The day we went to Lands End

The man in the Cornwall Museum yesterday was adamant that we should not waste our time and money going to Lands End, and I can now see his point. However, there was a Parkrun to be experienced there and that was the draw card. 

We were all up early and on the road by 07:30 for the one hour drive from Truro to Lands End. The morning was cool and breezy and spirits were high. We arrived in plenty of time, paid the extortionate parking fee (we didn’t want to buy the car park!) and joined the friendly bunch of parkrunners waiting for the briefing. Held on a gravel cycle path this out and back x2 course had spectacular coastal views which kept distracting me from the task at hand. 

We all completed the run successfully with a good mix of walking and jogging and a few good photos caught on the run. Then we went in search of refreshments. The cafe, which we had been told would open at 10, wasn’t. The pub which we were told did parkrun breakfasts, didn’t (at least not that we could find). Wallsy and I each grabbed a coffee from the kiosk, which had little to offer in the way of food, and nothing in terms of decaf or oat milk for the Odgers. 

We decided to go and take the obligatory photo with the Lands End sign post before we left, only to find it was cordoned off. You now have to have an official photo taken rather than just snapping your own, which of course you are then expected rlto buy! We declined and took our own photos with a different sign, before leaving, a little disillusioned with Lands End and the extent that it has been commercialised and designed to fleece the tourist. 

Our next task was to locate the village where Wallsy’s great, great Grandfather had lived; a little tin mining settlement called Carnyorth, north of St Just. Set in the midst of the ruins and majestic old chimneys of tin mines from a bygone era, we wandered past rows of workers cottages, map in hand with no real indication of which house may have been his, or exactly where his garden plot, also marked on the map, may have been. 

Further up the main road, Stephen was able to pinpoint another of his garden plots, seemingly untouched since his will of 1864, when the land was bequeathed to his sons. 

Moving on, we called in to the Geevor Tin Mine Museum which apparently doesn’t open on Saturdays. Driving on, we saw the signs to the Levant Mine and Beam Engine; also not open, but we could wander among the ruins and relics and get a feel for the life that must have been lived here on the Cornish coast, and the dangers the men faced.

 We found ourselves in Penzance in search of lunch as St Just was crazy busy with some sort of annual festivities happening; roads closed, cars and people everywhere. Penzance is a very long town, stretched along the harbour and it was difficult to find any sort of cafe with a beach view near where we were able to find a car park. We wandered aimlessly for a while until we settled on a cafe with a range of nice, simple lunch offerings. 

We drove back to Truro after lunch to work out the logistics of getting us and our luggage to the railway station, as well as returning the hire car to the other side of town, all before our train at 10:50. 

Wallsy and I then took a short walk into town to gift some unwanted items to a local charity shop, and found a nice pub that looked like it would suit us for dinner. 

The William IV proved to be a great choice for our last meal in Cornwall and we were soon back home finalising our packing as the long haul flight home is looming.