Like a lot of people, I made some of my closest friends at university. While this comes with endless joys, there is one major downside: once university is over, you go back to your separate corners of the country, and what used to take one simple message, ‘want to do something tomorrow?’, now takes weeks of planning to find the one date in the year that everyone is free. The Covid-19 pandemic has made this process even more strenuous, but last September my friends and I achieved the impossible and went away for a week in gorgeous Slapton, south Devon.
We found a cute little cabin on AirBnB, surrounded by nature and complete with a private hot tub, and knew we’d hit the jackpot. What we didn’t entirely realise until we arrived was just how out in the sticks it was; after a few miles of single track farm roads winding like a maze through huge fields we could tell we were getting close, then the SatNav decided to give up before delivering us to our final destination. After a brief moment of panic we used the one phone out of five that had any signal to navigate our way down to an old farmhouse, next to which we finally laid eyes on our cabin. It was worth the struggle; we found ourselves at the bottom of a lush green valley, nestled amongst towering trees growing up the steep hill sides, with a stream running smoothly beside us. We really wanted an escape from reality, especially as the last holiday we had all together was before the pandemic began, and boy did we get what we asked for.
Being so isolated does have its downsides; there’s no popping down the road for an extra bottle of wine or spontaneous evenings out, and when Natalie, the driver of our group, fell ill she had to muster the strength to take herself to the nearest pharmacy - a 20 minute drive each way, back through the myriad of unmarked roads. However, the pros of being away from it all did outweigh the cons. It encouraged us to be more thoughtful about what we were going to do everyday, which probably meant we ended up being more adventurous with our time than if we had been based somewhere that had all we needed on our doorstep. It also gave us the rare opportunity to spend real quality time together, without the distractions of the hustle and bustle.
The nearest town to us was Dartmouth, a picture perfect coastal hub, complete with all the quintessential sights: an eclectic mix of boats strung up in the harbour; narrow streets that wound tightly around higgledy piggledy buildings and inevitably ended at a pub; and the chorus of seagulls which provide the soundtrack to any British seaside escape. I particularly enjoyed strolling along the waters edge, looking out to neighbouring Kingswear across the harbour, then breaking away from the busy centre to wander the quieter back streets. I was surprised by the beauty of these unassuming pathways; the houses we passed were all so individual in design, yet perfectly complimented each other and their seaside setting. Round every corner came a new discovery, be that a view that cut through the staggered rooftops and out to the watery blue line of the horizon, or the pretty front of a shop, restaurant or pub secretly tucked away in the heart of the community, a treasure that only the curious have the pleasure of discovering. It was this sense of discovery and excitement that made me feel as though I’d ventured much further than two counties south. Not to mention we were blessed with a burst of late summer sunshine, which definitely helped us to forget we were still in (typically) rainy old England.
We maintained a fairly slow pace all week, taking the time to absorb all the details of nearby towns, our surrounding valley, and local beaches. Blackpool Sands was a favourite for all of us; not to be confused with it’s northern namesake, this golden curve of coastline sits between Slapton and Dartmouth, with very slight headlands protruding either side that make you feel comfortably cocooned on the beach. Despite being situated in front of a road, the wide stretch of sand meant we could distance ourselves from the sounds of reality whizzing by, and instead tune into the soft lapping of the tide. September is the best time to swim in UK waters as they have had all summer to absorb the Sun’s rays, reaching comfortable (I’d like to say warm, but who am I trying to kid) temperatures. Lian and I were in our element, whereas the others took some encouragement to submerge more than their feet, but eventually we were all in and bathing in the serenity of the sea. I have said it before: I love living in Bristol, it has everything I could possibly want for the place I call home, except this one tiny element. I miss all the smells and sounds and feelings that can only be experienced by the coast, so any chance I get I’m straight back in the water, baltic temperatures or not.
Back at our cabin we spent our evenings playing games, eating and drinking like it was Christmas Day, and, of course, making use of our luxurious hot tub. Our holiday was the perfect balance of exploration and relaxation, the exact antidote to more than a year of restrictions and trepidation. I can only hope we won’t have to wait so long until the next one.