Well, it’s been a while. Most days I’ve been waking up thinking, ‘I must write a blog today!’ and then the nagging voice in the back of my mind starts up, with things like, ‘but you must do this other thing first’, ‘you don’t have time’, ‘there’s nothing to write about’, ‘that’s not very interesting’; and it gets louder and louder throughout the day until it moves on to things like ‘you’ll have more time tomorrow’, ‘you’re too tired today anyway’, ‘you’ll be able to do a better job when you’re not so distracted’…

In my defense, life has been a little distracting lately, although I’m pleased to say that some of that distraction did involve some travel and adventures, which I will share with you all over the next few blogs. So thank you all for waiting patiently, and thanks especially to those who kept asking ‘When’s the next blog?’ I haven’t forgotten you, and here I am.

My recent adventure was a 5-day road trip around Devon and Cornwall, which I was very excited about as my plan was to revisit Dartmoor, where I had a very pleasant visit a few years ago, and then go on to Cornwall where I’ve never been before. It was originally intended to be a group trip, but alas, plans change – and so did the weather forecast, on this occasion. But I decided to head off anyway, on my own, but with no plans to be lonely, as you shall see.

I headed off at lunch time on a promising Wednesday, south towards Brighton and then turning west, to drive along the coast. A longer route than taking the motorways, but I decided, since I wasn’t in a hurry, to take the more scenic route. The car was carefully arranged with music, snacks, map, water bottle and other supplies, all in their proper places (although that wouldn’t last long), the tank was full and the open road beckoned. I was off!

Have you ever noticed how much pleasanter a drive through the country is when you’re not I a hurry? I had decided before I set off that it was going to be a lovely drive, and it was. I came through a tunnel somewhere near Southwick, I think, and there was the sea in front of me with the sun glistening off it. As I groped around the passenger seat for my sunglasses, I thought to myself, ‘yes, this is going to be a good trip!’.

It took me five and a half hours to reach the hamlet of Postbridge, in Dartmoor, with three stops along the way to refuel and stretch my legs, and apart from a few spots of rain, it was lovely. I had the sea on my left for most of the way and rolling hills on my right, the sun moved in and out from behind the clouds, leading the way west.

When I arrived at my accommodation, which was a charming pub and B&B called the East Dart Hotel, I was shown to a bright and cheerful room which overlooked the road and a park next door. I felt like stretching my legs a bit before dinner so I set off for a short walk through the village, and stumbled upon the one thing I was determined to find in Dartmoor, as I’d missed it last time – the Clapper Bridge. I walked over the road bridge crossing the East Dart River and there it was, standing unassumingly in the river as it has done for the past 700 years. According to the local tourist information, the word ‘clapper’ comes from an Anglo-Saxon word, cleaca, meaning ‘bridging the stone steps’, and it was originally used by pack horses transporting tin from the nearby mines. It’s made of three flat stone slabs, each measuring roughly four metres by two metres – goodness knows how they got them there or made them so flat, but it’s remarkably solid, and all the more charming for the fact that it’s just there, with no distinguishing markings or signposts, for anyone to use and admire.

Buoyed by this discovery and the fresh Dartmoor air, I headed back to the pub where I passed a very pleasant evening sampling some local ales and chatting with some of the other guests, which included a farming couple from Dorset, a lady from Belgium and a semi-retired couple from Minnesota. From them I learned that in Minnesota there is an annual cat-video festival which takes place in a football stadium, that there is a BBC Christmas Advertising tour each year and that there are such things as diamond hobbyists. It really was a pleasant and companionable evening, and it was well past ten o’clock by the time we all stopped chatting and went to bed.

People often ask me why I choose to travel alone, or say that I am brave for doing so. I guess I’ve been doing it for so long now that I don’t even think about it anymore. And the truth is, it’s not that I prefer to travel alone, but that I prefer to travel alone than not travel at all. And really, if you stay in the right places, and aren’t afraid to strike up a conversation with a stranger, there’s no reason for it to be lonely at all.