Latest news with #SouthwestEngland
CTV News
25-05-2025
- Entertainment
- CTV News
A wheel of cheese, a steep hill and broken bones: say hello to the world's most dangerous race
It's been described as the world's most dangerous race, and it's certainly one of the most ridiculous – a 200-yard dash after a wheel of Double Gloucester cheese. To win, all you have to do is chase it down a grassy hill and cross the finish line before anyone else; however, that's much easier said than done. The hill is so steep that it could give you vertigo on the start line and there is absolutely no guarantee that you will make it down to the bottom in one piece. 'You've just got to have a disregard for your own safety,' Chris Anderson explained to CNN Sports. Anderson won his first of his record 23 races in 2005 and broke his ankle in the celebrations, but the excruciating pain and eight weeks in a cast didn't put him off. The next year he won again, but he doesn't remember much about his third victory in 2007, when he crossed the finish line unconscious. 'That was a bit of a blur,' he noted, recalling that he'd banged his head on the way down. Nobody seems to know for sure how long they've been chasing cheese wheels down Cooper's Hill in the village of Brockworth in southwest England, but it first appeared in written records in 1826. It might have started as a pagan ritual to bless the farmers' crops, or perhaps they were originally rolling barrels down to test their integrity – a cooper is, after all, a barrel maker. But it's a tradition that the locals have fought to preserve and it's one they are intensely proud of. And now, with the advent of the internet age, it's an event which has become truly international; thousands of people flock to the event on the last bank holiday in May, and winners have hailed from as far afield as New Zealand and Australia, Egypt and the United States. Cheese rolling race Competitors' limbs flail during a race in 2023. Kin Cheung/AP via CNN Newsource But the ultimate champions are the people who know the hill best: the locals. 'I used to go up there camping with my friends,' Anderson said. 'We used to get drunk and throw each other down.' The hill is absurdly steep: an initial drop of 60 degrees with an average of 45 degree incline. Looking down from the top, it initially seems like a sheer drop and many runners have changed their minds at the last minute when they realize what they're in for. 'The first 10 meters are, like, near vertical,' Anderson explained to CNN. 'You've just got to almost dive into it and try to stay on your feet. 'As soon as you go, there's no stopping, you've just got the let momentum take over. Just try and keep on your feet as long as possible, and if you fall, get up as quick as you can.' Ideally, Anderson prefers the ground to be soft, but not wet. The drier it is, the better the traction, the harder the terrain, the greater the potential for injuries. Organized chaos Video footage of any cheese rolling race depicts a scene of utter chaos. Few competitors are able to remain upright for very long, some are anxiously trying to maintain control by sliding on their bottoms, while others have lost all dignity, careening down in various states of distress. Still images captured by photographers at the bottom present a confusing tableau, as if a giant has tipped a box of action figures out onto the hillside, bodies are upside down, or airborne sideways, and limbs are flailing everywhere. Anderson first attended the cheese rolling when he was around 10 years old, and he remembers seeing the mass of humanity flashing past him on the hill. 'It was so fun to watch people flying and falling,' he reminisced, adding that it wasn't all fun and games. 'One of the most standout things was someone breaking their leg, his studs got stuck in the ground and the momentum just pushed him forward. He was sat in the middle of the hill with his leg just dangling, it was pretty disgusting!' Cheese rolling race Chris Anderson poses at the bottom of the hill after winning in CNN Newsource Serious injuries are practically guaranteed, one year Anderson witnessed three broken ankles, two of which belonged to international runners who missed their flights home because of emergency surgery. Ankle injuries are common – some have witnessed feet out of alignment by 180 degrees – as are concussions; 2023 women's champion Delaney Irving was knocked out just before the finish line and only learned of her triumph when she was told about it in the medical enclosure. On the Netflix docuseries 'We Are the Champions,' women's record holder and four-time winner Flo Early revealed a protrusion of her right shoulder, a permanent disfigurement, caused by a collar bone that was broken on the hill. It's therefore no surprise that many runners might need a splash of alcohol in order to run. Anderson said that the races used to start at 6:30 p.m. in the evening, but the start time was moved earlier because too many people were intoxicated. Now, runners in need of some Dutch courage just start drinking earlier. Anderson told CNN Sports he prepares in moderation by drinking a single can of lager on the walk up. 'I always saw that if you were drunk and you broke something, there's not a great deal they can give you for the pain, so I always try to do it as sober as possible,' he said. Signs posted all over the hill make it clear that runners are participating at their own risk, the local enthusiasts who stage the event say they are not official organizers – in case of injury, there is nobody to sue, and the event is uninsured. Nevertheless, the BBC reported in 2013 that the Gloucestershire police force advised 86-year-old cheesemaker Diana Smart – who makes the 6.6-pound (three-kilogram) wheel of Double Gloucester cheese used in the race – that she could be held liable because anyone who facilitates the event could be deemed an organizer by default. Anderson told CNN that he never had any intention of breaking the record of 21 cheese wins, which was set in 1991, but once he got to 13, he decided to keep going. In 2011 and 2017, he won three races in a single day and he broke the record with two more wins in 2018. At the age of 37, he's recovering from a long-term hip injury – and he is 'supposed to be retired' – but if his 16-year-old son decides to compete then he could be tempted back onto the hill, partly to make sure he does it right. 'I'd be happy for him to run,' he said, 'but I've told him if you're not gonna commit, there's no point in even doing it.' The veteran cheese-chaser knows that there are many ways to be hurt on the hill. 'The most dangerous thing is going slow and getting hit from behind. I'd like him to be quick enough to get away from the carnage.' And if he ever decides to run again, he said it won't be for the cheese: 'I actually don't like it. It's got quite a strong aftertaste to it.'
CNN
25-05-2025
- Sport
- CNN
A wheel of cheese, a steep hill and broken bones: say hello to the world's most dangerous race
It's been described as the world's most dangerous race, and it's certainly one of the most ridiculous – a 200-yard dash after a wheel of Double Gloucester cheese. To win, all you have to do is chase it down a grassy hill and cross the finish line before anyone else; however, that's much easier said than done. The hill is so steep that it could give you vertigo on the start line and there is absolutely no guarantee that you will make it down to the bottom in one piece. 'You've just got to have a disregard for your own safety,' Chris Anderson explained to CNN Sports. Anderson won his first of his record 23 races in 2005 and broke his ankle in the celebrations, but the excruciating pain and eight weeks in a cast didn't put him off. The next year he won again, but he doesn't remember much about his third victory in 2007, when he crossed the finish line unconscious. 'That was a bit of a blur,' he noted, recalling that he'd banged his head on the way down. Nobody seems to know for sure how long they've been chasing cheese wheels down Cooper's Hill in the village of Brockworth in southwest England, but it first appeared in written records in 1826. It might have started as a pagan ritual to bless the farmers' crops, or perhaps they were originally rolling barrels down to test their integrity – a cooper is, after all, a barrel maker. But it's a tradition that the locals have fought to preserve and it's one they are intensely proud of. And now, with the advent of the internet age, it's an event which has become truly international; thousands of people flock to the event on the last bank holiday in May, and winners have hailed from as far afield as New Zealand and Australia, Egypt and the United States. But the ultimate champions are the people who know the hill best: the locals. 'I used to go up there camping with my friends,' Anderson said. 'We used to get drunk and throw each other down.' The hill is absurdly steep: an initial drop of 60 degrees with an average of 45 degree incline. Looking down from the top, it initially seems like a sheer drop and many runners have changed their minds at the last minute when they realize what they're in for. 'The first 10 meters are, like, near vertical,' Anderson explained to CNN. 'You've just got to almost dive into it and try to stay on your feet. 'As soon as you go, there's no stopping, you've just got the let momentum take over. Just try and keep on your feet as long as possible, and if you fall, get up as quick as you can.' Ideally, Anderson prefers the ground to be soft, but not wet. The drier it is, the better the traction, the harder the terrain, the greater the potential for injuries. Video footage of any cheese rolling race depicts a scene of utter chaos. Few competitors are able to remain upright for very long, some are anxiously trying to maintain control by sliding on their bottoms, while others have lost all dignity, careening down in various states of distress. Still images captured by photographers at the bottom present a confusing tableau, as if a giant has tipped a box of action figures out onto the hillside, bodies are upside down, or airborne sideways, and limbs are flailing everywhere. Anderson first attended the cheese rolling when he was around 10 years old, and he remembers seeing the mass of humanity flashing past him on the hill. 'It was so fun to watch people flying and falling,' he reminisced, adding that it wasn't all fun and games. 'One of the most standout things was someone breaking their leg, his studs got stuck in the ground and the momentum just pushed him forward. He was sat in the middle of the hill with his leg just dangling, it was pretty disgusting!' Serious injuries are practically guaranteed, one year Anderson witnessed three broken ankles, two of which belonged to international runners who missed their flights home because of emergency surgery. Ankle injuries are common – some have witnessed feet out of alignment by 180 degrees – as are concussions; 2023 women's champion Delaney Irving was knocked out just before the finish line and only learned of her triumph when she was told about it in the medical enclosure. On the Netflix docuseries 'We Are the Champions,' women's record holder and four-time winner Flo Early revealed a protrusion of her right shoulder, a permanent disfigurement, caused by a collar bone that was broken on the hill. It's therefore no surprise that many runners might need a splash of alcohol in order to run. Anderson said that the races used to start at 6:30 p.m. in the evening, but the start time was moved earlier because too many people were intoxicated. Now, runners in need of some Dutch courage just start drinking earlier. Anderson told CNN Sports he prepares in moderation by drinking a single can of lager on the walk up. 'I always saw that if you were drunk and you broke something, there's not a great deal they can give you for the pain, so I always try to do it as sober as possible,' he said. Signs posted all over the hill make it clear that runners are participating at their own risk, the local enthusiasts who stage the event say they are not official organizers – in case of injury, there is nobody to sue, and the event is uninsured. Nevertheless, the BBC reported in 2013 that the Gloucestershire police force advised 86-year-old cheesemaker Diana Smart – who makes the 6.6-pound (three-kilogram) wheel of Double Gloucester cheese used in the race – that she could be held liable because anyone who facilitates the event could be deemed an organizer by default. Anderson told CNN that he never had any intention of breaking the record of 21 cheese wins, which was set in 1991, but once he got to 13, he decided to keep going. In 2011 and 2017, he won three races in a single day and he broke the record with two more wins in 2018. At the age of 37, he's recovering from a long-term hip injury – and he is 'supposed to be retired' – but if his 16-year-old son decides to compete then he could be tempted back onto the hill, partly to make sure he does it right. 'I'd be happy for him to run,' he said, 'but I've told him if you're not gonna commit, there's no point in even doing it.' The veteran cheese-chaser knows that there are many ways to be hurt on the hill. 'The most dangerous thing is going slow and getting hit from behind. I'd like him to be quick enough to get away from the carnage.' And if he ever decides to run again, he said it won't be for the cheese: 'I actually don't like it. It's got quite a strong aftertaste to it.'
CNN
25-05-2025
- Sport
- CNN
A wheel of cheese, a steep hill and broken bones: say hello to the world's most dangerous race
It's been described as the world's most dangerous race, and it's certainly one of the most ridiculous – a 200-yard dash after a wheel of Double Gloucester cheese. To win, all you have to do is chase it down a grassy hill and cross the finish line before anyone else; however, that's much easier said than done. The hill is so steep that it could give you vertigo on the start line and there is absolutely no guarantee that you will make it down to the bottom in one piece. 'You've just got to have a disregard for your own safety,' Chris Anderson explained to CNN Sports. Anderson won his first of his record 23 races in 2005 and broke his ankle in the celebrations, but the excruciating pain and eight weeks in a cast didn't put him off. The next year he won again, but he doesn't remember much about his third victory in 2007, when he crossed the finish line unconscious. 'That was a bit of a blur,' he noted, recalling that he'd banged his head on the way down. Nobody seems to know for sure how long they've been chasing cheese wheels down Cooper's Hill in the village of Brockworth in southwest England, but it first appeared in written records in 1826. It might have started as a pagan ritual to bless the farmers' crops, or perhaps they were originally rolling barrels down to test their integrity – a cooper is, after all, a barrel maker. But it's a tradition that the locals have fought to preserve and it's one they are intensely proud of. And now, with the advent of the internet age, it's an event which has become truly international; thousands of people flock to the event on the last bank holiday in May, and winners have hailed from as far afield as New Zealand and Australia, Egypt and the United States. But the ultimate champions are the people who know the hill best: the locals. 'I used to go up there camping with my friends,' Anderson said. 'We used to get drunk and throw each other down.' The hill is absurdly steep: an initial drop of 60 degrees with an average of 45 degree incline. Looking down from the top, it initially seems like a sheer drop and many runners have changed their minds at the last minute when they realize what they're in for. 'The first 10 meters are, like, near vertical,' Anderson explained to CNN. 'You've just got to almost dive into it and try to stay on your feet. 'As soon as you go, there's no stopping, you've just got the let momentum take over. Just try and keep on your feet as long as possible, and if you fall, get up as quick as you can.' Ideally, Anderson prefers the ground to be soft, but not wet. The drier it is, the better the traction, the harder the terrain, the greater the potential for injuries. Video footage of any cheese rolling race depicts a scene of utter chaos. Few competitors are able to remain upright for very long, some are anxiously trying to maintain control by sliding on their bottoms, while others have lost all dignity, careening down in various states of distress. Still images captured by photographers at the bottom present a confusing tableau, as if a giant has tipped a box of action figures out onto the hillside, bodies are upside down, or airborne sideways, and limbs are flailing everywhere. Anderson first attended the cheese rolling when he was around 10 years old, and he remembers seeing the mass of humanity flashing past him on the hill. 'It was so fun to watch people flying and falling,' he reminisced, adding that it wasn't all fun and games. 'One of the most standout things was someone breaking their leg, his studs got stuck in the ground and the momentum just pushed him forward. He was sat in the middle of the hill with his leg just dangling, it was pretty disgusting!' Serious injuries are practically guaranteed, one year Anderson witnessed three broken ankles, two of which belonged to international runners who missed their flights home because of emergency surgery. Ankle injuries are common – some have witnessed feet out of alignment by 180 degrees – as are concussions; 2023 women's champion Delaney Irving was knocked out just before the finish line and only learned of her triumph when she was told about it in the medical enclosure. On the Netflix docuseries 'We Are the Champions,' women's record holder and four-time winner Flo Early revealed a protrusion of her right shoulder, a permanent disfigurement, caused by a collar bone that was broken on the hill. It's therefore no surprise that many runners might need a splash of alcohol in order to run. Anderson said that the races used to start at 6:30 p.m. in the evening, but the start time was moved earlier because too many people were intoxicated. Now, runners in need of some Dutch courage just start drinking earlier. Anderson told CNN Sports he prepares in moderation by drinking a single can of lager on the walk up. 'I always saw that if you were drunk and you broke something, there's not a great deal they can give you for the pain, so I always try to do it as sober as possible,' he said. Signs posted all over the hill make it clear that runners are participating at their own risk, the local enthusiasts who stage the event say they are not official organizers – in case of injury, there is nobody to sue, and the event is uninsured. Nevertheless, the BBC reported in 2013 that the Gloucestershire police force advised 86-year-old cheesemaker Diana Smart – who makes the 6.6-pound (three-kilogram) wheel of Double Gloucester cheese used in the race – that she could be held liable because anyone who facilitates the event could be deemed an organizer by default. Anderson told CNN that he never had any intention of breaking the record of 21 cheese wins, which was set in 1991, but once he got to 13, he decided to keep going. In 2011 and 2017, he won three races in a single day and he broke the record with two more wins in 2018. At the age of 37, he's recovering from a long-term hip injury – and he is 'supposed to be retired' – but if his 16-year-old son decides to compete then he could be tempted back onto the hill, partly to make sure he does it right. 'I'd be happy for him to run,' he said, 'but I've told him if you're not gonna commit, there's no point in even doing it.' The veteran cheese-chaser knows that there are many ways to be hurt on the hill. 'The most dangerous thing is going slow and getting hit from behind. I'd like him to be quick enough to get away from the carnage.' And if he ever decides to run again, he said it won't be for the cheese: 'I actually don't like it. It's got quite a strong aftertaste to it.'
CNN
25-05-2025
- Sport
- CNN
A wheel of cheese, a steep hill and broken bones: say hello to the world's most dangerous race
It's been described as the world's most dangerous race, and it's certainly one of the most ridiculous – a 200-yard dash after a wheel of Double Gloucester cheese. To win, all you have to do is chase it down a grassy hill and cross the finish line before anyone else; however, that's much easier said than done. The hill is so steep that it could give you vertigo on the start line and there is absolutely no guarantee that you will make it down to the bottom in one piece. 'You've just got to have a disregard for your own safety,' Chris Anderson explained to CNN Sports. Anderson won his first of his record 23 races in 2005 and broke his ankle in the celebrations, but the excruciating pain and eight weeks in a cast didn't put him off. The next year he won again, but he doesn't remember much about his third victory in 2007, when he crossed the finish line unconscious. 'That was a bit of a blur,' he noted, recalling that he'd banged his head on the way down. Nobody seems to know for sure how long they've been chasing cheese wheels down Cooper's Hill in the village of Brockworth in southwest England, but it first appeared in written records in 1826. It might have started as a pagan ritual to bless the farmers' crops, or perhaps they were originally rolling barrels down to test their integrity – a cooper is, after all, a barrel maker. But it's a tradition that the locals have fought to preserve and it's one they are intensely proud of. And now, with the advent of the internet age, it's an event which has become truly international; thousands of people flock to the event on the last bank holiday in May, and winners have hailed from as far afield as New Zealand and Australia, Egypt and the United States. But the ultimate champions are the people who know the hill best: the locals. 'I used to go up there camping with my friends,' Anderson said. 'We used to get drunk and throw each other down.' The hill is absurdly steep: an initial drop of 60 degrees with an average of 45 degree incline. Looking down from the top, it initially seems like a sheer drop and many runners have changed their minds at the last minute when they realize what they're in for. 'The first 10 meters are, like, near vertical,' Anderson explained to CNN. 'You've just got to almost dive into it and try to stay on your feet. 'As soon as you go, there's no stopping, you've just got the let momentum take over. Just try and keep on your feet as long as possible, and if you fall, get up as quick as you can.' Ideally, Anderson prefers the ground to be soft, but not wet. The drier it is, the better the traction, the harder the terrain, the greater the potential for injuries. Video footage of any cheese rolling race depicts a scene of utter chaos. Few competitors are able to remain upright for very long, some are anxiously trying to maintain control by sliding on their bottoms, while others have lost all dignity, careening down in various states of distress. Still images captured by photographers at the bottom present a confusing tableau, as if a giant has tipped a box of action figures out onto the hillside, bodies are upside down, or airborne sideways, and limbs are flailing everywhere. Anderson first attended the cheese rolling when he was around 10 years old, and he remembers seeing the mass of humanity flashing past him on the hill. 'It was so fun to watch people flying and falling,' he reminisced, adding that it wasn't all fun and games. 'One of the most standout things was someone breaking their leg, his studs got stuck in the ground and the momentum just pushed him forward. He was sat in the middle of the hill with his leg just dangling, it was pretty disgusting!' Serious injuries are practically guaranteed, one year Anderson witnessed three broken ankles, two of which belonged to international runners who missed their flights home because of emergency surgery. Ankle injuries are common – some have witnessed feet out of alignment by 180 degrees – as are concussions; 2023 women's champion Delaney Irving was knocked out just before the finish line and only learned of her triumph when she was told about it in the medical enclosure. On the Netflix docuseries 'We Are the Champions,' women's record holder and four-time winner Flo Early revealed a protrusion of her right shoulder, a permanent disfigurement, caused by a collar bone that was broken on the hill. It's therefore no surprise that many runners might need a splash of alcohol in order to run. Anderson said that the races used to start at 6:30 p.m. in the evening, but the start time was moved earlier because too many people were intoxicated. Now, runners in need of some Dutch courage just start drinking earlier. Anderson told CNN Sports he prepares in moderation by drinking a single can of lager on the walk up. 'I always saw that if you were drunk and you broke something, there's not a great deal they can give you for the pain, so I always try to do it as sober as possible,' he said. Signs posted all over the hill make it clear that runners are participating at their own risk, the local enthusiasts who stage the event say they are not official organizers – in case of injury, there is nobody to sue, and the event is uninsured. Nevertheless, the BBC reported in 2013 that the Gloucestershire police force advised 86-year-old cheesemaker Diana Smart – who makes the 6.6-pound (three-kilogram) wheel of Double Gloucester cheese used in the race – that she could be held liable because anyone who facilitates the event could be deemed an organizer by default. Anderson told CNN that he never had any intention of breaking the record of 21 cheese wins, which was set in 1991, but once he got to 13, he decided to keep going. In 2011 and 2017, he won three races in a single day and he broke the record with two more wins in 2018. At the age of 37, he's recovering from a long-term hip injury – and he is 'supposed to be retired' – but if his 16-year-old son decides to compete then he could be tempted back onto the hill, partly to make sure he does it right. 'I'd be happy for him to run,' he said, 'but I've told him if you're not gonna commit, there's no point in even doing it.' The veteran cheese-chaser knows that there are many ways to be hurt on the hill. 'The most dangerous thing is going slow and getting hit from behind. I'd like him to be quick enough to get away from the carnage.' And if he ever decides to run again, he said it won't be for the cheese: 'I actually don't like it. It's got quite a strong aftertaste to it.'
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Travel + Leisure
11-05-2025
- Travel + Leisure
This Coastal English Area Is Known for Stunning Beaches—but It's Home to a Community of Artists, Too
I suppose there was a moment when someone hiked this cliff, above this opal-colored sea, for the very first time. Humans have occupied Cornwall, in southwestern England, since the Mesolithic period. Back then, however, they wouldn't have seen the town of St. Ives in the distance, with its tiered cottages and fishing boats. I imagine they might have admired the purple heather on the hills, like I did, or maybe noticed a pair of gannets, like the ones I saw plunging into the water for fish. 'This is an ancient area, a Celtic area,' Tom Kay, my hiking companion, told me—a fabled land of mermaids and giants. 'There's old myths everywhere.' Kay is the founder of Finisterre, the Cornish outdoors brand. An ardent surfer, he started making fleece sweaters in St. Agnes in 2003, because nothing in the local wave shops suited the Cornish climate, so often windswept and cold. Finisterre now has stores in St. Ives and London, as well as 12 more across the U.K. The label is still headquartered in Cornwall, with the region's history of craft woven into the designs. From left: The beach in St. Ives; low tide in St. Ives harbor. Hayley Benoit Cafés along the St. Ives waterfront. Hayley Benoit Kay held out a navy sweater he'd brought for our hike, made in collaboration with Britain's Royal National Lifeboat Institution. The pattern is inspired by the Cornish gansey, which was originally knitted by fishermen's wives and daughters: a tightly woven woolen style designed to keep out the wind and saltwater spray, with a pattern of chevrons above the chest. 'In the 18th century, the nearby villages each had their own knit pattern so, if you got washed overboard or were lost at sea, they could identify where you came from by the pattern,' he said. This was my first time in Cornwall, and I had only known the region for its greatest hits: beef-filled pasties, seaside holidays, a cultural identity that carries an independent political streak. (Cornish, a historic Celtic language, is now taught in some primary schools.) From left: Shellfish traps in storage at Porthmeor Studios; Philip Medley at Porthmeor. Hayley Benoit From left: Tagliatelle at the Harbour View House restaurant; a guest room at the Harbour View House. Hayley Benoit But St. Ives, which has a population of about 11,000, is also the region's creative hub, and has deep artistic ties. J.M.W. Turner, the Romantic artist, painted some of his best-known works in the area. Barbara Hepworth, the 20th-century British sculptor, lived in town, where a museum and sculpture garden preserves her studio and works. Cornwall has suffered from long declines in the fishing and mining industries, but the arts community remains strong. In recent years, a new group of craftspeople and artisans—'makers,' basically—have hunkered down and are reviving old traditions. 'There's a lot of opportunity for creative work here,' Andrew Todd, a fashion designer and mixed-media artist, told me one morning over coffee. 'It feels like Cornwall is building on its legacy of arts, crafts, and niche businesses.' From left: Works at Leach Pottery; Roelof Uys at Leach Pottery. Hayley Benoit From left: Tom Kay, the founder of Finisterre; a Finisterre vest. Hayley Benoit So what is it about the area that people find so inspiring? I flew in to London's Gatwick airport last July and took a quick flight to Newquay, followed by a 40-minute drive down the coast. It was an easy trip, but a long one—I was traveling from Los Angeles—so when I checked in to the Harbour View House, I gratefully accepted a Negroni. Then I started to look around. With some surprise, I noticed the staff was young and the décor rustic and sunny. The vibe was kinda Melbourne, kinda Malibu. To discover the next morning that there was a surprisingly good breakfast burrito—well, if I hadn't known St. Ives was a beach town, I did now. My first outing was the cliff hike with Kay. He thought the coastal vistas were key to understanding what stirs creativity—the ruggedness of the hills, the soft colors. Afterward, I continued walking, but in a more urbane fashion: strolling the streets around my hotel. St. Ives is hilly, and filled with cottages, tiny shops, and art galleries, all of them overlooking a bay of fishing boats. In the summer, it's also smashed with tourists. I was lucky to snag a table for lunch at St. Eia, a chic wine bar and coffee shop that served me a delicate, delicious sandwich filled with Cornish crab. A short walk later, I arrived at Leach Pottery, a town institution that's both a museum and a working studio. Founded in 1920 by a pair of ceramists, Bernard Leach and Shoji Hamada, it continues to draw potters from around the world to learn from its unique melding of British and Japanese traditions. 'Getting all this knowledge is highly coveted,' Callum Cowie, one of two current apprentices, told me. The restaurant at Harbour View House, in St. Ives. Hayley Benoit Roelof Uys, the studio's lead potter, said generations of artists had traveled to Cornwall for its scenery and rustic, small-town culture. 'It's about a way of living, and living in a beautiful way,' he said. Historically, rent was also cheap. But that is no longer the case—especially since the pandemic, when Londoners snapped up coastal homes and prices spiked. Uys, who has lived in Cornwall for 26 years, worries that his children won't be able to afford to stay when they grow up. Leach Pottery has persevered, he said, because of its devotion to the craft. 'It's about continuing the tradition of Cornwall being a place for creativity.' St. Michael's Mount, near Penzance. Hayley Benoit For a fuller picture of Cornwall's creative pedigree, I headed back toward the sea, to the Tate St. Ives. What other beach community can claim a major museum with ocean views? Opened in 1993, the Tate celebrates the area's artistic legacy. One gallery had a special display of five abstracts by Mark Rothko. The paintings were originally commissioned for the Four Seasons restaurant in New York. But Rothko, who took a break from the murals in 1959 and visited St. Ives, decided they weren't right for the Four Seasons and donated them to the Tate Gallery shortly before his death in 1970. I was able to sit quietly for 10 minutes and absorb them; for a moment, I honestly felt like they were speaking to me. From left: The studio of Andrew Todd, Finisterre's head designer; Andrew Todd in his studio. Hayley Benoit I dined that night at the Fish Shed St. Ives, a light meal of oysters and french fries, and on a recommendation from my bartender, I finished the evening with a hike up to St. Nicholas Chapel (in the summer the sun sets as late as 9:30 p.m.). The church has been there since the 15th century, overlooking the beach. It made me wonder if the light had always been so sumptuous, and if it had seemed that way to people centuries ago. My second day started at Porthmeor Studios, possibly the oldest artists' studios in England. It has provided workspaces for fishermen and artists since the 1880s—a truly Cornwall-esque combination—which meant some rooms were full of nets and buoys and others stocked with art. The artists I met were all professionals represented by galleries in London, New York, and beyond. I asked one painter, Philip Medley, if the ocean inspired him. His abstract work did not look remotely nautical, but his studio had massive windows that faced the sea. 'Subconsciously it gets in,' he admitted. 'Especially in the winter, when the weather kicks off. I'm not conscious of it, but I suspect it's there.' From left: The Roundhouse, in Penzance; baked goods at the Roundhouse. Hayley Benoit Perhaps that was the key. Cornwall is more than just a place—it harbors a mystery and mystique that stir the imagination. I spent my final afternoon in the nearby town of Penzance, where I visited a modern art gallery called the Exchange. Lunch was a Cornish beer and a superb mortadella sandwich at the Roundhouse, a tiny café housed in a Victorian-era toll booth whose owner bakes his own focaccia. I felt nourished—by art, by nature, by the spirit of people creating with their hands. To live and work in Cornwall has probably never been easy, but its tradition of resourcefulness and artistry is thriving more strongly than ever. A version of this story first appeared in the June 2025 issue of Travel + Leisure under the headline 'Dyed in the Wool.'
