30 March 2011
It was another early morning. Aaron slept all through the night but I struggle to sleep more than 6 hours of the 12 we are averaging each night. It’s amazing how many times in a night I want to go for a pee when a) it’s cold and b) I’m lying there for hours just thinking about anything and everything, including how full my bladder is.
This morning proved to be just as wet as Day 4 but without the mist. Once again we decided against walking. Instead I decided to have another hot shower, a luxury when they are going to be at least 3 days apart. The English camp ground facilities are proving to be interesting so far. The Princetown campground gives you 30 second showers and 3 minutes of light. Unfortunately it takes 2 minutes to undress and get the shower hot enough to get under and a minute later the light can only be activated for 10 seconds at a time if you are physically outside the shower.
Aaron managed to work out if you press the shower on button every 20 seconds you get a continual flow but the light thing was impossible so I showered in the dark. Even the toilets have a motion activated light sensor so if you have to sit for more than a minute the light goes out and you have to wave your arms in the air to make it come on again. I guess in summertime the place is absolutely pumping and with only 2 showers and 2 toilets in the women’s block they need to get people moving quickly.
After my brief, darkened bathroom session I leapt in the van and we set off on our next adventure. Today the mist was gone altogether and so we got a good view of the moors. What can I say, the place is just stunning, very bleak at this time of year, with not yet any leaves on the trees but the land, the rocks, the hedgerows, stone walls and rivers and streams are just beautiful. It must be absolutely beautiful in summer.
One thing I can’t quite get used to yet though is the large areas of gorse throughout the paddocks. It seems to be almost as much of a pest here as it is at home. Except that here they do not seek to eradicate it, just control it. Either they bring in some machinery to cut it back to stumps or they do controlled burn offs. And as for the colour, it’s not nearly as stunning as NZ gorse. The gorse here in the UK
Before long we had left the Moors and were headed to our next destination Totnes. It hadn’t even figured on our original travel plans but the lovely lady at the Dartmoor gallery said it was an absolute must visit. How right she was!
Totnes is my type of town. It is a totally progressive organic, whole food, eco-friendly, fair-trade, free-range town and the birth place of Transition Towns. For a start, all plastic shopping bags are banned. You want to shop, bring your own carry bag or buy a reuseable one, none will be supplied.
The shoe shops, clothing shops, baby shops, etc do their best to supply use natural, organic materials and everything is sourced locally first before purchasing abroad. They even have their own currency, which enables the locals to keep money within the local economy. My guess is that they represent barter and trade dollars. The cafes, butchers, delis, health shops, organic shops, etc are all filled with the most scrumptious looking food. We treated ourselves to brunch and weren’t disappointed.
The town is full of Greenies, eccentrics, everyday folk and the odd crazy person like the reasonably normal looking 30-something year old woman who strides incessantly up and down the high street yelling at you to “put the biscuit tin down!”. (I can only surmise that an addiction to bad food and an over-bearing mother has scarred her for life)
The main organic, whole food store is more like a mini supermarket and they stock such a massive range of goods that I could have spent hours browsing and literally spent hundreds of pounds on everything I wanted to try. As it was we filled the bag with food and of course cider for me and a cannabis beer for Aaron. Yep, it’s definitely a progressive town!
I wanted to know more about the town’s philosophy and self-imposed rules but the Tourist Information centre said they couldn’t help as all the ‘Green’ initiatives are initiated by the Transition Towns movement and they are apparently notorious and not producing literature suitable for the interested passerby.
I must have looked a little crestfallen as the woman suggested we visit the Transition Town High St
Tucked away in a small doorway is the door sign and a buzzer. We buzzed the office and asked if they would be happy to talk to us. And so for 10 minutes we eked out information from the office staff. They were clearly not used to tourists popping in and kept suggesting we make an appointment to meet the founder or one of his staff. We explained we were only there by chance and were just curious. In the end, despite their reluctance, we came away with some old brochures and pamphlets and another interesting documentary to watch.
From there we went to the Riverford shop, which is run by the CSA Riverford Farm, according to local literature they supply 47,000 boxes of fresh fruit and vegetables to members on a weekly basis. We did stop at the farm on the way in but it turns out you have to book ahead unless you want to do a self-guided walk with map and audio instruction. Alas it was pissing down so we decided not to.
At the Riverford shop we bought genuine pork & apple sausages and more cider!
Next stop was St Austell, a large town and perfect for finding a cash flow machine, supermarket and McDs (for WiFi).
After getting money and purchasing food we meandered our way up and out of town through various country lanes until we found somewhere suitable to park for the night. Turns out Cornwall
Eventually we found a largish gravel area on the side of a country lane in Bodmin. It wasn’t exactly busy but it wasn’t private either. Still, we were next to a couple of farm gates so I could tuck in out of sight if I needed pee.
Through one of the gates was some of the most beautiful looking, rolling pasture land.
We settled in for the night and cooked ourselves our sausages and organic vine leaf parcels. We accompanied it with a couple of bottles of very nice Dorset cider. One of them, Heron Valley
Oh blessed English cider! How shall I ever go back to the commercial crap we have back in Kiwi land. Apple cider made with real apples is unsurprisingly a completely different beast.
So anyways, dinner was an absolute delight and I don’t think we could have topped it if we’d gone to a restaurant. Except of course not having to do the dishes.
It was a rather wild night, squally rain and wild winds that shook the van. Of course I awoke at some ungodly hour, stiff and sore and lay there for a long time contemplating life and eventually whether my bladder was full. This is proving to be a bad choice of thought pattern. Eventually I had to wake Aaron and remove him from the doorway so I could embrace the wild Dorset weather in little more than a nightie. Just a little bit exhilarating until it occurs to me that Bodmin is at the base of Bodmin Moor, which I believe is the home of the infamous panther-like creature that roams the moors. Quick as a flash I’m back in the van, door-locked and safely cocooned in my sleeping bag once again.
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