The coastal road from Newquay snaked its way eastwards atop the high, craggy cliffs sculpted by the relentless Atlantic Ocean. Suddenly the road dipped and wound steeply towards sea level. Cars were parked everywhere; almost all had surfboards strapped to their roofs. This was Watergate Bay.
I turned into a car park and waited at the entrance. Just to my right a small, open camper van laid dormant. It had certainly seen better days and judging from the bodywork wouldnt travel very far. Well, that and the fact it had no wheels and appeared to have taken root. The bed and kitchen utensils suggested someone might actually be living in it.
Suddenly, your stereotypical surf-dude emerged: medium length bleached blond hair, Bermuda shorts, and a cannabis induced lazy grin that made you feel as if you were missing out on something. (Actually Im rather jealous of their carefree lifestyle and would like to be a surf-dude in another life). I left my car under his watchful eye and headed for the beach.
Clouds scattered sparsely around a clear summer sky; a gentle sea breeze took the edge from the suns blaze. The short path to the beach led past the surf hire shop. A...
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