Week 3: Friday (Penzance: a cafe and an island)

What an interesting and unexpected day. After my hasty and frazzled 1am post for “yesterday”, I boarded the only train running out of Paddington that evening, heading towards Penzance. Needless to say, the journey wasn’t anywhere near as relaxing or restful as I’d hoped, and I didn’t really get much rest. On the bright side, I managed to snap this early-morning shot from the train while we crossed a bridge of some description (I’ve no idea which).

Someone on the way to Penzance.

Someone on the way to Penzance.

I arrived in Penzance a little before 8am, but given I was sleep-deprived and exceptionally sore all over, I just wanted to lie down and recover a bit. Unfortunately, my hotel had no vacancies, and while I could leave my suitcase, I couldn’t check in until 3pm.

Two sides of the ocean: grey and soon-to-rain, and blue and happy happy joy joy.

Two sides of the ocean: grey and soon-to-rain, and blue and happy happy joy joy.

And so began Samantha’s zombie day in Penzance. Surprisingly, most of the shops were still closed at 8:30am, including a cafe called The Honey Pot that had been recommended to me. To kill time (not the easiest when one is an undead), I wandered around town, and popped into a bookshop. The gentleman there was really helpful and patient with my random rambly questions about the area, and I left with a wee book introducing the history of Cornwall. It had begun to rain, I was cold and tired, but I did my best to persevere. Next were trips to the bus stop and visitor centre, where I acquired some maps, timetables, and a rough idea of where I wanted to go over the next few days. Of my English Dream Trip, the Penzance leg was the only open-ended, completely unplanned bit, and I didn’t really have a clue about what to do.

But an advantage of being a zombie for a day seems to be some unprecedented epicness in planning.

A little after 10am, I found The Honey Pot, and told the two awesome ladies about my dilemma, and asked if I could park myself somewhere in the corner for many, many hours. They were so friendly and warm, and happy for me to do my thing. On several occasions during the busier lunch period, they were still okay with me being there, and turned away other customers—this little temporary zombie was super grateful, with starry zombie eyes and all! *__*

Of course, I didn’t decide to stay in The Honey Pot without good reason. Further to the cafe’s wonderfully cosy atmosphere, what it served was absolutely scrumptious. I started with a scone tea, and had one each of a cheese and fruit scone—and oh my goodness, my dearest reader, those scones! I had the cheese one first, and it yielded with a sensual sigh when I reverently halved it. The soft, warm, slightly crumbly piece of glory was pure pleasure, and it was easily one of the best scones I’ve ever had—and then there were the sweet onion chutney and Cornish cheddar.

I will dream of these scones for a while yet.

I will dream of these scones for a while yet.

The fruit scone was less orgasmic for me than the cheese—until I got to the Cornish clotted cream. I knew there was a reason I came here, after all!

A few hours later for lunch, I had a homity pie. I have never had homity pie before, and I lament all those lost years without homity pies. Guess I just need to make up for lost time then!

I need to make this.

I need to make this and eat it all the time.

My two meals totalled £14.20, and I would’ve happily had more if I weren’t a zombie. On the plus side, I’m in Penzance till next Monday evening, so I can go back and try more noms! And to anyone swinging by Penzance: I cannot recommend this beautiful cafe enough. Do yourself a favour and go have a scone (or twelve).



Those cakes!

Those cakes!

After almost six hours in The Honey Pot, I had also managed to plan my itinerary for the next few days, write some postcards, and finish my wee book on Cornish history. Not bad for a zombie day!

Since it had reached 4pm, I meandered back to my hotel (Estoril; £60 per night), checked in, showered, and slipped into bed. Of all the hotels I’ve stayed in thus far, this is the only with a firm, memory foam mattress—definitely my sleeping surface of choice. I set my alarm for 8:30pm, and the zombie preceded to return to the living.

And return she did! I was a little groggy and reluctant at first, but felt a lot better once I’d jumped up, dressed, and made for the bus stop. I was bound for the neighbouring Marazion on the 9:05pm, and wanted to catch the 10:50pm return bus (ended up having a half-pint of Cornish cider while waiting; £2.40). Why Marazion, and why at this time? Because sunset was due at around 9:30pm, there was a castle on an island, and the evening low tide around the island meant I could walk on the causeway.

St. Michael's Mount.

St. Michael’s Mount.

Magic-rama of St. Michael's Mount.

Magic-rama of St. Michael’s Mount.

I am the happiest zombie-for-a-day.

Accommodation: £60
Food & drink: £16.60
Transport: £3
Total: £79.60
Walked: 15,874 steps; 10.62km

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