Westward no!

• Author: ROTHENBERG, SHEILA

Great Britain's South West is a study in contrasts, from the holiday atmosphere of the English Riviera to Dartmoor's harsh, rugged landscape, making it a fascinating area to explore.

A LIFETIME of books, movies, and television shows had definitely led us astray. The Cornish coast of England was not teeming with smugglers or wreckers seeking to lure vessels onto the rocks so they could loot the cargo. There were no pirate ships looming off Penzance on a dark and stormy night. Neither desperate escaping convicts nor demonic hounds roamed the Moors. And, despite a diligent search, the bumbling, blustering hotel-keeper Basil Fawlty was not to be found in the resort town of Torquay. So much for literary allusions!

All was not lost, though. A September visit to the South West--one of the most beautiful and diverse locales in Britain--was treating us to a glorious end-of-summer bout of sunshine. We had arrived at the tiny port town of St. Mawes after a cross-country journey by train and car (see "Planes, Trains, and Automobiles," p. 44) to find the temperature in the mid 70s, puffy white clouds dotting a brilliant blue sky, sailboats skimming across the mouth of the Fal River, and even a few intrepid bathers braving the waters of this corner of the English Channel.

As we pulled up in front of the Tresanton Hotel, we were confronted by several palm trees, not exactly what one might expect to find in the British Isles. We were to learn that St. Mawes' location on the Roseland Peninsula, tucked into a sheltered bay that protects it from northern winds, makes it surprisingly hospitable for subtropical fauna and allows lush gardens to thrive for much of the year. Thanks to the clement climate, the town draws a steady stream of vacationers who appreciate its serenity--a sharp contrast to other, wilder areas of Cornwall.

An establishment dating back to the mid 1700s, the Tresanton begins at road level along the quay and meanders up a steep hill. We discovered just how steep the day we decided to retrieve our auto from the car park above the hotel instead of having one of the bellmen (who had whisked it away after unloading our luggage) bring it down to us. The shallow flights of stairs ascending near vertically had us huffing and puffing by the time we reached it.

Over the years, the Tresanton has had numerous additions tacked onto the hotel. The upshot is a multiplicity of levels, with terraces jutting out accordingly, providing ample opportunities for dining, having drinks around the outdoor bar, or reading and sunning.

In keeping with the general scheme of things, the reception desk is on the second level, as are the dining room and indoor bar. To get there, we traversed a tiled hallway lined with a neat row of Wellington boots, sized three to 13, for guests' use in case of inclement weather, as well as an assortment of umbrellas and, for the toddler set, pails and shovels for the beach. An adjoining lounge displayed baskets of board games, stacks of newspapers and magazines, and shelves full of books in a cozy, sofa- and easy chair-filled atmosphere where one could relax with a drink or a traditionally served English tea.

Our room--one of just 26--turned out to be nestled under the eaves and, therefore, provided a fabulous view of the bay. The colors of the sea and sky were echoed by the blue-and-white stripes on the curtains and counterpane of the queen-sized bed, as well as the marbled bathroom. A walk-in closet offered ample room for our luggage, which a bellman, obviously blessed with the legs of a mountain goat, had carded up from curbside without signs of undue strain, while a side table bore two bottles of water--one of them sparkling, the other still.

Especially pleasing was the dining room. We had expected to find bland English fare, at best, in an area noted for Cornish pasties with often unidentifiable fillings. What a delight it was to discover inventive cuisine that owes a good deal, it seems, to the Spanish, French, and other European traders who found their way to this conveniently located fishing village over the decades. The three-course dinner menu--changed daily--typically offers up such far-from-bland selections as fiori de zucchini ripieni di Fontina (delicious tender zucchini flowers wrapped around creamy Fontina cheese and then baked gently) and parfait of foie gras with Madeira jelly for starters; grilled Cornish sea bass with ratatouille, balsamic vinegar, and herbs, and roast suckling pig (meaty and not at all greasy) with apples and roast potatoes as entrees; and apricot souffle and Tresanton Surprise among the desserts. The latter sounded intriguing and so had to be ordered. Amidst great fanfare, there appeared a flaming baked Alaska--a fitting coda to a happily surprising meal.

The dinner was perfectly complemented by the ambience, with the choice of the glass-walled dining room or outside on the terrace. The mild evenings made supping al fresco a logical choice, with any nip of the nighttime sea air kept at bay by tall gas torches placed strategically among the tables.

St. Mawes nestles along one side of a cove, with homes built into the hillside. It boasts one long shopping street on a promontory that curls around a rugged beach. Outsiders might assume that traffic is meant to flow in just one direction along the narrow main road that girds the town, but they'd be wrong. In a quaint manner that bemuses big-city denizens used to snarling drivers and vehicles, a stream of delivery vans, milk trucks, and automobiles vies good-naturedly to maneuver along the crowded passageway. At some points, they even squeeze over to hug the seawall in order to let another vehicle go by. Meanwhile, passersby stroll casually along, coexisting peacefully with the motorized minuet.

A five-minute walk past country cottages, some with thatched roofs and glorious flower gardens, is St. Mawes Castle. This was one of a chain of fortifications built in the 16th century by King Henry VIII, fearful of the powerful forces in Europe that sought to help Pope Paul III reclaim England for the Roman Catholic Church. Interestingly, the castle's construction was overseen by a relative of the beheaded Queen Anne Boleyn, seeking to protect his own estates and perhaps earn a governorship.

The castle sits perfectly preserved on a site that overlooks the harbor and seemed comparatively benign in the morning sunlight, belying its history of having played a defensive role in England's civil war, the Napoleonic wars, and World War II. Tableaux from its early years have been re-created in some of the rooms, and a taped tour, complete with dramatic reenactments, makes it well worth the admission price. (Tip: Become an English Heritage member and gain free access to numerous historical sites around the country, including Pendennis Castle, St. Mawes' twin, just across the bay in Falmouth.)

The castle and surrounding walks proved so intriguing that, as has happened before in our travels, we decided that morning to abandon our itinerary for exploring other areas along the Cornish coast. We've learned that, if delightful and unexpected discoveries prove attractive, be flexible and switch gears. Thus, we spent the balance of the day not rushing around, but enjoying a leisurely lunch (yes, of pasties) at quayside, strolling through the town, admiring the local architecture, shopping for hand-knit sweaters, and simply reclining in deck chairs on the sunny Tresanton terrace. After all, tomorrow would be another day.

Leaving the charms of St. Mawes, we left the beautiful weather as well. Heading west across the toe of England, having traversed the mouth of the Fal River by an efficient car ferry, we encountered near-monsoon-like conditions. Nevertheless, we were determined to see Penzance. After all, if the harbor town could survive being raided by Barbary pirates, partially destroyed by Oliver Cromwell's Roundheads, sacked and burned by the Spaniards, and bombed by the Germans, we could brave the elements to visit it.

Leaving our vehicle in an auto park and armed with a walking map, we began our slog around Penzance. Established in the 16th century as a market town, it also had been dependent, like most of the surrounding area, on tin mining. The latter was emphasized by Point 6 on the map, a statue of Humphry Davy, the inventor of the...