I’m the King of the Castle! Well actually, I might be the dirty rascal… more of that later. Our wonderful travel agent, Lee-Anne Levett from the Travel Studio booked us in here and I’m glad she did (well so far, anyway). Tintagel does a roaring trade on the King Arthur legend.
Purportedly KA had his castle, knights & wenches right here. So we have a castle (in ruins), myriads of pubs with names like King Arthur’s pub (& others less subtle) plus an horrendous supply of gift shops – all selling swords, Merlin dolls, potions etc etc.
However the castle ruins are speccy. Partially on an island reached by a steep foot bridge, the island is almost the size of the Nut at Stanley, with similar topography. And the ruins are scattered all over the top! There are also the remains of another one on the ‘Mainland’ head prior to crossing.
I should add that their restoration and interpretative work is not a patch on what our National Parks people do in Tassie (Peter Grant & Tim O, I will never repeat this again!)
It is a huge area and would have been great to see in it’s heyday. We spent about 3 hours combing the area. We were so worn out we had to retire to a pub for some late afternoon nourishment.
So, if we hadn’t come to CC we would have missed it all. You could spend days wandering the bleak Cornish coastline here – just magic.
Mind you, there is a wide fracture between myth and fact. Even the promotional video at the Visitor Centre admits that despite archeologist’s best efforts no definite link between King Arthur and this site has been found.
But makes for a great story and certainly provides for a flourishing tourism industry. Hmm, what could we do for Tassie? Any suggestions?
Now, to Camelot Castle. All is not as it seems. Just Google Camelot Castle Scientology and you will see what I mean. Some of the comments talk about how the owners here are trying to convert the locals.
Well, when we entered the ruins, one of the locals who works for the English Heritage mob found out we were staying here and he regaled us with stories of their antics. He also referred to their salute they give each other – a slap across the upper chest with the right arm.
Well, I couldn’t resist that could I? So, as we walked in and along the hallway, sotto voce I said ‘Cheryl’ and slapped my chest. Who should just come around the Corner then but the owner! Aarrgghh.
He DID give me a funny look. We hurtled up the stairs thinking that At least he didn’t know us, nor where our room was, when one of his party came up fast behind us.
He made a show of trying to find his room, but funnily enough every corner we turned, he did too. May barricade the door tonight!
This may be my last post….