As soaring flight prices and instability abroad push more Britons towards staycations, it’s likely the picturesque county of Cornwall, with its scenic towns and spectacular coastline, will be a big hit this summer.
I spent years vacationing in the area before eventually moving here myself, but the initial excitement of living in one of my favourite holiday destinations was quickly replaced by resentment.
Tourists descend in droves each year, gridlocking narrow, single-lane roads that inexplicably haven’t been upgraded since the days of horses and carts.
Bins constantly overflow, seagulls relentlessly circle, dive-bombing for discarded pasties or fish and chips, and parking is a competitive sport in Cornwall.
I try to avoid even a trip to the supermarket, as traffic slows to a crawl and it ends up taking almost half a day. Locals call this ‘overtourism’. I call it what it is, and that’s a woeful underinvestment in infrastructure.
But over the last few months, ahead of my own summer spent here, I’ve been trying to remind myself why people become so obsessed with this part of the world in the first place.
So here’s my ultimate guide to what’s hot – and what’s decidedly not – in Cornwall…
As soaring flight prices and instability abroad push more Britons towards staycations, it’s likely the picturesque county of Cornwall will be a big hit this summer. Pictured, Rebecca Tidy
Where’s overrated…
Falmouth
Locals kept insisting that the reason I disliked Cornwall after moving here was simply that I hadn’t been to Falmouth.
So, I finally visited the destination – home to the National Maritime Museum Cornwall and an array of beaches, many of which are swimming and paddleboarding hotspots.
Admittedly, the locals were unusually friendly, there was oat milk in every café, and even I felt at home thanks to the warm welcome.
But the charming smiles of the residents couldn’t remove the disappointment over the town centre, which smelled faintly of stale, large and overflowing bins, while scores of seagulls circled overhead waiting to take a bite of unsuspecting tourists’ pasties.
The entire place felt dirty, and that homely feeling quickly vanished. I didn’t like it at all.
Falmouth may be known as one of Cornwall’s coolest towns, but it is also, in my view, its most overrated.
Padstow
Rebecca (pictured next to her daughter) said: ‘I spent years vacationing in the area before eventually moving here myself, but the initial excitement of living in one of my favourite holiday destinations was quickly replaced by resentment’
I’m no fan of Padstow either. It’s expensive and busy – and not in a good, lively way.
If you ask me, much of the town’s summer atmosphere consists of stressed holidaymakers accidentally driving around the harbour in enormous cars, terrified they’re moments away from steering into the sea.
And there’s one particular stretch between the car park and the harbour that smells so overwhelmingly of dead fish that I practically sprint through it holding my breath.
Plus I’m still sulking about Rick Stein’s fish and chip takeaway charging me £1.50 for a tiny pot of ketchup before lockdown.
But perhaps I should give poor Rick some credit. He somehow managed to persuade people to spend thousands of pounds holidaying in a damp little fishing town in the middle of nowhere.
Frankly, it’s not somewhere I’d willingly fork out cash to holiday.
I once met a wildly successful Padstow bistro owner who cheerfully admitted that much of his menu came straight from supermarket freezers. People still leave rave TripAdvisor reviews praising the food.
And, in many ways, that sums up modern Cornwall tourism perfectly.
There’s now an entire ecosystem of Cornish ‘entrepreneurs’ stretching from Padstow to Rock, Polzeath, Fowey and Mevagissey selling everything imaginable at a huge mark-up.
They’ll complain fervently about their financial struggles every time a BBC television camera or Guardian journalist appears in town, before charging you the equivalent of a day’s wages for a seafood platter and two cocktails the following afternoon.
The Eden Project
The Eden Project is Cornwall’s prize cow. It’s won awards, attracted royalty and appears in virtually every tourist guide ever written about the county.
Yet at some point, it quietly stopped being primarily about the plants it was allegedly built to celebrate.
Nowadays, there are £1,200-a-ticket philanthropy conferences, a zip wire, ice skating, Snow Patrol concerts with £350 VIP packages and, this summer, a dinosaur exhibition.
At this point, I fully expect them to haul those inconvenient plants out altogether and replace them with a premium ‘rainforest wellness experience’ involving hot tubs and ice plunge pools.
‘Tourists descend in droves each year, gridlocking narrow, single-lane roads that inexplicably haven’t been upgraded since the days of horses and carts,’ says Rebecca
Pedn Vounder
I get irrationally annoyed when Pedn Vounder appears on my Instagram feed every summer described as a ‘hidden paradise’.
The beach is social media catnip for smug wild swimmers and bikini models alike.
There was local fury when the National Trust advised people not to visit last year and temporarily closed the cliff path, forcing visitors to access it from Porthcurno at low tide instead.
Everyone blamed overtourism.
Yet the same people also seem strangely reluctant to acknowledge that Pedn Vounder’s waters are notoriously dangerous, with strong rip currents, frequent emergencies and multiple deaths over the years.
As a parent, I find the entire thing terrifying.
I already feel as though I need eyes in the back of my head to keep my eight-year-old safe near the sea.
There’s nothing remotely relaxing about spending the day trailing anxiously behind your child in case they wander more than a few steps into the sea, while seemingly carefree tourists fling themselves into the water around you.
And, insultingly, there isn’t even a toilet.
Where’s splendid…
St Ives
Whilst I, like most people, am not a fan of overcrowding, St Ives is busy for good reason.
Porthminster and Porthgwidden Beaches are stunning and lined with giant blue agapanthus and echium in full bloom – and the light reflects off the Atlantic to give the place a magical glow.
Oddly, despite the crowds, everyone always seems unusually cheerful. There’s little of the passive-aggressive grumpiness found elsewhere. Even curmudgeons like me find it difficult to remain miserable there.
The town remains my favourite corner of Cornwall, with its narrow lanes, tiny fishermen’s cottages and little cafés.
If you’re a parent, it’s worth visiting St Ives School of Painting on a Friday in the summer holidays.
Your treasured offspring can channel their inner Barbara Hepworth or Francis Bacon using the same art equipment as the adults, with impressive views across Porthmeor Beach.
I also value the opportunity to sit down for a cup of tea without having to endlessly drag my child away from sharp rocks or incoming tides.
Then there’s Tate St Ives, where I love an annual stroll, as it reminds me that Cornwall historically attracted talented artists whose lives were far from straightforward.
It’s oddly comforting in this era of Instagram perfection.
The gallery has free sketchbooks for kids, encouraging them to interrogate the artworks.
But if you’re visiting St Ives, don’t even attempt to park in town, it’s too overcrowded. Just accept defeat and head for the car park at the top of the enormous hill.
The children will complain bitterly on the way back up, but it’s probably all character building.
Kynance Cove
‘Bins constantly overflow, seagulls relentlessly circle, dive-bombing for discarded pasties or fish and chips, and parking is a competitive sport in Cornwall,’ Rebecca, pictured next to her daughter, claims
If paying 50 pence per wee in St Ives’ bathrooms becomes tiresome, head to Kynance Cove instead – the National Trust toilets there remain free.
The beach itself is beautiful, with white sand, turquoise water and the sort of scenery that makes you forget about emails, mortgages and life’s other inconveniences altogether.
There’s a café tucked inside a former fisherman’s cottage overlooking the cove serving all the usual beach snacks and lunches.
The tide does come in remarkably quickly though, so do take care.
The Trewithen Estate
If you like plants with soul and character, head for the Trewithen Estate, on the edge of the Roseland.
It holds International Camellia Society Garden of Excellence status and you can even book tours with the head gardener, Gary Long.
There is actually a glorious stretch of the Cornish calendar that almost nobody outside the county seems fully aware of.
First comes camellia season in January, followed by the magnolias in late February and then the rhododendrons lasting until June.
At its peak, parts of Cornwall give Japan’s cherry blossom season a run for its money.
There’s a branch of Da Bara Bakery inside the old tea shed at Trewithen. ‘Da Bara’ is Cornish for ‘good bread’, which feels reassuringly straightforward. They’re famous for their cinnamon buns and artisan sourdough.
Caerhays Castle
When it comes to magnolia season, in spring, Caerhays Castle is the undisputed winner.
The grounds house a National Magnolia Collection and, by mid-March, you can pretend you’ve escaped the grey drizzle and wandered into a fairytale kingdom.
Relations between the current owners and locals deteriorated spectacularly, however, after the introduction of year-round parking charges at the neighbouring Porthluney Beach car park.
Nothing punctures the romance of magnolia season quite like a parking charge notice beside an empty beach in February.
The Lost Gardens of Heligan
Meandering through The Lost Gardens of Heligan’s 350 ancient varieties of rhododendron in shades of pink and red is always one of the high points of my Cornish calendar.
My eight-year-old, meanwhile, prefers their outdoor playground, which I’m reliably informed is Cornwall’s largest.
Heligan still runs old-fashioned plant workshops too. I’ve signed up for the geranium session they’re hosting with Fibrex Nurseries this summer.
I am, however, eyeing the recently installed neon roller skating rink with mounting concern. Maybe I’m getting old and miserable, but the entire charm of the place is that it feels unlike every other attraction in Britain.
Like my eight-year-old, I also increasingly judge attractions by the quality of the snack stop.
Heligan’s food is now overseen by Tom Hannon, formerly of The Rising Sun in Truro, who has a cult following in Cornwall.
In classic Cornish fashion, the garden’s farm-to-fork obsession has delighted local farmers while horrifying some vegan visitors, who were distressed to discover the resident Tamworth pigs were destined for the menu instead of a retirement home.
It is, admittedly, a tough job keeping everybody happy.
