A Sunny Day in Penzance

After I finished breakfast this morning and while I was still sitting in the dining room using my laptop, Ben (assistant manager and breakfast cook) mentioned the sunny day we were having, saying “it is hot out there!” I had already been out running, and though it was bright and sunny and pleasant for running, I hadn't especially noticed it was what I would call “hot.” (And I'm from a part of the U.S. where people break out their shorts—cargo shorts of course—when the temperature breaks 50º!)

But I took note of his comment and my own observations, and when my mother and I headed out around 11:00, instead of a warm coat I put on a khaki jacket. And brought my sunglasses, of course.

The sunglasses came into use almost immediately, for it was quite bright out. We followed the streets around the hotel (into a very uninteresting area that my mother called “a total waste of time,” primarily because it required walking up a longish hill to get back to the main streets). We did emerge into one of the primary town streets, however, the politically incorrectly named Market Jew Street, and walked up it into Causeway Head, another main shopping street. We weren't shopping, really, so instead of stopping we just strolled along, taking special interest in the windows of various bakeries, all of which exuded the tantalizing smell of freshly baked Cornish pasties and other savoury treats (as well as your typical bakery goods, including a plethora of hot cross buns and other yeast buns).

On the way back down we succumbed to one such shop, and decided to get Cornish pasties* for our lunch (it was noon by then). Cornish pasties, if anyone is not already familiar with them, are essentially turnovers, filled either with a traditional steak and potato filling, or variations such as chicken, cheese and onion, etc. There were a number of different options at this shop (as well as other pastry wrapped goodies, like sausage rolls), but I didn't look much further than the steak pasty. We each got a “cocktail-sized” pasty, which is not nearly as tiny as it sounds (I would consider cocktail-size to be the size of a potsticker). This is what I would call “small,” about four inches wide, I would guess. The “small” size is at least medium in my book, “medium” is quite large, and “large” would probably feed a family of four.**

We sat on a sunny bench to eat our pasties (after standing around for a few minutes glaring at the couple who had dared to sit on the bench before we got to it). Eventually they had to leave. Perhaps they felt uncomfortable being stared at....

The one disadvantage to the cocktail-sized pasty is that there was a plethora of potato in the filling and only a couple bits of steak. Well, nobody ever called Cornish pasties—or English food in general—low carb!

After our snack—er, lunch—I wanted to take my mother down to the Promenade where I had run earlier, to walk along the seaside. On the way, however, we spotted a sign saying “to the gardens.” I had to follow, and it led us to Morrab Gardens, described as a “subtropical garden”—whatever subtropical means. There were palm trees, but also rhododendrons and camellias growing happily. We walked around the outside path and then into the inside path, stopping at least once to sit on a bench in the sun.

We were not the only people flocking to the park on a sunny day. We passed several occupied benches before we found ours, and in the inner garden there were mothers and children playing, and even a few brave souls sitting on the grass—which still had to be a bit cold and damp at this time of day! I did not, however, see anyone wearing shorts.

Leaving the park, we continued onward to the Promenade. Despite the sun, it was not hot out, and in the shade it was rather cool. In the wind it was downright chilly! And there were some decent wind gusts out on the Promenade. Still, we walked the length of the Promenade to the end of town, then turned back. As we turned, we noted that the wind had been at our backs on the way out, and now we were walking right into it on the return. Not great for hairstyles.***


One of the views from the Promenade was back toward the Jubilee Pool, a public saltwater bathing pool in Penzance. I loved its Art Deco gate and the old fashioned name "bathing pool." In this long distance picture, you can also see St. Michael's Mount at the right, a small island now owned by the National Trust, home to a medieval castle and gardens.

Back in Chapel Street I pointed my mother down Abbey Road toward the hotel and continued back into the center of town to shop for our next meal. Yes, soon it would be tea time and treats would be called for. I had noticed in our early shopping that yeast buns were prolific and scones were scarce around Penzance, which seems odd as Cornwall is famous for clotted cream. The bakery we had stopped in earlier had packaged scones, which would have to do. They also had... Battenburg Cake.

I popped into a Co-op Food store to procure clotted cream. It was a beautiful sight, stacks of Rodda clotted cream, in several sizes. It was enough to inspire all kinds of gluttony. But I did, as a cautionary measure, study the nutrition information before I went truly crazy. About 500 calories per 100 grams.**** A generous serving for tea is about 50 grams. You could definitely use less, but I was being realistic. It's definitely not diet food, and a better person than me would shun it by a mile.

(I'm not that person.)

So I brought back the goodies, made a pot of tea, and my mother and I had a homey tea party in our sitting room, while watching Murder She Wrote (my mother's choice) on TV. Just another afternoon in England.

My father was out on the train and didn't make it back for tea. We had expected him early, so this caused a bit of alarm, but he finally appeared at 5:30 and said that he had gone to the loo. No, wait, he had gone to Looe on the train. This required a change of trains so took longer than a simple out and back journey.

Instead of trying to go out to dinner—none of were interested in that—I went back out and up the street to pick up takeaway fish and chips. A mountain of chips topped by a whale of a deep fried fish filet—just what I need. Back into the running shoes....*****

Incidentally, I only realized it was St. Patrick's Day today when I logged into Google and saw their shamrock-strewn logo. Throughout the day, I barely saw another reminder. In contrast, five years ago we happened to be in Penzance on St. Patrick's Day, and although it was hardly a wild scene, we did see people walking around the streets wearing tall Guinness hats that looked like the Cat in the Hat's hat, except Guinness colours. They got them by purchasing a certain number of Guinnesses in the pubs. Drinking the Guinness was not required, but I'm sure most did not throw it away! This year is much more toned down. There is an effort to curb binge-drinking in England, and that probably has put a perhaps much-needed damper on St. Paddy's Day celebrations.

For more of today's pictures, you can click here.

*Pronounced with a short “a,” like the crust.
**I may exaggerate just a bit... it's probably growing in my mind by the minute. But definitely big enough for two or three people.
***Hairstyle? I have used that curling iron I bought at Boots exactly one time, and that time was not today.
****Equivalent to a 4.5 mile run. Nice.
*****That was just for effect, as I'm not planning to run tomorrow. I'm hoping to walk the coastal path near St. Ives, if all goes well. Right now the wind is whipping around like a—um—really strong, noisy wind. But the guy in the fish shop said it is supposed to be nice the rest of the week until the weekend. So we shall see.