Arriving to the village of Boscastle in the early night was like once again coming to a fairytale place. But Boscastle is fairytaly in another way then Mousehole. It is more mysterious and almost has a magical feeling about it. Maybe it is not for nothing that is has a big witch museum. The village is in a crack between two hills/moors (not sure if it could be classified as those England’s equivalents of mountains) and the little white houses are dotted around a river that flows in from the sea. Here you can find a good number of cafes, restaurants, cream tea places and little shops to keep you occupied for a few days. There was some people on the streets when I arrived, but not any where near as packed as Padstow had been.
I had booked a bed for two nights at the YHA hostel, which was very cosy and comfortable, with the majority of the guests being English and international families on a hiking holiday.
The walking paths along the coast is the main reason people come to Boscastle I would guess, and the next morning I set out to do the hike to Tintagel, one of the nearest villages. The coastline is dramatic and stunning, with sharp cliffs here and there in the sea and the green fields shifting from easily hiked flat land to steep trails over rocks and cliffs. The trail was about 4, 5 miles (around 7 kilometers) long, but it felt like at least the double. Walking was made much easier with the beautiful view and the sound of waves and birds in the background, but still it was a challenge.
My biggest motivation was to reach the path that would lead down to a beach were it would be possible to swim. The weather was sunny and warm, around 20 degrees, so a dip in the sea did feel tempting.
After what felt like ages I found the little trail which seemed to lead to one of the sandy beaches I had spotted in a distance. I climbed the very steep narrow trail down to the water, getting there just before the tide would start covering most of the sand. It was like a little secret paradise place, and seeing the clear blue waves roll in over the sand and the shell covered stones it didn’t feel like I was in England anymore. Of course I had to go in, and I had fun playing in the very salty waves for a while. The vegetable and cheese and potato Cornish pasties that I had bought for lunch tasted very good after that.
After my rest my legs felt even heavier, and I draged my self the last two miles to Tintagel. The village is said to be the birthplace of the medevial knight Lancelot, so almost every pub and restaurant was dedicated to him. I was too tierd to enjoy it very much, and the main attatraction in Tintagel became the cornish ice cream I finally got to taste. It wasnst very different from other good icecreams I’v had, but was very good because of the very typically english flavours; apple and blackberry crumble and jaffa cake (a chocolate- orange cake that is very popular).
In the afternoon I was very much looking forward to taking the bus back to the hostel, but soon realised that the buses was running on a new table starting that day, and on sundays there was no buses between Tintagel and Boscastle. Oups. Too tierd to walk all the way back I got help from the tourist office to call a taxi ( which arrived after 2 hours, there was a lot of people who had just realised the bus situation). I managed to find a couple who was also going back to Boscastle and shared the ride with them. We were taken by a very cheerfull and talkative cabdriver who used to be a farmer but seemed to be very happy with his career change, although his only day of was on christmas day.
Back at the hostel I cooked a delicious omelett for supper, with the vegetables from the farm shop and some cornish feta cheese. Then I made it out to the cliffs facing the sea just before the sunset colored the village and the sky pink and golden.