Much planning and pre-trip laughing had gone into the idea of a photo of us in Pittsburgh Pirates t-shirts on our day in Penzance (thank you, Tim Slevin, for making sure Karen got those shirts!), but we were so frazzled from my ankle twist  that we missed the opportunity in the evening, and in the morning, after a nice breakfast in the best B&B we’ve had so far, we walked up to town with every intention of getting the shot, like a couple of seasoned NatGeo photographers on the hunt for that one memorable image. Though Penzance’s central district seems nice enough, it did not have a big obvious sign screaming Penzance to make the joke work, so we kept walking toward the ubst/train station to catch our first bus, with eyes still open. And then, rechecking my notes on the bus schedules, I realized we could just make the 9:15 bus to St. Michael’s Mount, or wait an hour, so we hustled on, as much as I could on my better but still tender ankle.

A 20-minute bus ride got us to the town of Marazion and St. Michael’s Mount, which dominates the landscape and, clearly, the local economy. The mount has been home to a monastery, a military base and of course, a family castle. It was handed over to the National Trust in the 1950s, when many old country properties were going out of families due to taxes (you may remember this from a plotline in Downtown Abbey, which despite all their heroic efforts, surely would have been broken up or gone to the National Trust by the time the next generation took over).

The mount is a tidal island that can be reached by boat or, when the tide is down, by causeway. Our timing was perfect, so we were among a mob of people standing on mid-causeway waiting for the last bit of the middle to be walkable. The island is beautifully kept, and rather than try to say much in description, I am letting photos, mostly by guest photographer Karen Slevin (who dazzles with what she can get from the iPhone camera), tell the story in a slideshow:

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The slight downside for me was that, as you may have noted, the castle is on a very steep hill, and the way up and down is paved with cobblestones, so I got to test out my ankle quite a bit. The interiors are an amazing mix of very old and fairly recent. The chapel a lovely “family-size” place of worship (perhaps 70 people could fit in a pinch, with stained glass windows that are designed to be seen up close in that smaller space, and the blue parlor is the official photo-op room, where they get portraits of visiting dignitaries such as Prince Charles.

We were both very conscious as we made our way through these interiors of how tight the doorways are (the better to slow down any attacker, I think) because we had our walking poles attached to our packs, making us just slightly more awkward than the usual lumbering visitor.

The gardens you see from above were planned by four St. Aubyn sisters (the owners of this place for generations) whose gardeners must have done a fair bit of grumbling: The amazing micro-climate that allows for all sorts of tropical plants to survive is created because those terraces are carved out of the underlying granite in the south-facing hillside, which then warms up in the terraces. The island has a staff of four gardeners who keep the lawns putting-green neat and tend to an incredible array of trees and flowers and succulents.

After a nice visit, we decided not to eat lunch in the Mount’s cafe, because the steady stream of people coming over the causeway suggested a mob scene for food there. Instead, we walked back to the mainland and got a nice lunch at, frankly, the first cafe we saw. It turned out very well indeed. Karen had a really good crab sandwich on grainy bread that didn’t seem to have anything added to hold the crab together, just heaps and heaps of crab that somehow held together. I had my first Cornish pasty of the trip, which was tasty and filling. Then, aware that it was only around 12:30 and we had time to kill, we wrote a few postcards and window-shopped and went into an art gallery where, with unfailing instinct, I liked the most expensive painting in the place. Champagne taste, that’s me.

We caught our bus from St. Michael’s Mount to Porthleven, where we are staying in the rooms above a restaurant. It was only a 30 minute ride, but I was hyper-aware of watching where the heck we were, as I always am when riding buses in a place I don’t know, fearing I’ll miss my stop. I was helped by the fact that I was getting good phone reception, and so could follow the bus’s progress on the map in real time.

We got off in the center of Porthleven, a really lovely little seaside village that is touristy, but less oppressively so than Mousehole (still, a day later, bizarrely pronounced mow-zzle. They haven’t changed it even though I registered an official complaint). I suspect Dylan Thomas, who praised Mousehole so lavishly, had a girlfriend there, or knew a really good pub. He should have come down the coast to Porthleven.

Our rooms, alas, really truly were not available until 4pm (the cleaner comes in at, I guess, 3:47pm?) so we walked around town a bit, sat on the stone wall that wraps the harbor, and people-watched.

A few notes on animals: Since day one, I have been remarking on the surprising dearth of seagulls. From St. Ives all the way around to Porthcurno, we didn’t see many, and I realized that I had been unconsciously assuming that the coast would mean a lot of gulls. Well, whether it was the weather, which was very nice today, or the south-facing coastline we are now on, the gulls are out in force. It’s nice to hear their keening cries.

On domesticated animals: I love the United Kingdom, because everyone takes their dogs everywhere, and the dogs seem really calm about it despite seeing so many sights and hearing so many sounds and smelling so many smells. They just roll with it mostly. And the variety of adorableness is almost obnoxious. Cute little Scotties and Jack Russells, beagles and labs and even a few greyhounds were out today. One amazing water dog drew quite a crowd when his master tossed his ball into the water from the wall. The dog, strangely unsure at first, had to go down a flight of steps and jump into water over its head and swim out to get that ball. But once he was in the water, you could see how happy the dog was with the task. People very nearly applauded when he trotted back up the stairs to his master, who was so confident of the dog he was already walking away down the street. They should have put out a cap for coins; they’d have made a neat bit of cash from the onlookers.

Once we’d killed a few hours, we got into our rooms and I napped, because I am going to work this sore ankle for every nap I can get. Then a nice dinner at a restaurant less expensive than the one we are staying above, and a lazy hour or so of watching television before bed.

Tomorrow, we resume walking, and the good news for me is that the day starts out with a long flat stretch. The coastline is much lower on the southern side than the wilds we first encountered, with rising and falling land of course but I am hoping not quite as rugged on the ascent and descent. Off to Lizard’s Point!