Day 8: Where we learn what we are (and are not) willing to pay for

(Apologies for ending a title in a preposition.)

We managed to sleep in a bit and awoke to more brilliant sunshine. Another lovely fry up for breakfast – including tomatoes from the owner’s greenhouse! – and we hit the road. The general plan was to hike on Dartmoor in the morning and then wander around Brixham, a little seaside town that looked very interesting when we had a quick drive through yesterday. We did some quick searches on line last night and found out that there was a waterfall on the moor so that was where we headed.

I should have known when I found a tourist brochure for Becky Falls in the flat and it showed were the ice cream stand and gift shop were. But alas, the alarm bells didn’t go off until 40 minutes later when we were about to pull into the car park and saw the sign board saying that entrance would be £7.95 PER PERSON. There are 954 square kilometers (~368 square miles) of moorland and for this small patch they were going to charge us stupid money to see the water running down the rocks. Nope, I wasn’t having any of that. It wasn’t the amount, it was the principle of the things. If it was a charge by the National Trust or the park service that would go toward maintaining the land, that would be one thing but this was not that. I’m all for capitalism but I don’t have to support all private enterprise.

So we turned around and drove back the way we had come. Frank turned sharply into an barely identifiable car park at the foot of a huge hill which was part of the national park and didn’t cost anything. And the boots went on and the walk was underway. Some people who have hiked with me in the past will know that for me the only direction to go is up, and so that’s what we did. There were no trail markers or hand rails, no ice cream stands or souvenir shops; just a vast expanse of land, some tractor lanes and horse trails, boggy bits, scree and wildflowers. And after half an hour’s climb, the view was spectacular. Two old boys were up a the top with us and their radio controlled gliders and it was amazing to watch. It turns out that where we were hiking was one of Europe’s most important area of heathland that was nearly completely destroyed by fire in 1997. We could see some places where there were remnants of fire but otherwise I didn’t notice anything. Frank did notice the distinct lack of birds which is a known issue. There also has not been a resurgence of the butterfly population yet either.

And then back down we went and on to an interim stop: Buckfast Abbey. A working Benedictine monastery that was founded in the time of King Canute (~1000 AD) and was closed during the monastic clearances in the time of Henry VIII and the reformation. It was reopened and rebuilt in the early 20th century and the results are just beautiful. (BTW, the abbey cost nothing to get into although I would have gladly paid. I did buy a guidebook and light a candle for my mom though).

We started heading for Brixham to grab some lunch but decided to stop half way at a little town called Totnes. And that was all she wrote. It’s yet another adorable little town with winding streets lined with shops and cafes. We did a quick wander and wound up at The Wild Fig cafe where they had lots of gluten free options. I had GF goat cheese and spinach quiche and Frank had ostrich and thyme pie. Yup, ostrich. And it was also gluten free. While we were there we noticed that they sold wine from a local winery about 3 miles out of town. Our chances of getting to the cute seaside town were waning faster by the minute.

We then decided to wander around town a bit to see what was up. That’s when we noticed the plethora of pink hair, shaved heads, and orange dreads. The smell of patchouli wafted from several shops and there was nothing but free trade coffee and organic produce to be found. We had stumbled upon the Berkeley of Devon! I thought we had been really luck to find a cafe with gluten free options but they were everywhere – along with vegan ones, people always lump us together. All along the shopping street, one shop after another – if it wasn’t a fair trade coffee shop, it was an art gallery or a charity shop. It was so much fun! There was even a 15th century parish church (St. Mary’s) that is still in use today even with the stone screen across the altar. The stained glass was quite a contrast the the more modern work we had seen at the Abbey.

Eventually the parking time was up but we had found a brochure for the local winery and had a new destination. Sharpham winery and cheese makers – why not have a vineyard and a dairy farm? We paid for the tour and tasting (£8.95 for a wander through the vineyards and tasting of 3 wines and two cheeses) which somehow also didn’t bother me like the waterfall entry fee. It turns out that we were the only ones there for the 4pm tasting so we got all the attention we wanted. The woman doing the tasting used to live in Virginia Beach so we could even discuss Virginia wines. We got a history of the property and heard about what grapes grow well there (Madeleine Angevine) and which ones they struggle with (pinot noir). None of wines were bad – and we’ve had BAD wines – and two of them appealed to us enough to buy a bottle. Then we wandered around in the vines and headed for home.

Well not exactly home. We had decided to give the chef a break from heating up ready meals and eat at the stupidly adorable pub in the village. Maidencombe is not that big – I don’t think there is even a street light but there is a pub. The Thatched Tavern is at the bottom of a very steep hill on a road called Steep Hill (not making that up) and it has a lovely beer garden and restaurant and several things on the menu marked gluten free. So we went out for a very nice dinner. Frank was all about the mushrooms tonight having sautéed wild mushrooms with garlic on toast for a starter and mushroom and Stilton risotto for his main course. I had the beetroot and horseradish soup (interesting) and Brixham crab thermadore for my main. All was very nice – including the deserts (honeycomb cheesecake that Frank said was awesome and my Eton mess. Look it up. 🙂 ) A wander down a bit farther brought us to the beach at high tide (remember, the sea is always down) where there were seals feeding in the cove. But the wine and the wandering had taken their toll and it was time to head home.