A day out at one of my favourite spots, Lydford Gorge. A fantastic river gorge right on the edge of Dartmoor. An idyllic lush green valley. It is like the land time forgot.
At one end the spectacular Devil’s Cauldron and at the other the beautiful White Lady Falls. In between a wonderful walk along the river, scrambling over rocks and through secret sunlit glades. All the while the sound of the water tinkling and gurgling and birds singing.
Just magical if a little tough on the legs!
Fowey.
Boat trip today.
Inspired by memories of Wind in the Willows and Swallows and Amazons we imagined ourselves in the innocent world we read about as children.
We were the Famous Five setting off on a river adventure and with ‘pip pips‘ and ‘splendids‘ we headed to the dockside in Fowey.
But as we got to the dock, with a flash of shared insight, we all began giggling as we thought about the ‘Inbetweeners’ Episode ‘The Field Trip‘ where the boys go on a boat trip in Swanage Harbour. If you have not seen it I highly recommend it.
The innocent jolly japes of our imagined childhoods were replaced by the far closer approximation of reality as shown in the sitcom.
Smutty giggles of ‘socks on cocks‘, ‘where’s the flares‘ and ‘punching fish to death‘ rang out as we laughed at the puerile on-screen buffoonery that amused us all so much.
Prescient?
Beautiful day.
Picnic pasties securely stowed.
Life vests on.
James was given the ‘how to drive the boat‘ briefing by the rental bloke.
Off we set.
Puttering up the river.
About an hour into our adventure and at the widest part of the river, where the River Fowey meets the River Lerryn, the engine died and the boat stopped.
Just to spice up the tension the tide was now rapidly causing the river level to drop.
There was now a very real danger of us being stranded on the emerging mudflats.
Pushed one way by the rapidly outgoing tide and blown the other by the wind we were in the dead center of the river.
James and I started paddling while we reviewed our predicament and tried to restart the motor.
Nothing.
We couldn’t find the flare but a quick phone call back to the boat rental company had the rescue boat dispatched and help on the way.
‘Bloody hell I’ll have to shut my whole operation down. Oh god the tide is going out! You’ve gone too far. You’ve gone too far! It’ll take ages to get to you‘, came the plaintive cry in a soft but thick, like cream, West Country accent. One noticeably tinged with frustration and fear.
He hung up.
In the meantime, we had to paddled furiously to stay ahead of the falling tide and avoid being stuck in the muddy ooze that was rapidly appearing all around us.
We had to cover about half a mile to get to the non-tidal part of the estuary or face being marooned in the mud.
With an effort, we reached the deeper part of the river where three passing paddleboarders came to our aid.
They whizzed home to get dad and his boat.
Out came their dad to tow us back to Fowey.
We had discovered who led the Blytonesk life of boats and fun adventure and who existed in the world portrayed in comedy.
On the way back we met the rental rescue boat. The chap hopped onto our boat and as quick as a flash started our motor and off we went again.
We waved thank you to our paddleboarding friends.
We where all soaked to the skin.
Hysterical!
The Lincoln Road Mall, like much of Miami Beach, gives the impression of a fading smile. A once beautiful set of pearly whites marred by lack of care and upkeep.
Time has taken its toll. Some of the teeth are pristine and white. Others dark and rotting. Some missing completely. Its looks like a mouth full of broken teeth.
Vacant shops and hotels pepper the high street, gathering dust. Units, once homes to easily recognisable names of retail, advertise cheap spaces for rent. Next, to them boutique shops offering marque makes and the type of chique only serious money can buy; their exclusive clientele insulated from the heat and grinding poverty in their bubble tea world as much by money as a practiced callous indifference.
So much so that even the tasing one homeless man in the middle of the street, in the middle of the day doesn’t so much as cause a stir.
On every street, huge spaces are given over to selling tatt to tourists. They all carry identical ranges of stock selling everything from skimpy swimsuits to mummified crocodile heads. Yes, real reptilian heads, in every size being sold as souvenirs alongside ashtrays and fake designer clothes. The shops all lurid bright colours reminiscent of the 80’s blare out loud Latin pop music with a thumping baseline and Spanish rap.
Here where the high street runs into the sand and the pale blue sea the poor beg outside multi-million-dollar apartments the dysfunctional American dream is played out in all its glory and pitilessness.
Played out here at a glacial pace under tropical sun of the American Riviera is the great American recession of the last 20 years.
South Beach, the very model for the Darwinian struggle that is the very best and worst of capitalism. A fight for survival played out between colliding cultures full of energy and dynamism.
And just wonderful.
Under an Endless Sky 