Unpredictable

It was the first time I dared to book two trips in a row. I had not realised how soon it was, one after the other. Not even two weeks after I was back from Croatia got to pack for a week in Cornwall.

I reserved a room in Cornwall from June 15 for 7 nights after I had read about the exceptional beauty of a cove unique in the world. I found an affordable room in a hamlet near Land’s End, and that unique place. However, for me the pull for the trip was to disperse my loneliness along the scenic, and sometimes challenging, coastal path. It was a way to put distance between my daughter and myself. I no longer expect her to apologise for anything; just enjoy your freedom, I said to myself.

Cancellation was free of charge until the 12 to cancel. The bus ticket had costed me under 10 pounds so, I still could call it off if something happened, and it did.

On a rainy day before the trip, after a few days indoors I wanted to go for a walk with my big red and green plaid umbrella. I didn’t get wet but got a sore throat, which often turns into a sort of bronchitis. An email reminded me that the payment was due the following day, so I could still cancel for free, but I didn’t. Enjoying a coastal walk would make me forget about the distance that keeps growing between my daughter and myself, even though we live only 20 miles apart. The tacit message to G would be, I am free from your grip now, sort yourself up if you need a babysitter. The message to myself was, go ahead with your plan, that’s why you changed your eating habits, to grow stronger and healthier.

The payment went through and the day to depart arrived. The taxi took me to the train station on Saturday night to go to London Victoria. My bus was leaving Victoria Bus Station at one minute to midnight, and would arrive to Penzance just before 9 am on Sunday, June 15, 6 days before the summer solstice.

At my age, it wasn’t wise to take a 9 hour trip sitting on a bus, so I would wear the compression stockings they gave me when I had my gall bladder removed. I was the first to board the bus, and when a guy with thick thighs sat next to me, my heart sank at the prospect of spending the entire night in a restricted space. Luckily, the two seats behind remained empty, and I made myself comfortable there, dozing on and off and turning this side and that. By 8:30 I was in Penzance. First hurdle, overcome. I was looking forward to a full week of wonderful weather in the unpredictable west country and would escape the first heat wave of the year 2025 in London.

When I got off the coach, I noticed next to me the bus I intended to board at 10, but why to waste time waiting for the next if I had been on time to take an earlier one and start enjoying sooner. I had asked permission to check-in at noon. They said no, because the room needed to be cleaned and get ready. Then I requested if I could at least leave my luggage. They said yes and gave me the instructions to locate the property, together with the code of the box to get the key. In noticed that the message wasn’t signed. Since I arrived even earlier than expected, I wanted to say hi (the name) I’ve just arrived. May I access the property now to leave my luggage? He or she said yes, there is a big lounge where you can leave your bags. However, after an all-night journey followed by an hour ride on the local bus without pause, I badly needed a toilet and a cup of coffee. So I didn’t leave immediately. When I entered the property and climbed the stairs to the first floor, I walked through a short landing with an open door on my left, and the room looked ready; walked further, dropped the bags and kept walking the length of the lofty lounge to find a bathroom. It was new and clean, with a little ante-room where a washing machine was on. The floor and walls had tiles in shades of grey. The white sink and toilet were clean, but there was a big yellow towel folded on the floor was wet. It had been used as used recently as a mat outside the shower. Bright light and breeze coming from a roof window, together with bird song. Next to it was the kitchen, which had light blue-grey walls. The laminated plastic cupboards and countertops were also grey, the shade of a stormy sky, but it had a beautiful floor made of light new wood and lots of light coming from the roof window, which made it pleasant. I turned the kettle on and went to my provisions bag to get the ground coffee to make myself a cup, the same way I always do. No cafetiere, and no filters, just a heaped teaspoon of ground coffee in a cup and boiling water. The dregs soak and get heavier while stirring it to melt the honey and after a minute go down to the bottom. With mug in hand, walked into the lounge and I looked around. Probably an instinctive move to detect how safe the place was.

On the kitchen counter, I had noticed some instant soup packages, extra virgin olive oil and even coconut oil, honey little jar with very little left, I had used to sweeten my coffee. There were also tea bags and instant coffee. In the fridge I saw fresh milk, but now I only use vegetable milk . The owner was thoughtful and had some refinement, judging for good extra virgin olive oil left on the counter in case a guest arriving late needed some for a salad, I was a delightful addition to the usual tea and coffee that many lodgings offer.

There were just two rooms, the doors were open, so presumable no guests in at the time They were similar in size and furnishings. Quite square, with a double bed, covered with a black crinkled spread that looked synthetic, and had identical windows. They had a double bed, two bedside tables with a small lamp on each of them, and a wardrobe.The furniture was made out rustic wood. No frills, no pictures, no curtains on the windows, just a rolling screen to darken the rooms for the night. All the walls were pale greyish blue, like the sea and the sky. Rooms and lounge had an old wooden floor, most probably they had kept the original boards of the old stone cottage, which had been partially renovated to make the rental property. Unfortunately, they had painted the boards dark brown to make an old thing look new, but it didn’t look good. In the lounge, a brand new carpet in shades of light green and pale yellow, like the tender early spring leaves covered most of the central area. On the longest west wall it had a window which also looked onto the street, and beyond it, some green farm land followed by a slice of pale ocean and a pale early morning sky that made it difficult to see the where the horizon line stood.

It was a very stark and bare place. Just outside the first room on my way to the back, I had seen a picture of a surfer inside a monster curl of a wave. Does the property belong to him? I asked myself. But why he didn’t sign his message? He doesn’t have a strong ego now? Next to that picture there was a tiny window looking to the east into a minimal internal yard, which provided some morning light. The lounge was oblong and lofty, unexpectedly big for a small cottage. A table with 6 chairs stood close to one end and a two-seater sofa at the other end, near to the kitchen and bathroom. In front of the lounge window stood a wire rack loaded with towels set to dry in the afternoon sun, and along the front wall there were 4 trunks, which I did not open, but got next to the window to look out and on the windowsill a framed black-and-white picture caught my attention. There was also a print waiting to be framed and hanged to make the place more lively. But the black-and-white picture was stunning and didn’t deserve to be lying there, like an abandoned and forgotten thing. It presented a devastatingly beautiful young man with a powerful body. He had short facial hair and shoulder length wet locks, probably blond. He had massive shoulders and arms and was standing in a pool or the sea with the water reaching to his pectorals. All that power counterbalanced by a small baby he was holding close to his chest, his eyelids low, his gaze lost in the contemplation of the tiny creature with a serene, beatific expression, as if in a trance. The tiny left arm of the baby reaching to the neck of the man. The left hand of the man holding the back and head of the baby, while his right held the baby’s lower body. I stood there, mesmerised by the image, then moved away. I had placed the half drank coffee mug on one trunk and was standing next to the sofa with my back to the access arranging my jacket or scarf, getting ready to leave a man had come but Without the hearing aids and lost in thought, I only noticed him when he stood next to me. Sure enough, he was the man of the picture, fully dressed and dry. His expression corresponded to the intention to remind me about the check in time.

I said hi; I had no intention of taking the room, do not need to sleep now. I will go for a walk and come back at the agreed time. But still had my coffee to finish, and the picture had intrigued me. I asked him if the other room was taken, and he said yes, then once the conversation started I boldly enquired: Do you have a son? Why I assumed it was a son and not a daughter? No idea. He said: Yes; I have a son, but he is no longer living with me. Suddenly, he was made to disclose intimate details of his life to an inquisitive stranger. He is with her mother in San Diego...the USA, added to remark the distance that separated him from his son. How old is he? I asked. He is now... eight... I assumed his mother was going to stay with me here, but she didn’t.

Oh, I’m sorry, I know it’s hard not to have your son near. I have a friend in Argentina whose son lived in Switzerland with his wife and child, but now he separated from her wife and lives in Argentina. He is a talented chef, his wife had helped him to get on his feet, but then something went wrong and now he has to travel to see the boy.

The strong, beautiful man, turned into a no non-sense business person with a weakened ego had been thrown back into a moment of turmoil in his life and had shown his vulnerable side.

After my reservation I was informed that the name of the of the place had changed, no longer Sea Dream, but Sea View.

Where do you live? I enquired. I stay with my parents down the road sometimes. He wanted to avoid explaining. But where do you live? I insisted. So he said that sometimes also used the sofa bed, with a screen, while pointing where the screen would stand. And what’s your name, you didn’t sign your name in the messages. Dean, he said, and yours’ Maria? Yes, Maria. Then I said goodbye and turned to leave, without the bags, just the straw basket I would need to carry the discarded layers of clothing once the sun got warmer, the water bottle I had just refilled, the cards, phone and sunglasses. Across the street stood the bus stop where I had alighted earlier, and next to it I had seen a pedestrian path, presumably leading to the coastal trail, and this is how my Cornwall holiday started.

I learned he had a barber’s shop which he tended by appointment on the ground floor, in a glazed cabin, inside a sort of cafe; but he waits on the fish and chips customers through a window, from 5 to 8. The core of the business was that. I saw a coffee machine and a table with chairs. Would he open in high season? On top of it, he managed the reservations of the two rooms and after the guests checked out, strictly before 10 am, he washed the towels and sheets and cleaned the place.

He didn’t have enough linen to make the beds immediately after the guests left, so he needed to wash and dry the sheets, duvet covers and towels in a short time, and no ironing. That was the why he had chosen black crinkled duvet covers and grey adjustable sheets 100% polyester.

The beams of the gable roof were exposed in the lounge, and had hooks where he hanged the canvas partition all along it, leaving free the passage from the staircase to the room at the far end, and the access to the kitchen and bathroom.

I always get up after 4 or 5 hours of sleep to use the toilet. The first night when I unlocked the door of my room and turned on the light of the lounge to go to the toilet, it looked as I had seen it when I had first arrived, but the following night, after turning the light on to make my way to the bathroom the canvas partition surprised me. I already knew about it and it didn’t make me afraid of what might lie behind, but I felt bad since the light could have disturbed Dean’s sleep after a hard day’s work. The rest of the days, I just left the door of my room open to have a bit of light to avoid disturbing him. However, the old wooden floor could have been creaky, even if I tried to step slightly.

The other room of the cottage had been taken every day, judging by the closed door in the evening and the open door the following day. Usually when coming across the other guests, they were friendly and answered to my casual hello, except for an old lady whom I met on my way to the kitchen when she was leaving with a nervous stride one morning and didn’t answer to my greeting.

One afternoo I went to the shop window the host used to sell fish and chips. It was closed and was I trying to look in when Dean opened the window to find out what I wanted. I would love to buy some fish, I said.

Come back at five, please, Well, I don’t know; I said. Why? He enquired. Because I am unpredictable. Me too, he said. I connected his unpredictability with the fact that the mother of his son had left him, but who knows? He might have attributed my holidaying alone to my unpredictability as well.

Saturday was my last full day in Cornwall. The morning weather was rainy, and I spent it riding buses to St Ives to visit art galleries. In the afternoon was back at the beach near the accommodation, to avoid any last-minute issues. I had enjoyed long walks and suffered long bus rides, had made eye contact with other trekkers when crossing paths, and exchanged good mornings and hellos. I didn’t feel invisible. I felt good, had dinner at the beach cafe to enjoy the sun going down, the rolling waves in the rising tide and the flight of the seagulls. I squeezed my holiday to the last drop. Even got the wish to be offered a lift on my way up the hill from the cove. Once back at the room, got all my things ready and went to bed. I slept all night until 5 am and then got up to shower, returning to the room in the dark, stepping lightly, wrapped in a large towel and a small one on my shoulders, as I had done every day. The canvas partition was standing and the door of the other room was closed, as usual. Later, when I made my way to the kitchen fully dressed to fix my breakfast, the door of the other room was open, the partition had disappeared and a young woman was sitting on the edge of the sofa, as if ready to leave, or feeling insecure. She had no luggage with her. I said hello, and she answered with a soft smile. The man was not visible, but after a little while he appeared at the kitchen door. I turned around to face him and say my goodbye. The young lady was no longer there. So, he had had company for the night; I guessed.

I am leaving; I told him. When? He asked. In a little while, I intend to board the 9:55 bus to Penzance. Shall I give you the key? No, put it in the box. I assented an added; I want to congratulate you because you are a hardworking man. He thanked me and said Well... while opened his arms ready to give me a hug. I was happy to hug him back, but regretfully had to keep my hands in the air because they were wet.