I first went to the Eden project when it was in its infancy. At the time (2001) it wasn’t much more than a quarry with a dome in it, although there may have been a few marigolds about. It was four pence ha’penny to get in and they only sold one flavour of ice cream.
The second time I went was last year, a gap of eighteen years. I was so impressed by the changes that I was more than happy to go again this week, despite the fact that some of the exhibits have been temporarily closed because some Chinese market mixed bat droppings with food some months ago.
For those of you who haven’t been yet, I will try and describe it briefly, although you would actually get a better picture from the website.
Aside from the two biodomes, one of which holds a rainforest, and the other a Mediterranean garden, there are displays of outdoor gardens which would take Monty Don’s breath away. There is a bank of dahlias which were, according to some reliable sources, past their best for this time of year. Well, you wouldn’t know it. They provided a kaleidoscope of colour and if I was a bee I wouldn’t live anywhere else. I wouldn’t even go on holiday, I’d just spend my time amongst the dahlias here.
Being inside the biodome is a bit like being in another country. They are both spectacular, but if I had to choose I would pick the rainforest area over the Mediterranean one, probably because it is such an alien environment to anyone like me who was born and grew up in the UK (I use the term “grew up” in its loosest possible sense, of course).
One side effect of the pandemic is the fact that it reduces the number of people allowed in at any one time. This actually works for me, as it wasn’t crowded with tourists like me spoiling it for – er, tourists like me. There was a lot more space to wander around, and although the indoor exhibits operated a one way system, which meant you had to walk at a steady pace without clogging it up by taking photos or just chatting, you could go round as many times as you like.
Back in Mevagissey later in the day, there were rumours of a high tide and heavy rain approaching the village. This was borne out by the fact that all the wily old fishermen, who know a thing or two about the weather in these here parts, had brought their vessels into the inner harbour tonight. I can imagine them sitting round with their pints of cider, stroking their beards, singing sea shanties through mouthfuls of pasties and cream teas, and agreeing that the End of the World is Nigh.
Only the tourists didn’t seem worried. Apart from a middle aged couple who were obviously in the first throes of romance (you know, laughing with each other and taking selfies on the harbour wall every five minutes), there were a couple of people throwing themselves into the harbour and creating a splash. Not once, but over and over again.
Such fun. If they do the same thing tomorrow, they may not have so far to fall as the water levels are set to rise. If I survive the apocalypse I’ll tell you about my last day in Cornwall in the next blog.
Where’s my pastie?
Steve's Journal 