Merry Auld Angle Terre

I know, I know, its been a while...I have been shit these last few weeks keeping up to date, but in my defense, there was no net access on the moorlands! Ironic, England is the richest and most advanced nation we have been to thus far, but has the least access to the net...more people have personal access to the net I think, and therefore do not need the cafes...
Anyway, that does not matter! Our first day in England was less than auspiscious. We arrived late from Venice, 10:30 ish, and had to take a bus into Bristol itself. The ride alone was 5£, or 10$! We then trudged about town, looking for a hostel. The first one was full, but they directed us to another, an independent Backpackers up the way. When we got there, it was full...who knew that Bristol in Oct. was such a huge tourist draw. The city literally heaved with people, (there are 2 universities) all of who were drunk and roving in packs of 20 or more (" And all the bright young things were throwing up their Guinness in the gutters"). Having been turned down yet again, we wondered up to the bus station, at about 12:00. The security guard agreed to let us wait in there for a bus that did not leave till 9:25. We tried to sleep, but it was cold and the floor was hard (go figure, concrete). At some point, a mincing fag started banging on the window to get my attention...just my luck...you see in Venice, a guy asked me if I wanted "kink", and then wiggled his tongue at me while I took a leak(I think he was giving bj's for $ in the shitter), and now in Bristol I attract again another flamer...great. He started singing "I'm a London Boy, I do things in my own way" over and over...no, sleep was a long way off that night.
Luckily, we got the bus to Exeter no worries, and were able to transfer there for the Moretonhampstead bus, which took us to the little town of Moretonhampstead (from now on, Moreton for short), which sits in the middle of Dartmoor national park. If you have never been to an English Moor, go. They are wonderful places. There are green fields and pastures all over the place, all bound in by the traditional hedge rows. The lane ways are 1 car wide, but are two way roads (one car has to reverse to a pull off when they come head to head). Above these lush green farms are bleak and stunning Tors, hills capped in jagged granite, and covered in gorse and heather. The whole region is spectacular. We went walking everday, for an average of 10-16 miles per day. One day we would explore a river valley, the next range over the exposed moors, exploring various Tors and peaks. Even though we stayed in one town (at a hostel called the Sparrowhawk, a very nice little place that we had largely to ourselves), we were able to rove all over the place, without ever retracing our steps. Some of the highlights were: the Cottage Pie (shepards pie at home) at the Union Inn, a pub that has served local ales and ciders (the local dry cider is amazing), as well as home cooked food, since the 1400's, the Kings Tor, capped as it is by the King's Barrow (an old barrow that has since collapsed inwards), the Hounds Tor, where Sherlock Holmes bested the Hound of the Baskervilles, the river valley of the Bovey, a very scenic walk that leads you out to the Hunters Tor, and lastly, the Giants Grave, a large Tor that overlooks Moreton, (and where we were almost attacked by a womans dog..."don't worry, he's all bark" as this huge dog lunges at our hamstrings..."don't worry, lady, I'm all kick") and offerd some of the best views around.
Of course, this being moorlands in England, the weather was very changeable. You could have sun one minute, rain the next, so we had to be prepared with our gore tex. We got caught on the open moors twice in heavy rain, but the sparrowhawk was a snug place to dry out.
We did have to share the hostel dorm one night with a group of women from Cornwall, who all worked together and were taking a weekend trip...we were sitting in the kitchen when most of them got back from the pub, and they went up to sleep, then an hour later, these two come in, and they are blitzed! They talked to us drunkenly for over two hours, keeping us up, so I did some flirting with the single one...the other was married. After a while, they go to get up and hit the hay...the married one then puts it out there that she would like so "male company" so to speak...now, shes married, and ugly, so it was lucky that her friend put a stop to that one...dear god, why can't the hot single friend want some of the G Love action? Why, because she is English, and as Brad and I know too well, the English are cock teases. End of story.
After a very pleasant week on the moors, we headed west into Cornwall to the town of Tintagel, the suppossed birthplace of King Arthur. I have not been to a town in England that offended my sense of history more. The coast line is amazing, I have to say, and the scenery is awesome, but the town is full of kitchy shops that sell nothing more than faery statues, dragons, new age aroma therapy shit, and the like. The whole town is bullshit. In Moreton, we ate at a pub that had been there for over 600 years, and had a very local, traditional feel (kind of like the F.ville Tavern, no lie!). In Tintagel, the pubs were called "King Arthurs Arms", etc. totally cashing in on the dubious connection to a legend...no tradition, no heritage, just tourist trap.
The castle on the coast was a bug disappointment. It is situated quite stunningly on this massive headland, but other than the natural setting, its crap. The castle, the "birthplace of Arthur", dates from the 1200's, some 500-700 years after Arthur was alive, and was built by Duke Richard of Cornwall, brother to king Henry III. There is some evidence that the castle was built over top of a Dark Ages Cornish stronghold (the headland is so defensible, that that makes sense), but there is no evidence that it was at all connected to the Arthurian legend. I don't know what I was expecting, but I sure did not find it. As I say, the setting was unreal, but the rest of the place knacked me the wrong way.
Of course, my experience was further soured that night. The Hostel was beautiful, an old traditional cottage built right into the cliffside, a mile or two out of town, right on the coast. It was full. Not wanting to pay B&B prices (our budget is 25£ a day), and as the weather was great, nice sunny skies, we camped at a campground that was right in town. There was little in the way of shelter from the light onshore wind, but we found a spot just behind a hedge (the only shelter for a tent in the whole place, as it is geared for caravans). The night started out well, but then the wind shifted from onshore to off, meaning that our tent was exposed. Then it started to rain...still, no worries as the tent is a good one, and the rain was light. Then the wind picked up until it was gale force (I am not exaggerating). My poor tent was being blown in on itself (no Brent, it did not blow away with a person in it!). I was afraid that the poles would snap as the wind was forcing the tent wall so low it was hitting my face as I lay there. In the predawn, I forced Jer up, and we took all the gear to the dishwashing station (which was a covered shack), then struck the tent. It was soaked now, as the wind had forced the fly to press up against the wall for so long, and the wind had forced a corner up, and the rain (which was now blowing in horizontally) was coming up under it. Luckily, we were able to take it down, and keep it from blowing away in the process, then hung it up from the rafters in the shack until it dried out. I had had enough of that! So...we got a bus, and came to the surfers haven of Bude (Grigger, the whole north coast of Cornwall is considered the European surfing capital...huge surf culture...a surf trip, perhaps?) where we got a room at the unbelievable North Shore Bude Backpackers. Hands down the best hostel I have ever been in, and I have been in a few! Absolutley amazing place to hang your hat, with awesome facilities, and a super friendly staff. 12£ a night, which, for what you get, is an unreal deal. When I come back here to surf in a few years time, this will be my base, for sure.
Last night, we had the place to ourselves (and its huge), until a group of 3 Aussies came in. In usual aus fashion, they went to pub, and then came back and we played a drinking game (they called it Waterfall, but I have played it at home, and it was called Circle of Fire). After a solid round of that, we watched Anchor Man...a shit movie that turns into an Oscar winner when hooped, and we were hooped. Of course, one of the girls was super politically correct, with an "every culture is just as good as another" cultural anthropology attitude that I hate (which is why I was so shit in anthropology in First Year Uni.) I used some powerful examples (rape victims in Islamic Nigeria who are considered the criminal instead of the victim[the man is the victim of their wanton femininity], and then buried to the waist to be stoned to death, or the enforced Paedophilia amongst certain Sudanese tribes who believe that a pre teen boy, 10-12 years old, needs to administer oral sex on the shaman, in order to swallow the semen...if a boy does not eat semen first, he can never produce his own, so they are told...these are true examples, and these cultural traditions go back for generations...clearly, they are wrong and evil) but that dizzy bitch was like "we can't judge them just because they are different" - FUCK THAT. Political Correctness is bullshit. Luckily, the political talk died out when the Circle of Fire began...I think she knew that the rest of us (the other two Aussies agreed with me and Jer) would make her drink even more if we sided together. The evening was quite a good time from there on out. We drank, chatted, joked, laughed, drank...we were hooped by 9:30, and by 1 I had called it quits...one girl was making "chunder" (Aussie for barf), Jarod and the PC chick were wrestling, and Jer was drinking more than was good for him. The owner came in and asked us to keep it down. I hit the hay. A while later Jer came in and yelled at me. He went outside, barfed all over the place, took a piss on the shrubs out front, and then could not work the code machine on the door and was locked out for a while. He was in a tshirt and it was cold and wet. Finally, he got in (he said we was outside for hours, but I think his drunk ass had no concept of time...2 hours in that would mean hypothermia, and he did not have that). Somehow, it was my fault. I got him into bed, and buried him in blankets, then got him a bucket, and water...who would have thought that I would be the one to tend to him!? he then apologized, admitting that it was his fault, and that it was dumb to go outside alone after all the others were in bed. Lucky for him nothing worse happened, when I think about it. I will have to keep a better watch on him from now on, as I am by far an "older hat" to the drunkenness.
I was up at 9, and was ready for the day, but Jer, sadly is still abed at noon. I booked another 2 nights here, so we can explore the coast tomorrow, as today is a write off. Don't worry mom, Jer will be fine, but I think he will stay off the cider for a while! It was not a life and death situation, as the owner lives here as well, and would have let him in...it was just some drunken shenanigans! Oh, Scotty...you silly prat!