If the day must begin with a physio (PT to us Yanks) session, there are worse places to torture oneself.
Exercises completed and laundry (mostly) dry, we caught to #24 bus to Castle Dore for a walk to the tiny village of Golant.
Castle Dore is a large mound of dirt, formerly an Iron Age motte and bailey castle linked to Tristan and Iseult. Today it’s inhabited by watchful mama cows.
Leaving castle and cows, we set off along the public walking path and got a teensy bit lost.
Treading most carefully along cow-pie laden trails, we eventually found ourselves back en route to Golant.
Down the l-o-o-o-n-g hill into town.
We stopped for lunch at the Fisherman’s Arms, alongside Golant’s unique little harbor. The pub has changed ownership since my last visit. The food is still good (verging on gastropub) but the old fashioned scruffiness is gone – I missed the adventures of George, the stuffed gorilla and man about town.
After lunch we climbed the very steep hill to 15th century St. Sampson’s church.
Our return journey took us back down the hill, past pub and harbor.
We left Golant along the Saint’s Way back to Fowey.
We passed Game of Cones and succumbed to the siren call of coconut and lemon cones. Dessert before dinner – perfect end to a pretty perfect day!