UK to Sicily

Written on Monday 29Sep, Castelammare del Golfo, Sicily

Whew, we got here. Three accommodation changes, two car journeys in two different countries, two car hire changes, one currency change, one international flight, and one change of Internet service provider, all in a period of less than 30 hours.

The accommodation changes went without a hitch, with the new Bloc Hotel at Gatwick airport being of great interest to us, and chosen because our flight to Sicily departed at 7:00am Sunday, with bag drop closing at 06:20am. And besides, it was only $100 Aust and located right inside the South Terminal, within an easy stroll of shops, restaurants, and flight check-in.

The Bloc rooms are tiny, most with no windows (Who needs a window when all you want to do is crash?). That big light panel where the window might be disappears when you turn the lights off. Each room has its own fully equipped bathroom, a single small stow-away seat and a big TV built into the wall at the foot of the bed. The bed was big, and comfortable and the towels were huge and fluffy and white.

Most interesting to me was the use of a bedside wall-mounted tablet computer as a touch pad controller for lights, aircon and checkout. There's even a free identical App you can download onto your own tablet or smartphone if you'd prefer not to use the room tablet. It was fun checking out while still in the room!

Checking in and checking out were the easiest we've had anywhere. Because the room is prepaid, and there's no mini-bar or room service, and everyone has a smart phone (so no phone in the room), it is impossible to run up extra costs.

As for the car journeys, we accomplished both (Cornwall to Gatwick, 250 miles/400km then Palermo airport to our accommodation here in Sicily) without a hitch (well, a tiny one in Sicily). We had a 4:30pm deadline on the time of car return at Gatwick airport; because we weren't exactly sure how long the drive would take, on a mixture of Cornish laneways and four lane motorways, I added a substantial reserve to the time estimated by the iPad. As it turned out we made the journey in almost the exact time the iPad said it would take, guided only by the iPad, travelling on three different motorways and slowing to a crawl at one stage on the giant M25 ring road which circles London. One other thing had to be planned in, car refuelling immediately before drop, otherwise a £66 fee (more than a day's expenses for us). Before leaving I'd found a refuelling station at Gatwick airport, hidden away on the exit side among trees. This was our target initial destination at Gatwick and we were very happy to find the iPad directed us to it faultlessly. The car passed inspection at Avis and we were in our room at the Bloc nice and early.

Gatwick airport is busy, busy, but everything flows smoothly. Very obvious among the bag laden throng were armed police in groups of three. We ate and drank (Guinness was on tap) well at one of the many food outlets just below our room, set the iPad alarm for 04:30 (no clock, wake-up calls in the room as everyone has a smartphone) and went to bed after watching an episode of Dad's Army (yes, a re-run, but still hilarious for all of that) on the room TV.

Our easyJet flight rolled out on time, with us and our bags on it. Non-reclining seats, but otherwise same as Jetstar in Australia, and no bother for the 2.5 hour flight to Palermo.

The company providing our mobile Internet access in UK ("3") had assured me that the same SIM card and plan could be used in Italy also which was one of the reasons I chose that provider. Nevertheless, I was sceptical but turned on the iPad on the aircraft as soon as allowed on arrival and was shortly pleased to see that the SIM card logged on automatically to an Italy-based provider, and a good strong signal, too. To get it operating fully I had to enable data roaming, but no other intervention by me was needed. Fantastic for us, for now we had full mobile Internet, including access to Maps and navigation details, right from the word go -- all we needed now were cash and a car.

A warning for anyone picking up a hire car. Generally, you need a valid credit card before a car is provided. At the Europcar desk, my Gold Mastercard would not let the service assistant access it. I realised that the problem was that I had blocked international access (via a web facility) to the card. I then handed over my Visa debit card only to find that this was not acceptable. This was something I hadn't before realised. The only option now, other than to abandon car hire, was to change the block settings on my Mastercard. While the lady serving me waited patiently I stood at the counter and tried to access the web page to make the required changes. Three times I got right through the several steps only to get a "fail" at the last hurdle; then I realized that possibly a better connection was needed so asked the assistant if she had WiFi in the office. "No". Shit! Then she remembered she had a portable WiFi device in a desk drawer somewhere and perhaps it had some usable credit on it. It was worth a try so she turned on the device, it showed up on the iPad and I keyed in the password. Bingo! I was online with a more powerful local connection. My guess proved accurate and a few seconds later I indicated to the lady, who seemed as relieved as I, that the card should now be accessible to her. With a thumbs up, she indicated yes and a few minutes later we were out in the bright sunlight heading for our allocated car, a black four door Opel, sporting many scratches, many of which did not show up on the car documentation. This latter matter was soon rectified and before too long (well, a little delay while we found a cash machine), we were bowling along the autostrada to the SW toward this town.

Map showing our location, in context. Palermo is the capital city of Sicily, notorious for being a hangout for Mafia, and a place where a car is deemed a disadvantage, unless you have strong local knowledge and connections. Our apartment is situated at the Pin, with Palermo airport between Castelammare del Golfo and Palermo.

A couple of local pics:

One of the first tasks after arrival was to visit the local supermarket. Amazingly for us, with previous experience of Italy, it was open seven days, even on Sundays, which this was. It was comprehensively stocked with most things we'd need and had an amazing deli section, which this typical Sicilian guy looked after. I asked him to hold this enormous piece of mortadella while I took this pic, assuring him that we'd be back daily while staying here.

The view from our balcony this morning, early-ish. Included in the pic is the bell tower of a modern Sicilian Catholic (what else?) church, whose strident bells chimed this morning at 08:30 so no chance of a sleep in for us.

Lastly, we were famished on arrival here yesterday afternoon, having missed lunch after a very early and small breakfast at Gatwick airport. Some snacks and drinks at a local and very cheap bar (open Sunday arvo!) helped but we were told that there was a pizzeria around the corner and eventually found it hidden away in a grotty corner a couple of streets away. The only guy we encountered there was abrupt and not welcoming but told us (we think) to return at 7:00pm if we wanted a takeaway pizza. Strangely enough, I was elected as the pizza getter and so sallied forth right on 7:00 pm after a bracing couple of glasses of the local red with M (she elected to stay and guard the apartment) on the balcony.

On arrival, just after dark with street traffic increasing, I found that the pizzeria was open, but only just. Out on the street outside I'd encountered three guys dressed in white, sitting in the gutter amid discarded rubbish items, smoking. Also in the middle of the street was an ex polystyrene foam box, now broken into hundreds of pieces, soon to be thousands. No one thought to perhaps pick up the bits; in fact a few guys just sat in the gutter or leaned in doorways gazing at the mess.

Inside the pizzeria things were starting to get busy. I'd managed to order a Margerita (pizza, not drink), indicating the required size by pointing at the smaller pizza box among the hundreds piled up next to the helpful and friendly lady at the counter. Locals were starting to arrive and sit down at the dozens of available seats, arrayed along trestle tables. Then I saw the three guys in white again, the gutter guys. One was busy, the others watching. The busy guy, with a white kerchief tied around his sweating brow, was making pizza bases, by hand. The reason he was sweating was the adjacent enormous stone oven which I'd failed to notice earlier. Soon, my pizza and a couple of others could be seen roasting in the fiery cavern and a couple of minutes later it was in the box, the box was in my hand and I was out in the street heading for the apartment. The cost: €4 (about $6 Aust), after small local discount to which we entitled as we were guests of Ugo and Deb, owners of our apartment. A Mafia connection?

The box, this morning. The pizza was delicious and a great prelude to a long and exhausted sleep.

Thanks for reading

Mary and I would appreciate your feedback and comment. Click here to email us.
Kev Long
Author iPad Traveller for iPad and Mac.


The technical stuff:
Our iPad is connecting to the Internet mainly through a cellular connection provided (prepaid) by the UK "3" network, including in Italy. On high ground and in town environments around Cornwall this connection proved quite good but many places, especially in valleys and in small coastal localities lack coverage so no or poor connection. So far, in Sicily, the connection has been good. There are quite a few WiFi options available although not always advertised. Just ask if you're unsure if available. WiFi is of course the preferred method of transferring large amounts of data but I have been posting these blogs and their images sometimes using only a cellular connection either from inside our apartment where possible or on the roadside.

The cellular connection gives us both in car and on foot navigation capabilities which are essential around Sicily, where mere printed maps struggle to provide sufficient detail at a manageable size.

The Doc Martin village and Boscastle

It's now Thursday morning, 25Sep. A lovely sunny morning here in St Tudy but as I write this there are two guys noisily cutting a big hole in the bitumen road outside. Looks like a burst water pipe. Hope they don't cut off the water as we need to get a final clothes wash in today before our departure for London/Gatwick on Saturday. Ah, such are the unexpected travails of travellers.

We've not been idle over the last couple of days, although rising late, after 9:00am (still daylight savings time) daily.

Bodmin Moor, Roughtor, Monday afternoon

Mary expressed an interest in experiencing Bodmin Moor. This is a roughly circular area of land about 10km across which has been left pretty much alone in modern times. It's bisected by the A30 highway and contains a very few isolated hamlets and some of the land, if not all, is largely devoid of tall vegetation (such as forests). Our village, St Tudy, is only about three kilometres from the Moor's western edge but a little bit north of us, also on the edge of the Moor, is Roughtor, the name given to an area which is of great historical interest due to the remnants of human occupation going back some 5000 years. Walking trails allow access to this area but we used the car to get access to the entrance area, then set out on foot, passing many "hut circles" as we headed around the southern end of the dominating 400m high twin peaked feature also known as Roughtor (or Rough Tor).

Mary and a sheep on Bodmin Moor, Roughtor prominent on the near horizon.

Mary with Roughtor's higher peak in the background. Balancing rocks (natural, probably, but possibly human constructed) cap both peaks.

Gorse, I think, making a tough living against one of the rocks in a hut circle.

Roughtor's twin peaks.

A few sheep and horses grazed in the area, apparently unsupervised and largely unfenced.

Port Isaac, Wednesday

Some of you, I'm sure, would have seen the BBC TV series Doc Martin. Mary is a big fan of Doc and the people of the fictional and impossibly picturesque Cornish village Port Wenn around which the story is set. So we just had to visit nearby Port Isaac, the real fishing village which was used by BBC as the outdoor set for Port Wenn.

Looking across the harbour/beach to the sloping road on which Doc Martin's combined home and surgery are located. That's it on the extreme upper right.

The school, where Louisa worked.

Bored tourist and jumble of real fishing and crabbing gear. Port Isaac still makes a living of sorts from the sea but TV tourism certainly contributes a healthy slice of its income nowadays.

Boscastle, Wednesday 24Sep

Mary and I agreed that this was the best fishing village we'd yet visited. Boscastle is a small and relatively untouched sixteenth century fishing port. The car parking area is right on the edge of town and only a short level walk from the village and harbour. A pleasant couple of hours here on a sunny morning was therapeutic as it was not as hectic and pushy as other places we'd visited.

Two storey cottage with a normal sized person standing at the window.

There are big tides here. In this pic the entire fishing fleet is lying on the bottom of the harbour, whose entrance is around the corner, to the right, of that high wall.

The dog-leg entrance into the natural fissure on which the harbour is built. Pic taken at low tide, from near the top of the man-made mole at the harbour entrance.

Another view. The arrow points to the very squeezy 90° corner through which all vessels hoping to enter or leave must pass, and only when there's sufficient water, of course.

Looking down the creek toward the harbour

Nicely set securing lines, and presumably there's an anchor out at the stern. Hey Beanie, note the vessel name.

Tintagel, Wednesday 24Sep

Not far from Boscastle lies the village and clifftop island castle at Tintagel, beloved and flocked to by the deluded devotees of the King Arthur cult. It's one of those places that's worth visiting if you're in the area and if you have a spare six quid. Actually I could have got in free with my English Heritage card, as Mary did, but in a senior's moment (a too frequent event these days) I couldn't recall where I'd put my card and had to satisfy myself with clambering over the surrounding hills as I was too tight to pay the six quid. Later, I discovered the card had been secreted in a logical place, in the same pocket sized plastic wallet as my passport, which I carry with me always when travelling, and was with me at Tintagel. Anyway, Mary got to see more of the 1000 year old ruins from a more privileged position than I. (Thanks, Jane and Dick. You understand when I say my card.)

The most spectacular part of the ruins captured well by Mary and her little Canon.

The account of our Thursday visit to Rock and Stein Town (aka Padstow) will have to wait. We're off to the local for dinner and WiFi again.

Thanks for reading

Mary and I would appreciate your feedback and comment. Click here to email us.
Kev Long
Author iPad Traveller for iPad and Mac.


The technical stuff:
Our iPad is connecting to the Internet mainly through a cellular connection provided (prepaid) by the "3" network. On high ground and in town environments around Cornwall this connection is quite good but many places, especially in valleys and in small coastal localities lack coverage so no or poor connection. There are quite a few WiFi options available although not always advertised. Just ask if you're unsure if available. WiFi is of course the preferred method of transferring large amounts of data but I have been posting these blogs and their images using only a cellular connection either from inside our apartment where possible or on the roadside.

The cellular connection gives us both in car and on foot navigation capabilities which are essential around Cornwall, where mere printed maps struggle to provide sufficient detail at a manageable size.

The St Tudy area

It's Monday morning. We're in St Tudy, a tiny village in the northern part of Cornwall, near the Atlantic coast, but not so near that we're swamped with tourists. In fact it's really quiet here, and the only pub/eating place in town is closed today. All day.

Location

We arrived on Saturday afternoon, 4:00pm check-in. Having been required to check out at Lostwithiel by 10:30am we had quite a bit of time to kill that day, too much in fact, particularly as the travel time between the two accommodations was less than an hour. Some of it we killed by visiting Bodmin, museum, etc, picking up a Cornish Pasty for lunch, and some of it we killed by relaxing in a car park at Camelford, doing nothing except read our books and visit the local Spar supermarket. It was a pleasant enough day and we also booked a table for Saturday night at the St Tudy Inn, our new local, which has a well deserved reputation as a great place to eat.

As I suspected, wireless communication in the village is spotty at best; at our accommodation in the town centre the phones etc show No Service or one bar at most. Never mind, out on the main road a few minutes walk away we have workable service and the St Tudy Inn has free fast WiFi, so that is likely to get some use over the next few days.

Ours is one of four cottages in a terrace, built 200 years ago. Bedrooms upstairs (steep and narrow) and the remainder on the ground floor.

The village is hundreds of years old, but still very small. Among its claims to fame are that it was home village for William Bligh in his formative years.

Plaque in the village church

So, what to do in such a small village "in the middle of nowhere" whose pub is closed two nights a week? Well, firstly the pub was not closed on our first night, Saturday, and as previously mentioned, we had to make a reservation to ensure a meal on Saturday night. That meal was the best we'd had yet and so we made a reservation for the next available night, Tuesday (and that's tomorrow!).

In reality, from an Australian point of view, St Tudy is not in the middle of nowhere, but a short distance from the coast (perhaps 5 miles) with plenty of interesting coastline and fishing villages to the north west and the natural wonder, Bodmin Moor (home of the beast of Bodmin Moor) to the east. The roads are narrow, however.

Visit to Bude

There's a washing machine in this cottage and after a week we needed it so Sunday morning was washing day and Mary successfully charmed the device so that it did as it was bidden. No dryer, however, but it was a sunny day and there's a big clothes line out the back. With that chore dealt with we lunched on a bought quiche at home then headed in glorious sunny weather for Bude, as far north along this coast as we're likely to go.

Unlike the other seaside villages we've visited, car parking was possible right on the edge of the centre of Bude, a mere few minutes' stroll on flat ground to the beach. But it was busy as we struck the final day of the annual Food Festival in the best possible weather, and Sunday, of course. Firstly we fancied a stroll along the coast track to the south of the village and with map in hand, set off.

Right at the start of the walk we crossed the canal which runs through town.

Mary takes in the view. The cliff edge was on the immediate right.

We'd chosen a circular route so within less than an hour we were back in the town mixing with the crowds who were making the most of probably the last and warmest sunny day of a sunny summer.

There was a coarse fishing competition underway amidst the tourist bustle. This guy was Simon, who revealed that he also fishes from a kayak, launching from the local beach.

A surf kayaker coming back in to shore. There was a decent wave out there at the mouth of the bay.

The main beach.

The surf was OK.

Having spent about two and a half hours and £10 (incl two ice creams) in Bude we headed home as it was getting close to the time for a glass of red or two.

In the shared back garden we have this picnic table available and it gets used every evening as long as it's sunny. So far so good.

Village walk

Monday morning we arose about nine, had a simple and leisurely brekky at home and then headed out for a short local walk, as directed by a walks book left in the cottage. Again, a circular walk was chosen with a little bit of village and a fair bit of countryside. Again, a glorious day.

Celtic cross memorials lined up in the churchyard.

Mary crossing one of several stone stiles on this walk.

Our iPad compass (free App) was useful as we needed to be sure we were headed in the correct direction at track junctions with several options. All iPads (and iPhones) have a built-in magnetometer which works without Internet access.

A paved road section of the walk, but most of the way we were in copses or crossing open fields.

That's all for now.

Thanks for reading

Mary and I would appreciate your feedback and comment. Click here to email us.
Kev Long
Author iPad Traveller for iPad and Mac.


The technical stuff:
Our iPad is connecting to the Internet mainly through a cellular connection provided (prepaid) by the "3" network. On high ground and in town environments around Cornwall this connection is quite good but many places, especially in valleys and in small coastal localities lack coverage so no or poor connection. There are quite a few WiFi options available although not always advertised. Just ask if you're unsure if available. WiFi is of course the preferred method of transferring large amounts of data but I have been posting these blogs and their images using only a cellular connection either from inside our apartment where possible or on the roadside.

The cellular connection gives us both in car and on foot navigation capabilities which are essential around Cornwall, where mere printed maps struggle to provide sufficient detail at a manageable size.

The south west and back again

We'd decided on Tuesday that we'd face the music and on Wednesday trek down to the far SW, you know, where the tip of Britain pokes out into the Atlantic, near Lands End. Several well known Cornish tourist attractions anchor this region, among them Saint Michael's Mount, Penzance, Mousehole and Saint Ives all of which featured on our itinerary.

Drive time from Lostwithiel was a little over an hour, as predicted by our iPad, and on the way I refuelled the Fiat 500L for the first time since pickup, at St Austell, the first fairly large town encountered. First time refuelling of an unfamiliar car in an unfamiliar environment can be stressful, especially when the car has a diesel engine. However I took my time and made doubly sure that I was in fact pumping dieso into the tank and not unleaded.

We're each using an Australia Post Load and Go card preloaded with cash and I used this to pay for the fuel, £33.30, about twice the price as in Australia, as is unleaded fuel. The card not only allows cash to be obtained at any Visa ATM ($2 per usage fee) but also can be used as a debit card, so making electronic payment easy and less painful because you know exactly what you're paying. It's also rechargeable online and there is no charge for currency conversion within the supported currencies.

A good money option for international travellers from Australia, we think. This is our third trip on which we've used these cards.

Back to the filling station. Naturally, after payment, I went looking for the toilet. None immediately obvious inside the building, and none outside, hmmm! Then I spotted a small notice hanging on the wall. This announced that due to vandalism problems this service station no longer offered this important facility, and the notice offered no alternative. That's a sad indictment of the local community, I think.

Today was the day to try our first Cornish pastie and Marazion (pronounced as in Zionist) was a likely place to find one. This small town huddles on the coast directly opposite St Michael's Mount, a British version of Mont St Michel on the opposite, continental coast.

St Michael's Mount. The image is a little hazy as a result of strong easterly winds and the resultant spray in the air. At low tide a causeway allows passage to the Mount on foot or by car from Marazion.

And yes we found a pastie shop. Here's Mary huddling in the shelter of a building while enjoying her lunch.

And then it was on to nearby Penzance, which we could dimly see across the bay, somewhat obscured by seaspray. Neither the weather nor the ambience was considered appropriate so we pushed on along the waterfront through the grimy port area of Penzance toward Mousehole. But that also failed to inspire so we performed a three point turn and headed for St Ives.

St Ives, unfortunately, also disappointed us, even though the weather was somewhat better by now. Car parking was the first issue. We queued to get into the car park, a vast space at the top of the hill above the small harbour (pic later). Remember, this was a Wednesday, outside of the high season. Once inside the car park we were gradually directed further and further away from the entrance to eventually find parking space on the second of two grassy hedge-edged paddocks which presumably formed the last reserve of parking in the area. And yes we had to pay for the privilege. The options were: one hour (totally impractical as by the time the tourist area was reached you'd have to come straight back); two hours (maybe?) and all day (cost £5.70, about $11 Aust). We opted for the two hour shot and then boarded a battered shuttle bus (£1 per adult per journey, dogs free) to reach the actual tourist area.

Again, narrow streets, thronged with gawping visitors (just like us, only we didn't have a huge slobbery dog or two and were more mobile than the majority). Shops of almost every kind occupied the walls (ancient stone) of this rat race. The most interesting things to see from my point of view were the tourists, and I was horrified to recall that I was one of them. We kept going until we broke out into the pale sunlight on the water's edge. This was better.

The pleasant beach and harbour at St Ives. We shudder to think what it would be like at the height of the tourist season.

This reminded me of kayak fishing. I'm sure Noosa Yakkers members would understand. Name board of a waterfront pub at St Ives.

The arrival/departure view at St Ives from the carpark. The hillside and hilltop above the village is covered by these unsightly, all-the-same, houses. Really gives a bad impression from the start.

See what I mean?

Back in our car, within the two hour self-imposed time limit, we decided to head straight back via the alternative route, the northerly one, to quiet, quirky Lostwithiel where parking is easy and free and the locals are the most interesting people. On the way we passed a panoply of quaintly named villages such as Blowing House, North Country, Higher North Country, Wheal Harmony, Indian Queens, Castle-An-Dinas, Maudlin (true!), and Sweetshouse.

Lostwithiel, ah, how we now appreciate you.

Thursday. Weather pleasant again. In fact so pleasant that I broke out my one and only pair of shorts and ventured out with my Aussie winter legs and sandals (sans socks, which, incidentally, appears to be now the normal way for Brit men to wear sandals). Mind you, even though I had my winter legs on they were beautifully tanned compared with many of the legs now exposed as a result of the unexpected sunshine and warmth. On Thursdays, the folk of Lostwithiel offer a guided tour, on foot, of the village, complete with knowledgeable local guide. A young-ish couple from California and we were the only takers for the tour this day. Our guide, John, turned out to have served a term as Mayor of this fair village and showed us his picture among those of his forebears arrayed on the wall of the Guild Hall (although only about the last 200 years had pictures, the earlier ones, back to the eleventh century, were known by name only).

Anyway, it was a fascinating tour, as these small village tours frequently can be. Afterward Mary and I headed to the The Fisherman's Arms for lunch overlooking the River Fowey in Golant, then meandered past a couple of local villages by car stopping wherever we felt like it.

View of the estuary at Golant, as seen from our lunch table. Yes, that's a dog with red scarf on in the inflatable.

Exquisitely carved and overgrown memorial stone in a village churchyard.

Next stop: Restormel Castle, only about 2km from Lostwithiel but worth driving rather than walking to, as Mary said, because it's at the top of a formidable hill. Fair enough, and what better place to situate a castle?

First erected in the tenth century to dominate a crossing of the Fowey River, which it still does. But unfortunately for the builder, the bridge over the river at Lostwithiel, built relatively soon afterward, made the castle less useful as a place to keep an eye on passing traffic. This is an English Heritage property, so thanks Jane and Dick (have you visited it?).

Nearby 500 year old Restormel Manor, owned by the estate (Duchy) of the Duke of Cornwall who presently is Prince Charles. Frequented by various members of the RF but available as a holiday rental to mere mortals. Those challenged on the pecuniary scale may rent one bedroom self catering apartments there from £450 a week.

The brilliantly green and grassed river flats directly in front of the manor.

Pheasants taking advantage of newly mown field within a shotgun blast of the manor.

Restormel Castle from the river crossing which it was designed to dominate.

Dinner at the Earl of Chatham.

The Earl of Chatham is a pub largely ignored by tourists, being a five minute walk from the Lostwithiel bridge, slightly uphill, past the pig-gnome house and away from the main tourist attractions. Accordingly it relies largely on local patronage to survive. We'd eaten there one other night and liked the feel of it so decided, after a glass or two of the best Co-Op red on our sunny riverside deck, to go there again last night. Mary somewhat reluctantly agreed to initially sit at the bar with the promise that easy conversational engagement with the locals might ensue. Which it did. As you'd expect. Graeme, the man adjacent to her on her right, had never been to Australia but was a regular (every night, in fact) at the Earl of Chatham. He'd had a few whiskies, I'd say, but was polite and just a little bit pissed. He agreed eventually that it was shameful that he'd never been to Australia. The barmaid chimed in that she couldn't possibly go to Australia as it involved more than four hours in an aircraft, her self-imposed absolute limit of airborne tolerance time. As the conversation meandered downhill I was struck with how pleasant this scene was.

The bar scene.

The "real ales" available, starting with Dartmoor on the left and finishing with Tribute, my favourite, on the right.

If you want lager, cider, or stout, (which are not "ales") there are several selections, including a cider called Cornish Rattler which is "cornilly" touted as having a deadly bite.

After her friend Graeme left to head home to his wife Mary and I adjourned to the dining room where we enjoyed another excellent meal before returning to our little Lostwithiel home, passing the pigs and crossing the river by the 1000 year old, single lane, unlit bridge on the way.

This (Friday) is our last full day in Lostwithiel and we'll be heading for new digs, at St Tudy, on the northern part of the peninsula, tomorrow.

Thanks for reading

Mary and I would appreciate your feedback and comment. Click here to email us.
Kev Long
Author iPad Traveller for iPad and Mac.


The technical stuff:
Our iPad is connecting to the Internet mainly through a cellular connection provided (prepaid) by the "3" network. On high ground and in town environments around Cornwall this connection is quite good but many places, especially in valleys and in small coastal localities lack coverage so no or poor connection. There are quite a few WiFi options available although not always advertised. Just ask if you're unsure if available. WiFi is of course the preferred method of transferring large amounts of data but I have been posting these blogs and their images using only a cellular connection from inside our apartment.

The cellular connection gives us both in car and on foot navigation capabilities which are essential around Cornwall, where mere printed maps struggle to provide sufficient detail at a manageable size.