Oh Brittania, 2/3 of the way through

After a weekend touring Bath and hanging out in London (walked through Harrod's 5 gleaming stories of stuff, stuff, stuff), we took an early train to Penzance on Monday. Unholy crush of people all over the rail and subway stations. London at 8:30 am is a bit scary. I barely made it through the turnstile, drowning in my luggage, alive.

Penzance is a salty, touristy little coast town nearly at the farthest tip of England, which only whetted my appetite for more of Cornwall. At last I have set foot on the ground of one of my favorite storytellers, Daphne Du Maurier. I attempted to explore the land by taking a brambly foot path inland, but it dead-ended about thirty feet in, so I had to be satisfied with walking the Promenade at night (they make a big deal of it here, although it' s just a wide side-walk, i guess rare in these tiny coast towns of narrow winding streets). I can see how D.D. drew rich material for her stories from Cornwall. It's a place that beckons the imagination. Gorgeous at night - globes of light from the town twinkling on the hillside, huddling together against sea and sky. The lights taper into a stretch of land that slips into endless sea. I realized how much I miss the beach when we got to Penzance, but it's a very different feel from California beaches. Rough and remote - you really feel like you're at the edge of the world.
Left Penzance yesterday morning after chatting with one of our hostesses, Helen (Glencree House is run by two tall Welsh ladies who traveled the world in younger days and played on rugby teams along the way to make ends meet), and took all day travelling to the Cotswolds. Blooody cold here but we're staying in Moreton-in-Marsh, near Shakespeare's home. Staying in a cozy place called Warwick House, run by an eccentric old English man named Charlie Grant who's little boy Tim was excited to be able to unlock our room for us and jump on the beds while his father showed us around. We went to a town pub called The Black Bear last night - wood floors and stone walls just like I would have imagined. Very Tolkienesque - they say he drew alot of inspiration from the Cotwolds. Charlie told us this morning that we should go down to the annual Women's Institution bake-off (or something like that). Because of strict food regulations, Moreton is one of the only places that still does "WI" food festivals (I can't remember what he called them). "You've got all these dears who churn up loads and loads of stuff for it," he said, "and people storm off the trains to queue up for it. You can't miss it." We did miss it, so that we could come down to this little library and get in some precious internet time. But it's getting to be time for some tea; my fingers are freezing even as I frantically type away here. Tea and crumpets, tea and crumpets. I'm getting to really be attached to teatime here. We're going to explore some of the little villages around here. When they have names like Chipping Camden and Stow-on-the-Wold, how can you pass them by?