Our Stay at Start Bay

The approach to site was interesting, we should have realised this when the satnav predicted the final 8 miles were going to take 30 minutes. Countless pinch points throughout villages and the occasional blind corner. The Boss didn’t mind too much but remarked that today’s drivers take no pride in skilful anticipation and much prefer the selfish keep moving forward at all costs approach.

Pulling into arrivals is different, no barrier. That instantly adds kerb appeal to what looks like another lovely site. This is where we realise we know the site managers here. After a quick catch-up, we’re off to choose a pitch.

With good weather forecast, we opt for grass. You can’t beat a grass pitch when the sun’s out.

We settle in quite quickly. We’re only here for three nights, so with the sunshine set to continue, we don’t bother putting up the canopy.

We pop the kettle on and, after a slurp of tea, decide to jump on the bikes and head down to the beach. Oscar is snoozing under the bed by the blower, so why not?

A point to note here,we’ve had the van for nearly 12 years and only this month realised it has a setting that blows cool air and it actually works, as long as the hot water is turned off. With the blinds closed, windows on a click and the blowers running, the van is a pleasure to be in. I digress. Cycling helmets on, we climb into the saddles.

Once down there, the clear blue skies, calm sea and what looks like a golden sandy beach (but is, in fact, pebbles) press my inner reset button and a natural calm descends. Part of the road washed away during a storm not too long ago, so it’s closed to cars. Bikes, however, can still get through. With a freshwater nature reserve on one side and the sea on the other, it’s like heaven. We stop and sit for a while, gazing out to sea.

I can smell fish and chips. That’s what I want for tea.

The pub is busy, with a hatch outside for taking orders as well as service at the bar. My bank card winces as it taps the machine. It was very tasty though, I imagine the flavour was enhanced by the location, as was the price.

It’s got to that point in the holiday where I genuinely don’t know what day it is. That’s such a lovely feeling, where one day simply blends into another. My time is now measured by how many sleeps we have left at the current site.

Not knowing what day it is sullies a drive out to Kingsbridge a little. There’s major roadworks going on, so we feel like we’ve hit the jackpot when we find a free parking space. We have a mooch around the water’s edge and then wander up onto a quaint little high street lined with independent shops.

They’re all shut.

Of course they are. It’s Sunday.

Whilst the rest of the country seems determined to squeeze every last penny from shoppers seven days a week, down here they apparently still cherish their Sundays.

Another trip sees us heading out to Dartmouth. A walk along the water’s edge brings a welcome cool breeze as the predicted heatwave starts to settle upon us. There’s lots of activity on the water, boats bobbing about, paddleboarders, someone whizzing around on a hoverboard, countless ferries carrying people back and forth across the estuary, including a paddle steamer back in the water after a long refurbishment and weirdly, a guy playing “Flower of Scotland” on the bagpipes. Time to sit and people watch.

Meandering through the bustling little streets, we spy a chippy. Chips eaten while looking out across the water, with Sammy Seagull eyeing us wistfully from a safe distance, seems like an excellent plan.

Windy lanes, tractors, trucks and lots of cars are not a match made in heaven as we weave our way to Salcombe.

He’s read about a pub right on the water’s edge that he’d like to find. Another free parking space hard against a stone wall on a narrow road and he chortles to himself that he’s already saved the price of a pint. Albeit, after playing a contortionist act to get his legs over the gear lever console and exiting via my door.

More cute streets and interesting shops make up Salcombe. Interesting enough to browse, but not interesting enough to persuade me to part with any money.

He eventually spies the pub. It’s only the beer garden he’s interested in. To his dismay, it’s packed. Of course it is. It’s 30°C. Who doesn’t want to sit beneath a parasol, supping an Aperol Spritz and gazing out across the water?

I nip to the bar and return with a couple of ice-cold drinks to find him sitting by the water, beaming from ear to ear. Looking thoroughly pleased with himself, he tells me a seagull swallowed an empty ketchup sachet while he swooped in and nabbed the table before the previous occupants had fully vacated it.

Victory comes in many forms.

We walk from one end of Salcombe to the other, swapping sides of the road whenever necessary to stay in the shade.

Back at the caravan, Oscar lifts his sleepy head from the cool confines of his bed and glares at me as I open the blinds and allow daylight to invade his kingdom once more.

It’s our last night at Start Bay and we reflect on our stay. We’ve really enjoyed it. This is the most relaxed Oscar has ever been outside in his pen, and I’ve loved cycling down to the beach in the evenings.

The only downside has been some of the dog owners. Allowing their dogs to bark constantly whilst sitting right beside them, and letting them free-roam around the site, hasn’t exactly enhanced the tranquillity. Some evenings it’s felt like we’d pitched up next door to Battersea Dogs Home.

That said, I’m very aware that a campsite’s atmosphere can change completely depending on who happens to be staying there at the time.

Would I come back?

In a flash.