We are living on the North coast of Cornwall, just down the coast from Tintagel, where legend has it that King Arthur’s castle stood.
You can see approximately where we are by looking on this map for the town of Polzeath (which we’re near but not in).
The town we’re in is bustling in the summer, full or tourists looking for a beach or a pasty (that’s a Cornish meat or cheese filled turnover, not something girls wear instead of a bikini top, and by the way it’s rhymes with “nasty” rather than “tasty” even though they are quite tasty). But now that school is back in session, the only tourists are those with young children not yet in school, or those whose kids have flown the nest.
We stand out here a bit, because we’re Americans, but also because we’ve got young kids when lots of people our age have kids in college, or even have grandkids. I had a conversation that went like this the other day – “Say, is that little one yours?", pointing at Sebastian (the 6-month old). “Yes” I replied. “Wow, I’ve got grandkids that age". “Well, I guess we’ve done things a bit backwards, we decided to have some fun first, then do the kid thing later".
Which starts to explain a bit about why we’re here…but that’s for another entry.
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