Part of the 52 Week Blog Challenge
I’ve been many places; the Goodacres are big on the whole ‘family holiday’ thing. It took me a while to figure out which holiday was my favourite: did I go for the cliché Disneyworld trip, or the holiday to New England, or Egypt with my mum? They’ve all been so fantastic. But the more I thought about it, I kept coming back to one place, and it wasn’t too far from home.
I’ve been to Cornwall twice now, and the area gave me such an odd feeling of peace and contentment; it felt like a home away from home – even if we were all living in cramped caravan quarters at the time. The first time was with my Nan, and my overriding memory of that trip is of the whole family getting chucked out of a restaurant because we were being too rowdy.
My Nan had false teeth, and a great fondness for jelly and icecream. Towards the end of the meal, during which we had been relatively well behaved, we were all in high spirits. Nan was having a little trouble eating her dessert (jelly and icecream) and started doing a juggling act with her spoon in a desperate effort not to drop it everywhere. This made her laugh so hard, she spat her false teeth out, knocking a glass of water over everyone else’s desserts, and that was the end of the Goodacres’ relative good behaviour. A few moments later, the waiter very politely asked us to pay the bill and leave, which we did, with tears in our eyes and our sides aching.
The same trip holds my favourite memory of me and my brother. He claims he doesn’t remember this, but everyone else does. I was already in bed, tucked up in the caravan, and Steven was outside play catch with some other children in the camping park before bed. They left as night fell as Steven rushed in. He was 13, so I would have been 6 years old. He wrapped me in a blanket so I wouldn’t get cold and carried me outside to look at the stars. They were the brightest, most beautiful things I’d ever seen, and he hadn’t wanted me to miss them. The Cornwall night sky, away from the light pollution of the cities and towns, is really something to behold.
Fast forward to 2011, my family, sadly without my Nan, revisited Cornwall. It was just as welcoming, beautiful and homey as I remembered. We climbed Tintagel, visited the Witches Museum, ate so many Cornish pasties and had so many afternoon tea scones. The place is steeped in so much history, it’s hard not to feel a part of something ancient as you walk across the sea to St. Michael’s Mount or simply explore the coves, where pirates and smugglers used to sneak during the dead of night.
On this trip, we didn’t get chucked out of any restaurants, but we did see seals, get chased by an angry bull, and go swimming in the sea when it was a bitterly cold, rainy day. We figured we were already wet, so why not? The fellow beachcombers (only three, due to the bad weather) were very entertained by our squealing.
Here are a few pictures from that trip.