St Ives, a salty story
For me, England is a challenge. It can be grumpy in the morning but serene and smiling in the afternoon. It can be monochrome but also coloured. It can be cold, but also hot. Most of the time, you only see it in black and white. You can love her or hate her. But, if you have patience, you fall in love irretrievably.
If you want to be really surprised, go to Cornwall! It's chameleon-like! You don't recognize it when the sun comes up. Gray drains from the facades of weathered houses and gives way to hidden vibrant colours but ready to emerge with the first rays of sunshine.
Seagulls fly tirelessly in search of food and adulation. You see them sit gales on a pillar or a railing and stare at you. With one hand, you try to quickly press the camera button to capture them in an image; with the other, you try to hold on to the fish and chips you bought because, if they see it, you have no escape.
A parade takes place at every moment. Small, large, wide, fierce, the four-legged follow their master closely. The luckiest lie under a table at the terraces on edge, thinking they will receive the much-dreamed reward.
Houses, like boxes of matches, surround on both sides the small bay of St Ives. Cheerleaders, with colourful chopsticks, tell their story most simply and authentically possible.
A weathered red shelf leaning against the entrance wall makes way for the most beautiful outdoor library. You can't go indifferent and don't even stop admiring it or taking a book to browse. And, if you want to take the story further, buy a book and leave it on the shelf!
How you move forward, how you discover something else. An unpretentious florist, without a seller but with flowers waiting to be bought, makes its place on the sidewalk. If you want a flower, leave a penny in the box next to it! A cat seems to supervise everything from a distance. With his eyes closed, immersed in great dreams, he already sees the box full and empty shelves. The flowers are sold, but he continues to dream because the dream is beautiful, and the sleep is even better.
Tired of so much walking the narrow streets, you return, driven by the smell of fresh fish sizzling in the pans of skilled cooks. The fishermen returned and brought with them their long-awaited catch. The restaurants have come back to life, the tables are busy, and the customers are satisfied. You also order the portion of fish, and at the end, you indulge in the traditional apple pie or a cake stuffed with rhubarb or ginger!
The small coloured boats are pulled ashore and anchored until the next day.
In the market, artists have already taken their place. The listeners are many, and the fun is appropriate. Old, beautiful songs bring nostalgia to the souls of the spectators who are ready to leave the ticket price in the suitcase of dreams.
St Ives tells its story, and the story means St Ives.
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