|Lovely St Ives|
As I live in one of the most sought after holiday destinations in the world, my forfeit is that my own holidays are now spent returning to Bradford. Of course I want to see family and friends, of course I miss the food and sometimes would give anything for a proper, savoury breakfast or a curry. I do miss Bradford. I miss the people, the voices, the relaxation derived from understanding the accent, the humour, from being able to get a joke and know that it’s funny. But, I have to say, it’s not my holiday destination of choice.
Last year, having spent the entire month of August in a rain-soaked Yorkshire, my parents decided that to avoid the moaning, this year we’d spend a week in Cornwall as part of my summer return.
A flight to London and a five-hour train ride later, only to discover that (as the poster above claims) ‘there is a great similarity between Cornwall and Italy both in shape, climate and natural beauties‘. I’m not sure I completely agree with the premise, but it’s a lovely poster and a good reminder to explore your own country, preferably by train.
In terms of beaches, I do prefer the wide open spaces of British beaches and have always felt that the narrow strips of sunbed filled bronzers in Italy are a bit of a let down.
|If that’s not a beach Italian friends I don’t know what is.|
Sunbathers in the UK though are defintely less glamourous than their Italian counterparts, less prepared for the sea and sun experience, except perhaps better equipped with wind-breakers and buckets and spades. We’re more interested in building sand castles than posing in this year’s perfect bikini. Sun loungers hired at 20Euros a day are replaced by deck chairs and towels on the sand. There are certainly less umbrellas to hide from the sun, more a frenzied desire to soak-up as much of the sun whilst it lasts.
So a week was spent walking along the coastal paths (far too breezy for a Roman to sunbathe) and over-eating. Cream teas and fish and chips are not the best way to prepare your body for an Italian summer. Although great preparation for the politeness-enduced force-feeding I will endure during my trip to Calabria next month. Which would you prefer?