only had ten minutes to make it to the cave tour - we made it!

There was a corny light show at the entrance of Kents Cavern, complete with a recorded narrator that sounded like it was from the 1990s. The guide returned for us when the light show finished and led us past a hyena den, informing us that the caves were formed at the bottom of an ocean a staggering amount of time ago. The guide showed us stalagmites and stalactites that take hundreds of millions of years to grow into connected columns that resemble phalluses.

We viewed a “face” (a naturally formed feature) that may have been worshipped by Romans as coins and tokens from that era were found placed before it. A growing lump on one rock was explained as a favourite of Beatrix Potter’s - a wishing stone which I palmed twice, wishing to contribute to Australian literary culture.

The face of a titan?

We entered an ancient bear’s den where the guide plunged us into true darkness - how did our ancestors ever live here 500 000 years ago? 

The guide lit dry moss in sea shells (I had noticed an odd burning smell before he revealed these implements) which was apparently a good way to ward off hyenas while providing a source of lighting and cooking without creating an overwhelming amount of smoke.

Later, I ascended past the exhibits in the cave and, after I bought more than was wise from the gift shop, Jon conveyed me to Daddyhole which had a marvellous view of Paignton (and its pier). 

I then discovered an unattended table full of £1 books which was almost too tempting to pull myself away from. Luckily the spectacular views were the greater temptation.

We then stopped briefly at Torquay Pier to snap pics of yachts (it’s a sad rundown cement pier where Jon had sailed during his tenure in Scouts) then made our way to Cockington. Jon parked in an area that said “Restricted Zone - no parking Good Friday to September” but he insisted that everyone parked there.

We walked beneath an arch onto a lovely pathway that led us past vibrant flowers, historic buildings (eg. the restored gamekeeper’s cottage - burned down in 1990), a still and serene pond, an odd topless tree, a large house and then a pleasant little village. 

Here we hired a horse and carriage (white with brown spots - the horse, that is!). The woman took us up the road and grumbled about people parking where they shouldn’t - that would be us! There was a silver car parked behind Jon with a youth inside texting on his phone.

The woman paused by his car and her horse spitefully dropped a load of shit beside the car door. We clattered off, laughing at the priceless expression on the youth’s face but mindful not to reveal our own guilt to our 'driver'. Under the arch we went, past the same topless tree before being carted past giddy packs of children who cried, “Horsie!! Hello horsie!” 

They waved - not at us, of course! The horse caused a lot of excitement.

We were deposited at the large house then made our way back to the illegally parked car. No ticket, no fines and no horrified youths in silver cars awaited us.

Tourist traps but oh so fun.

We bypassed a Sainsbury’s before pulling up at Newton Abbot train station. Jon and I chatted for a while before his parking limit expired. I trundled across to platform 3, hoping Jon gave my hastily written note of thanks to his parents (whom I never met!).

I took up two seats on the train, reading one of my birthday presents, before I switched to the iPod. I made it to London Paddington just in time for a 30p toilet stop. I’m not a fan of train toilets.

I arrived at the hotel to find my brother in bed after his day trip to the Isle of Wight. We ate at a quaint “French” place in Southwark. “Home” to relax and sleep!

Day 31: Devon

A poor night’s sleep, coupled with a nightmare about being late for the train, saw me staggering from my bed at 5:30am. I stuffed myself into my clothes, shoved a Nutella sandwich down my gullet and threw last minute items into my handbag and backpack. The hotel rang up at 6:03.

I hurried downstairs and leaped into the taxi, instructing, “London Paddington overground please.”

As it was not Sunday, I had the pleasure of being driven past Buckingham Palace (the road is closed on that day). £20 later (eek!), the driver disappeared, leaving me to discover that the entrance for the overground and underground was the same. I paid 30p to make use of the toilets near platforms 10-13 then waited on a freezing seat, surrounded by pigeons (one was missing a “foot”). 

My train was announced as ready to board so I clambered on and into my aisle seat. I had the window seat to myself and could have had my pick of any other seat in the sparsely inhabited carriage. I passed the time by reading a copy of Metro, napping, texting Mum and excitedly watching the water in Dawlish - in Coast, I have seen that part of the track swamped by waves! That did not happen today.

Jon picked me up at Newton Abbot and we chatted like old friends as he drove us to Dartmoor. He informed me that we would be seeing Haytor, the granite tor that is apparently the easiest to walk to. I unwisely joked that it sounded like "hater". Haytor clearly took offence because when we arrived beneath it, the wind shook the car and tried to barricade my door. Once outside, it was even worse. We fought our way up to the tor - and this is supposed to be the easiest to get to!? Gosh, I’m glad we didn’t try the others! 

Haytor exudes evil.

Horrendous gales blew us about, nearly knocking me into a pile of wild pony poo. It was hard to aim with the camera as my telescopic lens was battered from side to side. The tor and the surrounding hills were very picturesque. Jon says the wind has never been like that before.

Dartmoor

It sprinkled when we arrived at Drogo Castle (after the satnav sent us down tiny country lanes). We only paid for access to the gardens - thank goodness. It turned out to only be 100 years old, a wannabe castle that served as a family residence. Gardens were so-so. But any photographer will know how to make the best out of Drogo Castle.

It shames the name Drogo!

We avoided the cafe queue (though I did not avoid the gift shop) and sped off for lunch at Berry Pomeroy Castle which was built in the 16th century. The sprinkling eased while we at the cafe; it rained heavily for a minute or two. After my green tea washed down my ham and brie sandwich, we purchased tickets at the English Heritage shack outside the castle ruins.

Berry Pomeroy Castle

We waved off the audio guides and entered through the gate. The moat was noticeably filled in. We roamed through the towers (they had well-designed slots for canons - I read in the guidebook later that these were made fifteen years before most castles starting using these slots instead of arrow slits).

The evolution of the arrow slit

I took photos of everything, including the exposed fireplaces and the graffiti. One such scrawl said “HELL”. The ghost of the White Lady did not grace us with her ghostly presence. A tooth-comb effect on a building signalled that instead falling to battle damage it had instead never been completed to begin with due to a lack of funds. 

Construction never finishes on time, no matter the century.

This castle was never able to stand up to attack. We left via the gift shop (ha!) and Jon then dropped me at the hotel. He did come in with me while I paid for the single room. There is no TV. I began this entry and napped.

Jon picked me up at 6pm and we had dinner near Paignton Pier before zipping next door to collect our tickets for an 8pm showing of Star Trek Into Darkness aka Star Trek XII!

Back to hotel. Sleepy. :)