You step off the little ferry and Padstow gathers around you: a busy harbour packed tight with boats, the wide silver sweep of the Camel estuary behind, the smell of the sea and of good food on the air. Above the rooftops broods the grey facade of an Elizabethan manor, and somewhere in this town's memory a hobby horse is dancing. Padstow is an ancient port that has never stopped living.
The town's story begins with a saint. In the sixth century, tradition holds, the Celtic holy man Petroc founded a monastery here, and the settlement grew up around it; the very name Padstow is worn down from "Petroc's Stow", the holy place of Petroc. Through the Middle Ages Padstow became an important port on the Camel estuary, trading with Ireland, France and further afield, its quays busy with cargo.
But the estuary guarded its own gate. Across the river mouth lies the Doom Bar, a great shifting bank of sand that has wrecked and grounded ships for centuries and forever limited what could sail in and out.
On the hill above the town stands Prideaux Place, an Elizabethan manor built in 1592 by Sir Nicholas Prideaux and lived in by the same family from that day to this, more than four centuries in one line, its rooms famous for their fine plaster ceilings and its grounds home to a herd of deer.
Now explore, and look for the things that make Padstow distinct. First, the harbour, at its loveliest around high tide when the water brims and the moored boats sit mirrored on the surface; walk the quays and watch the working and pleasure craft come and go. First light and golden hour are the photographer's hours here.
Second, climb to the war memorial above the town for the wide view out over the whole Camel estuary, the sands and channels spreading to the sea and the Doom Bar showing pale offshore. Third, seek out Prideaux Place on its hill, its grey Elizabethan front, its plaster ceilings and its deer park where fallow deer graze under old trees.
Fourth, notice the Camel estuary itself as a place alive with birds, a major haunt of wading birds and wildfowl, and the start of the famous Camel Trail, the cycle and walking route that runs inland along the old railway. Fifth, sample the reason Padstow is a household name today, its seafood, landed fresh and served all around the harbour, a town that has turned its ancient bond with the sea into a modern feast.
But come here on the first of May, and you meet Padstow's wild heart. On May Day the town erupts in the ancient festival of the 'Obby 'Oss, one of the oldest surviving folk customs in all of Britain.
A dancer hidden beneath a great black hooped costume and a fearsome mask becomes the Oss, and to the beat of drums and the singing of the old May song it careers through the packed streets from morning until night, whirling, chasing, dropping and rising again, while the whole town, dressed in white and decked with flowers, follows it in a slow tide of music.
Its roots reach back into pre-Christian spring rites, a rite to summon fertility and the returning summer. The same deep memory lingers in the legend that Saint Petroc once tamed a fearsome dragon here, order drawn out of wildness. To stand in those crowded streets and watch the Oss dance is to feel a Cornwall far older than any harbour wall.
From Padstow the Coast Path continues along the estuary and out to the open Atlantic and the great surf beaches beyond, but this is a fine place to rest. Watch the tide fill the harbour, eat well, and if it is spring, listen for a drum. An old saint, a dangerous bar of sand, an Elizabethan house and a dancing horse: Padstow holds them all. Mind the tide and the Doom Bar. Walk safe.
