The drive in was lovely, with the Sun beaming down and the landscape getting more and more rugged.
Our hopes began to moderate somewhat as we drove through the town of Bude -the road followed a shallow, fetid, algae-water canal that supposedly was once England's 2nd most important waterway, with cheap wood clapboard surf shops lining the route and more than a dozen ice cream stands selling identical faux ice-cream.
Up ahead was the beach, we could see people walking by with wetsuits on, and families carried blankets and picnic baskets in anticipation of a fun surf-filled day ahead.
As we crested the ridge, there it was. Where everyone was heading. The beach? Wait, that cant be it can it? There was about a mile of sand, strewn with pockets of tidal water, covered in rotting seaweed, and with boats that were hardy (read: cheap) enough that the owners just let them rest on the sea floor when the tide went out.
Dominating the scene was a large parking lot, which featured as the central viewing object from pretty much any angle that was tried.
Beach goers had set themselves up amidst the tidal detritus, spreading their blankets out steps from the parking lot but 100s of yards from the actual water. Had they been there since the tide went out? Surely they wouldn't have wasted the effort of donning a wetsuit if they could barely see the water?
As we pulled up to our hotel, we saw the prize jewel of Bude, the seaside pool. This answered the question of why people were wearing wetsuits. They were wearing them into an ugly concrete pool that was filled with water at high tide, but which was nowhere near the sea during daylight hours.
Perhaps our hotel was "steps from the beach" at high tide, but during the day it was about a 15 minute hike. The hotel was actually quite nicely decorated, but the advertised beach view could only be realized by peering through the windows of the camper vans parked in the omnipresent parking lot.
Our hearts sank as we realized that this is where we would spend our next 4 days.
Still, in a stoic attempt to make the most of it, we bravely set off for the town's best restaurant, Life's A Beach, which proclaimed that we would be wondering if we were on the Italian Riviera after experiencing their beautiful atmosphere and food.
Well, I think the Italians should consider a defamation suit for such a proclamation. Life's A Beach is a few notches below Wally's Burger Shack. It did have the advantage of being about the only place in town which did not focus its view on the parking lot, but sticky picnic tables built on a concrete escarpment serving whatever happened to be dredged up from the deep-fryer most certainly does not remind me of Portofino.
After giving up on our gross meals, we began the hike to the beach. Perhaps there was a hidden cove somewhere that could inject a little romanticism into this experience? Alas not. The cliffs were indeed beautiful dropping ruggedly into the sea, but it was nigh impossible to get a decent view of this.
We gave up on the beach (never to return) and instead went in search of the castle, which led to our most pleasant surprise. On our way to the castle we found the unused tennis courts. This at least got us some exercise in the sun. The castle itself was okay, but its small size, refocusing as a mediocre lifeboat museum and sunken position left it worth a 15 minute visit at best.
Having done pretty much everything we could do in town in 3 hours, we headed back to the hotel to get some work done. To shake ourselves out of the funk we had fallen into, we went down at 17:00 to have a drink on the sun terrace overlooking the parking lot. The hotel was out of bitters and clearly could not mix a cocktail, but the setting was decent and we settled in for some liquid happiness.
It was at this point that we realized that the nice looking tapas restaurant at the hotel remained eerily dark and inactive as the dining hour approached. A quick check in with reception confirmed our concern - despite this being a weekend tourist destination, basically every restaurant in town was closed on Sundays! Reception helpfully suggested a pub about 25 miles away, or a tapas place that was a 30 minute walk that could "maybe" take us at 22:00 if we hurried through our meal.
All of this probably sounds a touch negative, but deservedly so. This was a waste of a coastline. No wonder so many Brits invade the Mediterranean beach towns.
Still, we managed to have a good time. The tennis was good, the hotel was comfortable, and we got a lot of work done. Plus, we got to sample authentic Cornish Pasties from "Tasty Pasty". Didn't exactly fulfill our fantasies of suntanning, beach volleyball and beach blanket reading, but at least now we know that we have no desire to fight the traffic hordes into Cornwall!
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