🏴‍☠️ Cornish Chaos: One Man, His Campervan & The Quest for the Perfect Pasty

A May 2025 travel blog by John Nickolls

Greetings, fellow earthlings and drone nerds. Strap yourselves in (or at least grab a Rattler) because I’ve just returned from a week in Cornwall, the land of tin mines, smugglers, and more types of pasties than you can shake a sausage roll at.

I, John Nickolls – part-time HGV hero, drone overlord, and campervan crusader – embarked on this trip with my trusty steed Vanilla, a VW T6.1 kitted out with more gadgets than a Bond villain’s lair. My mission? To explore the jagged cliffs and coastal towns of Cornwall, eat everything in sight, and dodge seagulls like I owed them money.

🛏️ Night 1: Tintagel – King Arthur, Cold Winds & a Slightly Wonky Pitch

The adventure began in Tintagel, legendary birthplace of King Arthur (or at least that’s what the gift shop says). After navigating the single-track roads that Cornwall calls “A-roads”, I arrived at my first site, where Vanilla and I settled in for a romantic night with gale-force winds and a seagull that wouldn’t stop staring.

My first Cornish pasty was consumed in the ruins of Tintagel Castle. I tried to eat it slowly, but the wind was doing 40mph and so was my steak. Meanwhile, my drone – the Mavic 2 Pro – took to the skies, capturing stunning footage of me shielding my face with a Tesco bag while trying to look majestic.

📍 Day 2: Boscastle, Port Isaac & the “Toilet Incident”

Boscastle. Beautiful. Tranquil. Full of elderly couples with walking poles. I flew the drone early before the National Trust wardens emerged like vampires. Got a stunning shot of the harbour, the cliffs, and one dog doing a massive wee right on the beach. Art.

Later, I popped into Port Isaac, a.k.a. Portwenn of Doc Martin fame. I parked Vanilla in a tight little car park that required the precision of a Swiss watchmaker and the patience of a saint. I have neither. Let’s just say I got very familiar with the reversing camera.

I also became too familiar with the public loos, which were apparently last cleaned when Doc Martin was still airing. I emerged spiritually altered, lighter, and more aware of the value of bringing your own loo roll.

🌊 Night 2: Godrevy Beach – Starry Skies and a Drone Mishap

Vanilla and I made our way to Godrevy, a cracking little beach with wild views and proper Cornish drama. As the sun dipped below the Atlantic, I deployed the drone for a sunset flight. It was going beautifully until a rogue gust tried to yeet it into the lighthouse. Full credit to the Mini 4 Pro – newly added to the arsenal on 28 May – for steady hands. I, however, screamed like a kettle.

That night, I kicked back with my BioLite 500 glowing like a hipster fairy lantern, a cold Rattler in hand, and the Murder, She Wrote theme playing faintly from the van’s soundbar. Peak Cornwall. Peak Nickolls.

🍏 Day 3: Healey’s Cyder Farm, Land’s End & The Hangover

Ah, Healey’s – home of the iconic Rattler cider, the most dangerous drink ever disguised as apple juice. I sampled four “tasters”, which turned out to be pints, and left the farm giggling like a goat on helium. Good job Vanilla was parked up for the night.

After a nap and a bacon roll that could have revived a corpse, I braved Land’s End. Is it touristy? Yes. Did I pay £10 to take a photo of a signpost that says “Birmingham 300 miles”? Also yes. Would I do it again? Probably. There’s something romantic about standing on the edge of the world, contemplating your life while holding a dripping pasty.

⛪ Day 4: St Michael’s Mount, Mevagissey & The Great Cream Tea Debate

Now, St Michael’s Mount is dramatic – like Mont Saint-Michel’s slightly moodier cousin. Low tide meant I could walk across the cobbled causeway like some kind of soggy messiah. The drone got breathtaking shots from a safe distance (I wasn’t about to risk a DJI drone in National Trust airspace – I enjoy freedom, not fines).

Next up: Mevagissey, a picture-perfect fishing village where every shop either sells fudge, nautical trinkets, or both. I sat down for a cream tea – jam first, obviously, I’m not a savage – and reflected on the week so far. Verdict? Cornwall is like a medieval soap opera with better snacks.

🌃 Night 4: Looe – Final Stop, Final Pasty, Maximum Comfort

My final night was spent in Looe, where Vanilla and I parked up near the sea and I treated myself to a proper campervan banquet: steak pasty, crisps, homemade jam on toast (thanks to the Ninja soup maker pre-trip jam-a-thon), and a final Rattler. I fired up the Nebula Capsule 3 Laser, projected Top Gun: Maverick onto the pop-top screen, and fell asleep to the dulcet tones of Kenny Loggins and seagull warfare on the roof.

🛣️ The Journey Home – Pasties in the Footwell, Memories in the Rearview

Saturday morning came far too quickly, like a Cornish shower or a dog sniffing your BBQ. The van was full of crumbs, cider bottles, and that warm glow of a trip well spent. I took the scenic route home, stopping only for fuel and one last Cornish ice cream – eaten in the car park like a sad, windblown gladiator.

Final Thoughts:

Cornwall in May is gorgeous, dramatic, and occasionally smells like chips and disappointment. But if you love cliffs, cream teas, crusty pastries, and coastline photography that makes your Instagram followers weep, then it’s the perfect destination.

And when you’ve got a van like Vanilla, drones like mine, and an iron stomach forged by years of motorway Greggs, you’re basically unstoppable.

Until next time – fly safe, eat pasties, and respect the drone zones.— John Nickolls, CEO of Rattler Research and Full-Time Pasty Inspector