A Search for the Perfect Seaside Village in Cornwall, England: Too Many To Count!

I skipped past pretty cliffside homes painted in shades of pale yellow and robin’s egg blue that looked down on the deep green Atlantic Ocean. I was almost paralyzed with fear from driving a monstrously large SUV down shrub-lined roads built for Austin Minis. I read sad stories about shipwrecks, wandered into funky boutiques and deeply inhaled the salty sea air.

I recently spent four days in Cornwall, England, traipsing along the coast in search of the perfect seaside village. I found a fistful of beauties; some bathed in the kind of light you’d see in an Impressionist painting and others clinging to dark, rocky headlands. I also toured the ruins of a castle linked (perhaps dubiously) to King Arthur, visited a tumbledown, Instagram-worthy mining facility that’s now used to make a popular TV show and explored a wondrous, outdoor, oceanfront theatre carved out of a sheer cliff.

Here’s a look at some highlights from this beautiful region in the southwest corner of England.

Charlestown

It was closing soon, so I made the town’s Shipwreck Treasure Museum my first stop. I found exhibits about the Titanic and other famous wrecks, as well as a poignant display showing the tiny shoes of a young deck hand lost at sea years ago.

In the village I spotted a lovely cliffside walk behind homes painted in pale yellow and perfect, summer-sky blue, as well as a small park with tremendous views of the craggy coast. 

I also stumbled into the Charlestown Harbour Shop. There were the usual postcards and nautical-themed tea towels for sale, but also lamps fashioned out of old cameras and even one with a light bulb sticking up out of a stack of 45 RPM vinyl records.

“Not what you might expect,” I told shop owner Michael Cobb. “That’s what we want,” he replied. “There’s no point doing what everyone else does.” 

A few yards away I stumbled on The Rum Sailor, a gloriously tiny bar inside a solid block of stone with graffiti messages and drawings on every surface. I’m told the bar serves more than 550 types of rum and 200 types of gin.  

I was at village one, and I was already in love.

Mevagissey

 I maneuvered my humongous SUV down narrow, shady lanes and parked a couple blocks from the city centre. I made my way to the harbour, said hello to a fisherman cleaning his crab traps, and inhaled the rich smell of the sea.

 Black and white Cornish flags flapped in the wind as I strolled about. Over to one side of the harbour I saw giant, green-grey rocks jutting up from the ocean floor, ancient, spiky stones that may have sliced a few jagged holes in a ship’s hull over the years.

I wandered around the village and spied a wee home called Handspan Cottage, which made me smile. I passed another house where a woman was furiously sanding away at faded blue paint. “It never ends when you own a home,” I said. “No, it doesn’t,” she said with a weary  smile. “Have a lovely day.”

St. Michael’s Mount

I had planned to take a boat over to the island of St. Michael’s Mount to see the famous church, which is much like Mont St. Michel in France. Alas, the weather gods were angry, and the wind was whipping up big whitecaps. It was too dangerous for a boat, so the ferries weren’t running. You can walk to the island at low tide, but it was high tide when I arrived, and I didn’t have time to go back later in the day. Still, it was pretty to look at from a distance, and I had a nice time checking out the shops in the village of Marazion. 

Mousehole

This is a postcard-cute village at the end of a peninsula west of Penzance. Fearing a crowded town center, I parked a half-mile away and headed into town. As I strolled along the shore I walked past a monument to eight local men lost in an attempt to rescue the victims of a shipwreck in December 1981. Someone had left a bright yellow fisherman’s rain boot as a memorial, and I couldn’t help thinking of a lost husband or father.

After chatting with a fisherman who complained that the tuna eat all the good mackerel, I found a charming town to explore. A shop called The Mousehole sells a variety of old coffee mugs with photos of British porridge and Cornish pasties. Around the corner I saw a sign in a shop window that read “Cornish and Proud.” I stopped at a posh store called Just Lily that stocks striking pale orange, blue and pale gold blankets fashioned out of recycled plastic bottles, as well as candles and jangly earrings. As I looked around, a group of women came into the shop and asked about the aroma diffusers on display. The salesperson started giggling. “I was filling one of them up one time and the liquid spilled all over me. It took me three weeks to get the smell out of my clothes.” 

I decided Mousehole is a perfectly delightful place, with a name you can’t beat. I got home and a friend of mine told me it’s actually pronounced Mooz-ool. Oh, thanks. Killjoy.

St. Ives

This is one of Cornwall’s most popular seaside villages. I almost didn’t make it, as my Waze app took me and my SUV (did I mention it was monstrously large?) down the teeniest road I drove on my trip, with massive stone walls harassing the left side of my car and ever-so-slightly frustrated locals waiting for me to get up my courage and actually inch forward. I took a short train ride into town (it’s much easier than parking in a popular spot like St. Ives) and found a delightful village with golden beaches and graceful seaside hotels.

 The main street curves around a pretty bay and is fronted by benches and planters spilling over with flowers. There were a ton of restaurants selling good coffee (when did Great Britain embrace good cappuccino, anyway?), Cornish pasties, and Thai food, not to mention an overabundance of ice cream stands.

 The shops were fine, but I was more taken by the beaches, the pale green water, and the southwest England light, which felt to me like a Monet painting. At the Tate St. Ives museum, a guide showed off works by New Zealand’s Frances Hodgkins. Women who painted around the turn of the century were considered amateurs and weren’t given much credit for their work. Hodgkins answer was, basically, up yours. “If I can only live long enough the world will have to acknowledge me,” she once said.

After stopping outside the Tate to watch very good surfers riding good-sized waves, I headed to the Barbara Hepworth Museum and Sculpture Garden, which features bold, rounded and geometric shaped pieces that are quite striking. The gardens add a delightful splash of colour, including vivid red fuchsia and the palest of pink English roses.

Padstow

One of the first shops I spotted was Twin Fin Rum, which displays a surfboard and is decorated in Florida-Caribbean pastel shades that are fitting for a part of England where palm trees are common. A worker told me the rum is made just four miles away and comes in a variety of flavours. Across the road is Tarquin’s Gin School, where you can make your own gin and do tastings. They have some 70 botanicals to choose from, including strawberry, mint, thyme, frankincense and myrrh; perfect if you want to present a bottle to one of the Three Wise Men. I spotted a nice-looking coffee shop next to the gin place, and an independent book store, and decided I had found Cornwall seaside nirvana.

Fowey

On my final morning in Cornwall I parked at the top of a hill and negotiated some steep stairs down to the village. As I walked I caught glimpses of a church spire and a blue harbour backed by verdant, green hills. 

I found a coffee shop called Brown Sugar, with friendly locals and a great barista, and took my excellent latte to the waterfront to watch the boats go by. The town seemed quite prosperous. Pebble and Salt is a gorgeous home décor store, while Kittows of Fowey is a marvelous deli and butcher shop. I was intrigued by Mad Fowey, which has a brightly coloured sign and calls itself a Mechanical Art and Design Museum and Shop. “Crash, bang, wallop, it all happens in M.A.D.,” a sign read.

I also spotted the Fowey Aquarium, which has sea creatures from up and down the Cornish coast. An amusing sign outside said the facility is home to Shirley the Starfish and Bernard the Gurnard. On the wall of The Ship Inn I discovered a small blue sign that reads, “Fowey Town Band established here in 1966. Playing all the right notes, but not necessarily in the right order.”

Once again, I’m head over heels.

Other Cornwall Must-See’s 

Botallack Ruins

This seaside spot is an open, grassy area that once housed a massive mining facility. What likely were building hallways are now missing their roofs, leaving them open to the sky. The building stones were covered with brilliant, green grass that smelled of soft English rain. 

I walked toward the coast and was instantly struck by the ruins of what looks like a medieval castle clinging to the side of a steep cliff. The Atlantic was rolling heavy and hard, sending spumes of white spray high into the air. A local woman named Helen told me the ruins are what’s left of an abandoned copper, tin and refined arsenic mine that closed in 1895. It’s said that Botallack’s tunnels stretched a half-mile under the seabed, and that many were produced with hammers, chisels and gunpowder. And human sweat.

 “Many people drowned when working here,” Helen told me quietly. “It was a dangerous job.”

 A light fog created a kind of halo around the sun, and the diffused light wrapped the abandoned buildings in a mysterious mist. It’s no wonder the makers of the TV show Poldark have filmed here extensively, and also in Charlestown.  

Tintagel Castle

Legend has it that King Arthur was conceived on this splendid bit of land on the north coast of Cornwall. A castle guide admitted there’s no way of knowing if it’s true. “But it looks the part, don’t you think?”

I made my way over a modern pedestrian bridge that spans a deep chasm connecting the mainland to the peninsula where the castle once stood. There’s not much left of the building, but there are bits of stone walls here and there. I stood high above the ocean, watching a small, black-and-orange butterfly battle a stiff breeze.

 I retreated back to the bridge and spotted a narrow set of stairs that wind down a steep cliff face towards a bay where jade-green waves smashed against the rocks. I stood at the bottom and watched the angry water, then retreated to a nearby cafe for a cup of coffee and a tasty bowl of wild mushroom soup.

Minack Theatre

I had seen photos of this place, but I was still gobsmacked by the beauty and scale. Located close to the southwest tip of Cornwall, this is a steep, outdoor ampitheatre carved out of ancient granite on a cliff overlooking the Atlantic Ocean, with rows of grass-covered stone seats.

There were massive rocks below my feet as I stood at the entrance, and the Cornish coastline  stretched out to the horizon on my left. I read that past productions have included The Producers and Jesus Christ Superstar, and that the theatre was built by another strong female artist, Rowena Cade.

It was easy to love the physical beauty of Cornwall; the craggy coasts, the verdant, rolling hills, the so-cute-you-could-hug-them coastal villages. In the end, I was equally captivated by the people and the Cornish spirit.

Incredible Gardens

The Eden Project is a remarkable spot in Cornwall that’s fashioned out of an old clay pit and features glorious floral displays and indoor domes that mimic rainforests and dry, Mediterranean climates. The variety is nothing short of astonishing. I also thought the Lost Gardens of Heligan were magnificent. A bit tricky to find your way around, but magnificent.

A Fine Place to Stay

The Cornwall Hotel and Spa was a fine base for my stay. A bit far away from the westernmost destinations I visited, but I had a nice room, and the staff was very helpful. Pretty grounds, a decent breakfast, and very good for dinner.

For more information, visit www.visitcornwall.com.