For years, the Monkey and I have been trying to visit Cornwall. I don’t remember the first moment when I realised I wanted to go, but the reason has always been because Monkey was born and raised there. It seemed like an important place to know.
So when we finally set plans to journey down, others would tell me how beautiful it is, how it’s such a lovely place to visit. The weather was on our side, with a week of glorious sunshine we forgot was possible after months of Scottish winter.
Cornwall is beautiful, with epic seascapes surrounding the rolling hills and quaint cottages I have become used to seeing on England’s skyline. But the Cornwall I met was not the beautiful holiday destination I had heard of — for me it was more like stepping into a storybook, with all the Monkey’s memories opening into a three-dimensional context. Does anyone remember those massive American Girl books of “Scenes and Settings” that acted as backdrops for the various scenes in your doll’s world? It was kind of like that.
^ In case you wonder why he’s called The Monkey.
The funny thing about Britain from a New Englander’s perspective is the familiar names of towns and cities. The photos in this entry are from our first stop in Cornwall, a seaside town called Charlestown. I couldn’t help but draw connections between his Charlestown and mine – Charlestown, Mass – another seaside town just north of Boston, one that also hosts a shipyard and scenic ocean views.
I think my favourite type of travel is touring the scenes of a friend’s home. Whether it’s seeing New York City or Paris according to favourite locals, or these quiet Cornish villages through the eyes of the Monkey, there is nothing like meeting a place through the people most important to me.
P.S. Did you know that I have a whole series of posts dedicated to traveling like a heroine, written by fabulous locals? Take a look here…