While in Cornwall, we rented a car and drove around the tiny fishing towns with crazy names, risking life and limb on teeny tiny little roads in tin-can stick-shift cars. The entire coast is linked by a hiking trail, so we would drive to a town, park, stroll around and then do a little walking along the coast. If I saw a new bird, I’d freak out (15! 15 new birds in one weekend!); otherwise, we’d have a calm, brisk walk around the town and environs before moving onto the next. All the towns were all notable for their small population, their quaint huts, and their flotilla of itty-bitty fishing boats tied to the winches in the harbours.
My personal favorite was Portloe, which was the tiniest (the middle row and bottom-right photos above are Portloe). We got lunch in St. Mawes, cream tea in Portloe, and dinner in Mevagissey – so that might have something to do with it. But Portloe was (despite a centrally-located parking lot), also the most meticulously maintained, relentlessly perfect town of the bunch. I know that fishing is dangerous and there’s actually a lot of deprivation in Cornwall, in part due to depleted fishing stocks. But damn, its hard to think that life is anything but perfect in these places.