(1998) The Isles of Scilly were a revelation to me. I didn't believe that there was anywhere left in the world that was so unspoilt.
I came from Penzance, by helicopter. After just twenty minutes I could see the tiny islands below, washed by the Atlantic, hazy in the early morning sunlight. They seemed to shimmer ethereally, and I could understand why this was once said to be the lost land of Lyonnesse.
We landed, and within minutes, a ramshackle mini bus appeared. A man who looked like a rustic farmer, with a broad Cornish burr, stepped out, and our baggage was loaded for us. As he drove us towards the town, he filled us in on the rich and dramatic history (shipwrecks and wreckers) of the islands.
My attention, though, was captured by the glorious array of fauna - sub tropical plants swaying in the warm sea breeze, stately Bella donna lilies growing like weeds by the wayside; brilliant pink hibiscus growing in the hedgerows.
Within five minutes we reached the 'town'-a long thin cluster of houses, little shops, eating places and pubs, all made from the same stone, all clean and bright. Behind each row of houses lay a beach, and, as the bus driver confirmed, the 'town' - Hughtown, was infact, built on a narrow peninsula- with long, glorious and empty beaches on either side. At the far end lay the harbour, with fishing boats, and little tour boats to take folk to see the puffins and seals; at the other end Star Castle, built in the Civil War to defend the realm.
I was dropped at Crebinnick House, a guest house in the town. Neat and clean, it turned out to be smoothly run by two of the most friendly and welcoming people, Lesley and Phillip Jones. Having settled down there, I took off to see the islands.
Over the next two weeks, I had a wonderful time. I saw the world renowned Tresco Abbey gardens, ate a most delicious Ploughman's at a pub overlooking the harbour on St. Agnes, cheered on gig boats as they raced (whilst admiring the local talent as they rowed them), sunbathed on the peaceful beach at Old Town and browsed in the artist's studios, little craft workshops and tiny shops dotted across the islands. The moment when I really felt I was in heaven came on my last night. I walked up to Bant's Cairn - an ancient burial mound on St. Mary's overlooking the sea to the west. The sun was setting as I sat on the grass, watching the lighthouse flicker and the sun turn the sky to a sea of flame. I breathed in the soft, salty earth, felt the warmth on my face, and knew that whatever might happen in the future, I had been priveliged in my lifetime to experience the joy of such a special place.