A stay in Babbacombe at the Cary Arms

As consolation for our inability to travel to Europe in May and June, we decided that a UK-based break, not too far from home, would fill the bill. Babbacombe, next to Torquay in Devon, was new territory for us and so we booked at a favourably reviewed inn where their advertised beach huts promised something different from our usual holiday fare.

We packed light, thinking that we needed to economise on space as storage would be at a premium. Only essential clothes and not too many of those either would mean that we could fill the drawers and then hide our suitcases back in the car. All the usual accoutrements of electronics (of course), drugs (essential) and reading matter (plentiful) were tidied into our two small cabin bags plus one floppy gym bag for the stuff that took up too much room. We were ready!

Off we set, heading first to Lyme Regis for a delightful lunch at the Bell Cliff Café (very nice) and then a wander along the Cobb to see if Calico had anything interesting to wear (they hadn't) and the bookshop anything to read (they had!)

We got to Babbacombe at around 3:30pm and were alarmed at the vertiginous descent to the Cary Arms - try it on Google Maps! They suggest you dump your car and they'll park, because it's just too difficult. And so we did, taking the proffered opportunity for someone to unload the car and bring our bags in.

The "beach hut" which we had imagined to be small was anything but. Think a reasonable lounge area with a mezzanine bedroom (quite like home) and a bathroom and drinks area underneath. The bigger surprise was the double width wardrobe that was cunningly disguised as mirrors, lurking beside the stairs. No need to have economised on our packing. Better still, there was a small decanter of sloe gin which was swiftly demolished, a bottle of nice pink chilling in the fridge, biscuits, teas, a Nespresso coffee maker and supplies, milk ... and so it goes on.

The bedroom area looks out over the sea through a porthole window, across the living area and there's a Velux window to one side so that one can have plenty of ventilation. Underfloor heating, a large rainfall shower and heated towel rail all make the bathroom area rather nice. Moreover, there are two TVs, with Netflix (yes, Bridgerton prequel it is) and there's Sonos sound too.

Outside there's plenty of lounging real estate with two sturdy sun chairs and a lovely view over the little jetty and Babbacombe Bay. The bay is surrounded by quite steep cliffs and slopes, much of it in eroding red sandstone, but with outcrops of limestone breaking it up. Our stay was blessed with largely fabulous weather with day after day of sunshine and temperatures warm enough to stay out, wearing very little. By the jetty, we were kept entertained by the antics of Sammy the Seal, the local wildlife, which tormented dogs by popping up out of the water, then disappearing and reappearing elsewhere.

To leave the hotel and walk into Babbacombe village was an expedition and we did this on the first night, deciding to eat at a local café called Labrows. They serve on Friday and Saturday nights only and the menu is basically tapas. Six to eight items between two was the advice and we kept to the low end of that - good job as the portions were enormous. The food was excellent and very reasonably priced.

The environment, clientele and staffing were, shall we say, eclectic, but it was a very good night out - oh, and best cocktails of the holiday.

At night, the sun set gently within our view and, nearly every night, we were able to see the International Space Station pass over, late in the evening. Since it was cooler, we huddled up in fleeces and warm things, but if we were preparing for bed, we'd hustle out in dressing gowns and brave the cool nip of the night air.

Since this was a hotel and not a rental apartment, breakfast was provided. Every morning we stoked up for the day and then held out until evening, eking out our hunger with biscuits and mocha coffees. Breakfast was really good - berries, granola and yoghurt, toast and marmalade, a selection of eggs, many ways and of course porridge - we tried it one morning and that was very good. A lovely Scottish lady served us and made sure we were kept fed and watered.

The bay curves away from the hotel and on the opposite side are the beach, north-facing, and the Cliff Railway. Unfortunately this is not currently in use as it is being repaired. The beach has the usual café and of course an ice cream shop. However, the area is quite lacklustre and we only ventured there once along the very slippery and dodgy pathways under the cliff. Nonetheless, it was good to get a face on view of the hotel from the other side.

The evenings of course were an opportunity to get dressed up a bit and have a good meal in the restaurant. The menu is small but quite varied and we worked our way through much of what it offered, occasionally trying the specials, but always having a cocktail and a glass of Provence rosé.

It then became our habit, in the mornings, to toil up the paths to the top of the cliff and investigate Babbacombe. It's a strange little place with a strange lack of any interesting restaurants, other than those in hotels (which tend to all be the same). The pathway up was very steep and stepped but we soon got into the swing of it, crossing as we did, part of the Southwest Coast Path. Near the top of the hill is a building with vertiginous high wall that banks it up against the steep hill and a very bizarre overhanging extension that seems to swing out over the road. Another interesting point was the evident incompetence of the road sign painters!

On one such expedition, Gabrielle decided that we were to wander without objective and we swiftly found ourselves in a hitherto undiscovered part of the town, full of charity shops, strange festive regalia in a churchyard and a plethora of care homes. In and amongst all of this was a shoe shop - something for which Gabrielle had been ardently searching - and there she purchased a pair of puce pumps to help ease her walking difficulties!

Wednesday's expedition was to the Model Village. It's very easy to get sniffily superior about attractions like this, but this one is quite special. Apart from the amusingly constructed displays within the confines of the place, there was an abundance of beautiful planting, much of it miniature to match the chosen context. Such is the realism of the some of the displays that, particularly when they appear to you at eye level, the eye can be fooled into thinking they are the real deal. It was two hours very nicely spent, once we had avoided the two howling children who evidently hadn't yet got with the programme about how the displays worked.

Then to the Cliff Railway Café which, unlike the railway itself, is very much open and bustling with customers. Definitely the best coffee in the area there as far as we could find. That night was once again the hotel restaurant - are we getting boring? It was busy with a lot of non-residents taking up space - the cheek of it! This also meant that service was relatively slow and, what had started out to be an earlier dinner, ended up around the normal time. We finished watching the Bridgerton prequel: Queen Charlotte, which was rather disappointing.

Thursday dawned bright and shiny once again and we'd determined that it was to be a walk into Torquay - a couple of miles. This involves the usual haul up the hill to get to Babbacombe village and then downhill all the way into Torquay. There was an American cruise ship in port and the place was stuffed with elderly Americans who became more numerous, the closer you got to their berth. We'd decided not to eat in the restaurant tonight so we purchased some food from a Coop on the way back up the long hill.

However, on our return (exhausted it must be admitted - 11.5 km takes it out of you - and Gabrielle's dodgy hip played up not once) Gabrielle's only thought was of cream tea. We'd been promising ourselves one and so, it had to be done. No tea though - just scones, jam, cream and Prosecco! Utterly luscious. Thus fortified, we felt much more able to address the rest of the afternoon, safe in the knowledge that in the fridge we had a sandwich, a pasta salad. Oh, and a bottle of pink wine.

And so to Friday - our last full day at the Cary Arms. What did we want to do? Not walk into Torquay, I suggested. The sun was very bright but, after breakfast, the temperature had risen to only 14 degrees C. We adopted jackets and laboured up the hill once more, to the amusement of workmen who contended that, even after 30 years, "it don't get any easier!" Having purchased some sun lotion, the Cliff Railway Café beckoned once more and we had what was to be our final mocha there before heading back to the sun deck outside our beach hut. Owing to the orientation of the huts, one has to adopt a varied approach to sunbathing, moving to avoid the shadow of the hut as the sun traverses across. From about 4pm, there's no sun to be had down the side and the sun on the front had yet to give sufficient space for two sunbeds.

There was therefore an interval that could be filled with cream tea, a walk or a bit of time writing this blog. In fact, the cream tea won out! It had been so good the day before that an action replay was called for and it didn't disappoint. Sitting, gazing across the azure sea to the distant shores of Teignmouth, one could be easily persuaded that one was in the Greek islands. The scones were crispy and warm, slathered with Rodda's finest and then jam on top, in the Devonian fashion. We've never understood the Cornish way of jam first and then cream - it just doesn't work for us.

And then back to the terrace to enjoy some more sun, read and listen to the kids hurling themselves off the jetty into the sea. Gabrielle was uncharacteristically quiet that day. That was because she was in a grump about going back home. She suggested all sorts of subterfuges to delay the inevitable: stay another night; stop somewhere on the way back; but the fact was that clothes were running out - well, we could wash them! - no we can't. You're so negative! However, the Prosecco helped ...

Then there was the small matter of the remnants of the rosé wine from the previous evening. So that was had while we got ready to go down for dinner. However, a flurry of activity on and around the jetty caught our attention. All the kids who had been leaping into the sea were suddenly climbing the rocks in front of the hotel and a variety of large men in helmets and jumpsuits appeared to be clearing the area. Then we noticed that the inshore lifeboat RIB was coming in to dock. From it was handed a young man wearing only swimmers and he was shepherded up the steps and wrapped in towels while the guys in helmets huddled round him. The kids on the rocks watched in silence - they weren't even using phones - and it was evident that the lifeboat had hauled this lad out of the sea and brought him to shore. An ambulance wailed its way down the hill and he was led away with his pals on the rocks giving a bit of applause to see him on his way.

This was a quite alarming incident and, hopefully illustrated to those concerned that the sea is not as fun a place as might be thought. That was not the end of the matter though, as we were to see. We had our dinner and the various Coastguard and ambulance crews left the scene and we went back to our room to watch an episode of Succession, in front of the crackling fire (it's fake, but quite realistic, and gets turned on by the person who does the turndown service) before turning in.

The next morning, as we were dressing, there was once again a commotion on the jetty with the same style of big blokes in jumpsuits dashing around and the lifeboat coming in once more, at speed. From it was hauled a guy on a stretcher who was stretched out on the quay and given CPR. While this was going on the lifeboat shot off again and returned about ten minutes later with another limp form. At this point, two crews were trying to revive these guys, right in front of us. The CPR for the first must have gone on for an hour and, in the end, they gave up and he was covered over. The second person seemed to have more luck and was put on some sort of ventilator before being taken away in an ambulance. The road down to the hotel was closed, blocked by emergency vehicles and a barrier at the top of the hill. Meanwhile, helicopters circled overhead and apparently an Air Ambulance landed on the cricket pitch in Babbacombe and took the survivor away.

The whole thing was a really chastening experience and put something of a cloud over the last breakfast of the holiday. It felt somehow disrespectful to eat when someone had lost their life only yards away. One could only think of their family and friends and the fact that a fine trip out had ended in disaster.

And so, we set off for home, stopping only at Dorchester to shop at Waitrose, at which point I discovered that I had walked off with the room key! Still, we're going back there for New Year, so could hand it back then ... no, honestly, we'll post it back.